I don't want to be the filler if the void is solely yours
I don't want to be your glass of single malt whiskey
Hidden in the bottom drawer
I don't want to be a bandage if the wound is
not mine
Lend me some fresh air
I don't want to be adored for what I merely
represent to you
I don't want to be your babysitter
You're a very big boy now
I don't want to be your mother
I didn't carry you in my womb for nine months
Show me the back door

Visiting hours are 9 to 5 and if I show up at
10 past 6
Well I already know that you'd find some
way to sneak me in and oh
Mind the empty bottle with the holes along
the bottom
You see it's too much to ask for and
I am not the doctor

I don't want to be the sweeper of the eggshells
that you walk upon
I don't want to be your other half I believe that
1 and 1 make 2
I don't want to be your food or the light from
the fridge on your face at midnight
Hey what are you hungry for
I don't want to be the glue that holds your
pieces together
I don't want to be your idol
See this pedestal is high and I'm afraid
of heights
I don't want to be lived through
A vicarious occasion
Please open the window

I don't want to live on someday when my
motto is last week
I don't want to be responsible for your
fractured heart
and its wounded beat
I don't want to be a substitute for the smoke
you've been inhaling
What do you thank me
What do you thank me for

--Alanis Morrisette, "Not the Doctor"

The police station bustled around us in a flurry of
activity as I listened to Officer Jensen hit on me.

I observed his style objectively, with scientific interest,
almost like a sociologist, taking mental notes on the
Mating Habits of the Rural and Desperate. He wasn't
that bad-looking really, with blond hair, blue eyes, and
a dusting of freckles across his nose. It was just his
youthful eagerness that was so damn annoying, that
made me want to pull my hair out at the roots rather
than hear another hayseed line come out of that thin-
lipped mouth. Still, I forced myself to listen and smile
pleasantly, since making nice with the local law
enforcement had practically become part of my job
description.

"So I guess you've seen some pretty gross stuff, huh,"
he was saying, his hands fiddling with the brim of his
uniform cap.

"Yes, I have," I said coolly. I looked into his blue eyes
and wondered if mine had ever held such child-like
innocence. I felt old, suddenly. Old and almost as
desperate as he was.

"Wow. Most women wouldn't be able to handle that
sort of thing -- I mean," he added hastily, seeing my
raised eyebrow, "uh, most women I know wouldn't...
that is..." I smothered a grin as he floundered. Poor kid.

"Report's filed," came a deep, familiar voice from
behind me. I turned gratefully to look up at my
partner. Rescued at last. "Ready to go?" he asked.

"Yes," I said quickly. "Officer Jensen, it was a pleasure
meeting you." I turned my most brilliant smile on him
for fun and was gratified to see his eyes widen.

"Yes, ma'am," he gulped, eyeing the possessive hand
my partner had placed on my back. "Have a good day."

We were more than halfway to the car in the municipal
parking lot before I got it. "Hope I didn't break up plans
for a hot date," he said predictably, in his usual
deadpan.

"What's the matter, Mulder? Afraid you'll be left
alone to the adult film selection of the night back
at the motel?"

"Not afraid, Scully. Hopeful." I glared at him, and
was rewarded with one of those maddening grins
that made me want to throw him down on the pavement
and fuck his brains out. Not that that would ever happen.
Well, maybe someday, but who has the luxury for that
sort of fantasy? I settled instead for giving him a
slight punch on the arm, which he accepted good-naturedly.
I was so glad he seemed to be in a better mood today,
now that Lisa Hayes was safe and sound at home with
her mother. Now that we knew for sure that a sick
man, who was now behind bars, had been responsible
for her abduction, and not little gray men. Mulder
had of course tried to pretend throughout the
investigation that the situation wasn't eating him
up inside, wasn't tormenting him the way these
abduction cases always did, but I knew better.
I was the one who had held him every night for
the past two weeks until his nightmares subsided.
I silently prayed that tonight would be different,
that we would both get a good night's sleep.

He noticed me studying him--I wasn't even
consciously aware I had been doing so-- and shot
me an inquisitive look. "What is it, Scully?"

"Nothing," I lied, and waited for him to unlock the car.

****
I awoke in the middle of the night to the familiar
sound of screams emanating from the room next
door. Jesus Christ, he's going to wake the whole
motel, I thought tiredly. I hopped out of bed and
threw open the door that separated our adjoining
rooms. I was greeted with an all too familiar sight:
Mulder thrashing about in sheets soaked with sweat,
his cries drowning out the low sounds of the television
he had left on in an effort to stay awake. I shut the
TV off and approached the bed, saying his name softly
at first, then gradually louder. "Mulder! Mulder, wake
up." I hesitantly reached out to shake his shoulder,
hoping he wouldn't lash out at me in his sleep, as he
had done on numerous occasions. Instead his eyes
flew open and he jolted upright in bed, looking around
the room with an unseeing stare for heart-stopping
seconds until he finally settled on me. Relief flowed
through me and my shoulders sagged as recognition
flickered on his face.

He exhaled loudly. "Scully."

"I'm here, Mulder." I sat down next to him on the
bed as he reached for me. He held me tightly for
long moments, smoothing my hair, assuring himself
of reality. I breathed in the scent of him, of stale
aftershave and sweat, and wondered if he had any
idea how draining these late-night sessions were
becoming for me. He finally released me, but kept
one hand resting on my arm, clinging to normalcy.
"I want you to take a sleeping pill," I told him.

"No."

It was a familiar argument, one I was getting tired
of repeating. "Yes."

"No! You know I hate what those things do to me."

"I just want you to take one. Please." He opened
his mouth to protest, and something snapped inside
of me. "Godammit, Mulder, has it ever occurred to
you that maybe *I'd* like to get a good night's sleep
for once on this trip?" As soon as the words were out,
I covered my mouth with my hand in horror. My
God, did I really just say that out loud?

The haunted look on his face assured me that I had.
"I'm sorry," he said stiffly. "You're absolutely right.
I'll take the pill."

"Mulder, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean--"

"I said I'll take the damn pill, Scully."

Like an automaton I went to my room, retrieved the
small white pill, and handed it to him wordlessly.
He swallowed it dry without looking at me and
curled back up on the bed in a heart-wrenching
fetal position. Guilt and regret hammered at me
until I climbed in beside him and placed my hand
on his bare back, ignoring the physical effect the
contact had on me. "I'll stay with you until you fall
asleep," I ventured in a conciliatory tone.

"Okay," he whispered.

And I stayed, gently tracing soft circles on his back
until he slipped into unconsciousness, and then
finally I drifted off as well, snuggled up against his
warm skin.

****
When I woke the next morning, he was already
showered and dressed and adjusting his god-awful
tie in front of the mirror above the dresser. "Good
morning," he said.

It took me a minute to remember why I had been
sleeping in Mulder's bed. "Sorry, Mulder," I yawned.
"I must have fallen asleep last night before I could
make it back to my room."

"Sure, Scully. Was it good for you, too?" he asked,
mock-innocent. I threw a pillow at him, which he
calmly batted out of the way before pulling his trenchcoat
from the closet.

"Where are you going?" I asked, having a feeling I
already knew the answer.

He avoided my eyes. "I'm just going to stop by the Hayes
house before we have to leave for the airport, make
sure Lisa is okay."

"Mulder, I don't think that's a good idea. We've already
filed a report. Our job here is finished."

He slipped on his coat, did a routine check for gun,
wallet, ID. "Can we please not make an issue out of
this?" he scowled.

I stared at him stonily, refusing to let him get away
with this, if for no other reason, than for his own
mental health. "You made this an issue the second
you became too emotionally involved with this case.
This has been the Lucy Householder/Amy Jacobs
case all over again with you. And after that, you were
depressed for weeks." I did not want either of us to
have to go through that again.

His eyes narrowed, and I instantly knew I had made
a major tactical error. "I'm so sick of this judgmental
attitude!" he exploded, and I flinched in spite of myself.
"You never become too attached to a case, do you,
Agent Scully? Or have you forgotten Kevin Cryder?
Or Luther Lee Boggs?"

I froze at the mention of that last name. "That's not fair,
Mulder. That was different," I said softly.

"If you say so, *Dana*." I winced at the harsh tone
he used on my first name. And suddenly he was gone.

End Part 1.

"Divided We Fall" by Dianora 2/13

Rated R for adult situations and language. All X-Files related
characters belong to Chris Carter, Fox, and Ten Thirteen.
Colin and Cecelia are mine. E-mail me at Dianora2@aol.com.
Please. :-)

I heard the door to his room open and close forty
minutes later, but refused to go to him, spending the
rest of the morning instead reading the paper and having
a big breakfast courtesy of room service. The ride to
the airport later passed in oppressive, tension-filled silence
until finally I couldn't take it anymore, even if it did mean
me giving in first. I silently promised myself that next time
I would hold out longer. "Did you get to see Lisa?" I asked,
proud of myself for being the one to offer the olive branch.

"She was sleeping," he said evasively.

"Mrs. Hayes didn't let you in, did she, Mulder." A quiet
statement of fact, but you'd think I'd accused him of
murder from the way his shoulders hunched up and his
fingers clenched the steering wheel.

"No."

As I looked at his familiar profile my maternal instinct
kicked in and I wanted nothing more than to take
him in my arms like a child and tell him everything
would be okay. But I knew I would just be lying.
"Did you really expect her to? She and her family
have been through enough in the past two weeks,"
I said gently.

"Scully, I know I've been a total asshole," he said
by way of an answer, changing the subject with
his usual skill. "And what I said earlier, about
Boggs...that was out of line."

"Yes, it was."

He stared at the road in front of him, his knuckles
white from the death grip he had on the wheel. "And
I know you think I got too close to this one, but I didn't.
Not any more so than usual."

For such an intelligent man he was extremely dense
when he wanted to be. "Mulder, that's exactly it," I
said quietly. "You get like this every time we have an
abduction case. And every time you worry the hell
out of me."

"Scully, I already have a mother, and one is more
than enough," he snapped.

"Is that how you see it?" I demanded, shocked,
suddenly regretting wanting to take him in my arms.
"I'm *mothering* you?"

"Forget it."

Not in this lifetime. "No, I will *not* forget it. Everything
I do for you I do because I'm your partner, Mulder. Your
partner and your friend. And if you have a problem with
any of that, just let me know, because I sure as hell
could use the free time."

He pulled the car to the side of the road, shut off the
ignition, and turned to me. I braced myself for a verbal
onslaught, but to my surprise he unhooked his seatbelt
and slid over to me instead, resting his hand gently on
mine. "God, I really am an asshole," he said with an air
of self-reproach. "I get all worked up over these cases
and then I take it out on you. I don't know why you
put up with me."

"I'm a masochist," I grumbled.

He *almost* cracked a smile at that. "Look, everything
I said in this car, forget it. It never happened."

I caught his gaze and held it, refusing to let it drop that
easily. "Why won't you just open up to me?" I whispered.
"Let me in, Mulder. Tell me what you're feeling, what you're
going through, and I can help you. Don't you trust me
enough to do that?"

He shook his head sadly. "It's not a matter of trust,
Scully. It's a lot more complicated. And I don't want
you wrestling with my personal demons any more than
you already have to."

"Don't you understand?" I asked, finding it hard to
believe that even after all this time, he just didn't get it.
"That's what friends do for each other. They listen.
And they help."

He didn't say anything, just looked at me with that same
haunted look from the night before and restarted the car.

****
I came home, as usual, to an empty apartment, the
room dark and the light on my answering machine
glowing steadily, unblinking. I tossed my luggage aside,
got out of my work clothes as quickly as possible and
slipped into my ratty, oversized terrycloth robe. I toyed
with the idea of fixing myself a drink, but soon decided
I didn't need anything messing with my emotions or my
libido, making me even more depressed. Instead I made
myself a steaming mug of hot cocoa, complete with mini-
marshmallows, and curled up on the couch with the latest
Anne Rice novel, determined to enjoy a quiet evening
relaxing, forgetting about work, about the case, about him.

Within minutes the book was set aside and forgotten.
Nice try, Dana, I thought ruefully. My mind would just
not let go of the look on Mulder's face in the car that
afternoon, that lost little boy look that tore away a
piece of my soul every time I saw it. Why, after all
this time, did he still refuse to let me in? And why
did I keep pushing? What was I getting out of it?
Night after night of sitting in an empty apartment,
pretending that the gaping loneliness didn't bother
me?

I absentmindedly rubbed the scar on the back of
my neck, as I had been doing all too often lately.
Images came flashing back to me unbidden, the
white light, Ishimaru looming over me, and those
women, those damn eerie women holding up their
implants in little glass vials...

---searingburningpiercingblindingwhereamIwhat'shappeningtome---

I shook my head violently, pushing the thoughts
aside, refusing to linger there in my head, refusing
to consider the implications that Betsy Hagopian dying
a slow and painful death held for me. The first few times
the memories had started to come back I found myself
hunched over the toilet, retching. At least I was starting
to handle it a little better.

I was so sick of it all, I realized wearily. Sick of thinking
about the damn implant, sick of constantly looking over
my shoulder, sick of feeling for the comforting weight of
my gun every time I turned the key in the lock of my
apartment door. Sick of Mulder needing me desperately
and at the same time pushing me away. Hell, I was
even sick of the goddamn X-Files. Just plain sick.

But what could I do about it? Go to Club Med? Jump
on a plane and fly the friendly skies the hell out of here?
Not likely. But then again....

Why not? I certainly had the time saved up; I didn't
even know what I was saving it for. A vacation. Alone.
Time away from the X-Files, from the FBI, from wearing
business suits every day...and time away from Mulder.
I wasn't sure how I felt about that last part. I would miss
him, absolutely, I would miss him desperately, but I would
also be free. Free from nightmares, from frenzied quests,
from panicked phone calls in the middle of the night.

God, that was so selfish. Mulder needed me, I had
no illusions about that. He'd needed me from the instant
he realized that even if I thought he was crazy, I'd never
mock him, and I'd always go along for the ride. But what
about my needs? What about the fact that I felt like I was
hurtling toward burnout with no one there to catch me
when I fell?

Maybe just a couple of weeks. A couple of weeks
somewhere remote, somewhere I could lose myself in
being just another person. I'd at least give it some serious
thought, I promised myself, and picked up the Rice novel
again, which was a vacation of sorts in itself, really, even
if it was only for a few hours and all in my head.

****
The phone rang in the middle of the night, jerking me
awake, making my heart race and the blood pound in my
ears until I gained the presence of mind to pick up the receiver.
"Hello?"

"Scully? Sorry to wake you."

"That's okay, Mulder. Another nightmare?" I yawned and
checked the clock. Three A.M. Wonderful.

"Yeah," he whispered. "Pretty bad."

"Do you want me to come over?"

"No."

"Do you want to come over here?"

"No. I just....needed to hear your voice."

"Okay." It was as if we were reading from a script,
we had been through this so many times before.

"Could you maybe just...just stay on the line until I fall
asleep?" he asked. "Just so I know you're there?"

"Sure. It's your phone bill," I joked lamely.

"Yeah."

I forced myself to stay awake until Mulder's breathing
slipped into the deep breaths of slumber, then I allowed
myself to fall back to sleep as well, telephone receiver
still pressed against my ear.

****
For the first time in a long time I was looking forward to a
day of nothing but dull, predictable paperwork, provided
Skinner didn't spring anything on us in the next eight hours
or so. I eagerly anticipated spending the day doing tasks
that had defined beginnings and endings, like filling out expense
reports and returning phone calls. And possibly requesting
vacation time. I couldn't decide whether to discuss the idea
with Mulder first or wait until it was a *fait accompli*. I'd probably
wind up doing the former, since Mulder had an impressive talent
for making me feel guilty over the slightest thing.

I headed straight for the basement office, not bothering to
check in at my cubicle on the third floor. Everything I needed
was already waiting for me in the home of the FBI's Most
Unwanted. I paused outside the office before entering, noting
Mulder's nameplate with a wry smile. Someday, I vowed,
I would get around to ordering a nameplate for myself to put
right below -- no, make that above -- his. Maybe I'd even add
it to today's To Do list.

Mulder was already there, of course, hunched over a file,
squinting. I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from nagging
him to put on his glasses. "Good morning, Mulder."

He looked up from the file and gave me a cursory glance
before returning to his squinting. "Morning," he mumbled.

So that's how it was going to be, was it? Cooped up all day
with Grumpy? Great. I took off my coat, set down my briefcase,
turned on my computer, and got a cup of coffee, all without
saying a word. My mood was already deflating. Maybe a trip
up to see the ever-fawning Agent Pendrell would lift my spirits
if Mulder got me down....

"How are you doing this morning?" I wasn't about to give up
quite so easily.

"Hmm?" He glanced up again. "Fine."

"Good," I said brightly, and he gave me a small smile
that warmed my heart more than it should have. Maybe
the day would be tolerable after all. I had a sudden urge
to walk over to him and ruffle his hair playfully, but restrained
myself. Instead, paperwork. Nice, boring paperwork. I
called up the expense report template on my computer and
shuffled through my briefcase until I found all my receipts,
then started plunking in numbers.

An hour later I was bleary-eyed and wondering what I had
been so optimistic about. Paperwork, to paraphrase my
young godson, sucked. I sneaked a look at Mulder. He
seemed to still be absorbed in the same file he was looking
at when I arrived. "Mulder." He grunted. "I'm bored."

He looked up at me, cracked a grin, and deadpanned,
"Agent Scully, do you mean to say that filling out expense
reports is not your idea of stimulating activity?"

"Shocking, isn't it," I said dryly. Really curious now, I
approached his desk and loomed over him, enjoying as I
always did the illusion of being taller than my overgrown
partner. "What are you reading?"

He shrugged guiltily. "Nothing."

"Is that why you haven't torn your eyes away from it all
morning?" My gaze fell on the file's label. I should have
known. "Mulder, this is Samantha's file," I said tentatively.

"Okay, you caught me. Happy now? I just...I need to go
over it once in a while, make sure there's nothing I've missed."

Once in a while. After every abduction case. Damn damn
damn damn damn. "Mulder, let's..." I didn't know what,
just something to get him away from that file. "Let's go to
brunch."

"Brunch? Are you serious?"

"Yes. Not only am I bored, I'm hungry. Come on.
My treat."

"Well, in that case..." He smiled, not just with his mouth,
but with his beautiful hazel eyes too, and I was glad to see
my best friend resurface. It was definitely worth the price of
some pancakes and coffee.

I managed to distract Mulder throughout the meal by
relating to him the latest installment of the Days of Scully
Lives. Between my brothers, my cousins, and the rest of
my extended family, there was always plenty of gossip to
dish out. Over Belgian waffles I regaled him with the story
of Brendan Scully and His Dirty Little Secret, AKA Annemarie
Pinto, the woman for whom he was leaving his wife and three
kids. Mulder followed along avidly, inserting lewd comments
wherever they were obviously necessary. He loved to get
wrapped up in my family dramas; I think he liked to pretend,
at least for a little while, that he was a part of my family, a
part of a large group of people who fought and cheated, yes,
but who also loved each other fiercely and deeply. I hoped
that someday, some woman would be able to bring that to
him. He deserved it more than anyone I had ever met. In
fact, maybe someday he and I...No. I shook my head,
warding off dangerous and unproductive thoughts. Mulder
was studying the check, and I made a move to get my wallet,
but he stopped me.

"No, Scully. This is my treat."

"No way, Mulder. I offered, remember?"

"I know, but..." He studied the formica tabletop intently.
"You gave me a lot more than just comfort food this morning,
Scully. Picking up the check is the least I can do."

"Okay," I relented, "but next time is on me. No arguments."

He grinned. "Deal."

When we exited the diner it was to discover that the sky
had become a brooding, dark gray, filled with ominous
black clouds. "Looks like it's going to rain any minute,"
I observed, stating the obvious.

"And I didn't bring an umbrella with me to the office,
either," he said sourly.

"I did, but a lot of good it's going to do us sitting
back there." I had barely finished my sentence when
the sky opened, drenching us with an impromptu
downpour. Perfect.

"Shit!" we cursed in unison, and began sprinting down
the block in the direction of the office. Running with
Mulder was a farce; he was half a mile ahead of me
before I could even blink. He eventually realized I was
nowhere near him and stopped, waiting for me, tapping
his foot impatiently. I forced myself into an extra burst
of speed, cursing the powers that be for outfitting me with
such short legs.

When I caught up to him, he grinned down at me and
tugged my coat sleeve. "Over here," he said with a
mischievous glint in his eye that I knew all too well. He
ushered me over to the entrance to a nearby apartment
building, which was protected by a narrow slate overhang.
"Let's wait here for the worst of it to pass," he suggested.
As I nodded my agreement, it occurred to me that we were
standing very close, and that Mulder looked adorable with
his hair slicked back and his designer suit soaked through.
I think he noticed something too, because he suddenly
seemed to tense a little, and took the slightest step away
from me. He couldn't go far, though, because the overhang
didn't cover much surface area.

I ran my fingers through my hair, pushing the wet
strands out of my face and smoothing the hair back.
I felt like the proverbial drowned rat, and my suede shoes
were probably ruined. Damn. I looked up at Mulder,
opening my mouth to complain about the shoes, but shut
up immediately. He was staring at me, an odd, unfamiliar
look on his face, his lips parted slightly. "Mulder? Is
something wrong?"

He snapped out of it, tried to play it off, licking his lips
nervously. "Nah. I just never noticed before how attractive
you are when you're dripping wet."

He meant it as a tease, I knew he did, but somehow
it just didn't work. His eyes locked onto mine with an
intensity that nearly took my breath away. We stared
at each other for what seemed like forever as the world
stood still. I could feel my breath quicken, tried to stop
it but couldn't. What were we doing? Slowly, as if in a
trance, he lifted his hand and placed it gently against my
cheek, his long fingers trembling against my skin. I couldn't
think, I couldn't move, all I could do was close my eyes and
thrill like a schoolgirl at the feel of his skin on mine.

His palm caressed my cheek, hesitantly, tenderly, for
endless moments, and then it was gone. I almost gasped
aloud at the loss, but managed to compose myself and
settled for just opening my eyes and blushing furiously.

"Rain's stopped," he said hoarsely.

He was right. The rain was just a drizzle now, a drizzle
that would probably last all day. "Yeah," I said, and immediately
wanted to kick myself. Such witty repartee from two intelligent
adults; we just sparkled with brilliance.

More of that sizzling eye contact between us then, the kind
of thing I thought only happened in the movies, and then
Mulder broke away, studying his shoes, seemingly fighting
some internal battle. He finally looked back up at me
and offered me his arm and a boyish smile. "Come on.
Paperwork awaits."

End Part 2.

"Divided We Fall" by Dianora 3/13

All previous disclaimers apply. Rated R. Cecelia and
Colin are mine. Comments to Dianora2@aol.com.

When we got back I was relieved to see Mulder close
Samantha's file and set it aside, turning instead to his own
expense form. We worked in companionable silence for a
while, until Mulder was called upstairs to put in his two cents
on a serial killer profile some rookie agent had written.

To my credit, I was able to resist temptation for about fifteen
minutes. I strolled over to his desk and flipped open
Samantha's file.

He had added to it quite a bit since I had looked at it following
the Ruby Morris case, a lifetime ago. The whole nightmare
involving the female clones and the Gregors was well-
documented, as well as Mulder's discoveries in New Mexico
and the existence of a file on Samantha in that abandoned
mineshaft in West Virginia. There were also assorted
scribblings pertaining to his father, the choice his father
had evidently made, and the sinister connections William
Mulder had forged with what Mulder saw as an inner circle
within the government. There were even references in
there to my experiences, to my returning memories about
my abduction and how they could possibly be related to
what may have happened to Samantha. It was amazing to
me how much information he had managed to glean from
every experience related to his sister, no matter how tangential
or tenuous the connection. I looked wistfully at the picture
of her in there. Such a cute girl, with long brown hair in braids
just like Missy used to wear. Missy...god, why did we both
have to lose our sisters? It was like some twisted cosmic
joke.

"What are you doing?" I jerked my head up to see Mulder
standing in the doorway, his fists clenched at his sides,
his expression dark.

Brunch froze in the pit of my stomach. "I was just...I was
looking at Samantha's file," I said weakly.

"Scully, I had everything arranged just the way I wanted it,
in a way to help me sort through all the facts. You could
have messed everything up." He crossed the room in three
strides and grabbed the manila folder out of my hands. Why
did he have to overreact this way?

"I'm sorry, Mulder."

"Fine, Scully. Just, just leave it alone, all right?"

"Mulder, I...it's not healthy for you to be poring over that
file the way you have been. Why can't *you* just leave it
alone, just for once?"

"You know that I can't," he snarled. "Now drop it."

I stood there watching him, and could not believe how self-
absorbed he was capable of being. "Has it ever occurred to
you, Mulder, that you're not the only one who feels responsible
for losing a sister?" I couldn't believe I was saying this; it was
as if someone else had taken over my vocal cords and was
spewing out the words. My voice was trembling, and I dug
my nails into the palms of my hands to keep from crying.
I would not let him see me cry.

That seemed to faze him for a moment. "Scully, that's
not the same thing."

"Why, Mulder?" My voice was shaking more with
anger now, anger and indignation and guilt. "Because
you were too young to be able to stop them and I wasn't?
Because if I hadn't been running around on *your* quest
maybe I could have saved her? Or because it was
supposed to have been me? Should have been me?"
He opened his mouth to speak, but I was on a roll. "No,
you're right Mulder, it's not the same thing. You're lucky.
Your sister might still be alive. My sister is *dead.* In the
ground. And do you want to know something? I'm glad it
wasn't me who was shot in my apartment that night. I'm
glad that I'm the one still living. And I'm also glad Samantha
was taken and not you, because then you never would
have been a part of my life."

"And if I was never a part of your life, Melissa would still
be alive," he said, predictably sinking into self-guilt.

I wasn't having it. Not this time. "Maybe that's true.
And maybe not. Maybe it was just Melissa's time to go.
I try to believe that. I have to believe that, that God has
a reason...and maybe he had a reason for Samantha, too."

"I don't see how there can be a reason for something so
senseless," he snarled.

"Well, that's where you and I differ, isn't it," I said coldly.
"I try not to spend my life wrapped up in guilt and despair
and what-ifs and could-have-beens."

He looked at me with amazement and outrage. "You don't
understand."

Now, a tear did escape from my eye, and I wiped it away
angrily. "I do understand. And if you think I don't, then
maybe you really don't understand *me*. I know you better
than anyone, Mulder. And sometimes I'm really frightened
by what I see."

"Well, then, by all means, let me get out of your sight so you
don't have to be frightened any longer." And with a slam of
the door, he was gone.

I slumped into the nearest chair and cursed under my breath,
gulping back tears.

****
He called me three times that night, each message
on the answering machine more desperate than the
last, asking me to forgive him. I sat there in my empty
apartment, listening to each message as he left it, and
wondered how my life had gotten so confused.

After the last "Please call me, I need to talk to you"
from Mulder, I shrugged into my coat and drove to Mom's.

She instantly knew something was wrong, in that
uncanny way mothers have of looking straight into
your soul. She sat me down with a pot of herbal tea
and told me to spill it. Wearily, I related the events of
the past couple weeks, of the Lisa Hayes case, of our
horrible fight that afternoon and his pleas to reconcile.
And by the time I finished telling her, I knew for myself
what the problem was.

"I can't...I just can't do this anymore, Mom. I can't be
everything he needs me to be. But I love my job. And
I care about Mulder a lot. Maybe more than I should.
I don't know what to do." I raised my tear-streaked face
to her, wanting her to be a Mommy and make it all better.

She patted my hand comfortingly, and her soft touch
helped a little. "You mentioned a possible vacation."

I laughed bitterly. "For what? Two weeks? Fourteen
days and then come right back to this? That's not enough.
Not the way I'm feeling." I couldn't even bring up the
implant to her, couldn't mention the fact that someone had
possibly been trying to capture my memories, or that she
could lose her only living daughter to some strange, probably
man-made disease. I could never let her worry about that,
especially since I didn't know if anything would actually
come of it. Better to keep that information locked away,
where it couldn't hurt anyone but me. And Mulder. It was
yet another burden the two of us had to share alone, now
that Missy was gone.

"Well, then, don't just take two weeks, or even three weeks.
Take a leave of absence. Take a couple of months, tell them
it's burnout. There must be a way."

I could feel my jaw hanging open. Why hadn't I thought
of such a thing? I had heard of similar instances, and not
all of them involved mental breakdowns. Didn't *I* deserve
some extended time? Sure, the paperwork would be a bitch,
and Skinner would probably have my head, but it just might
be worth it.

"Thanks, Mom. That never even occurred to me. I would
love to get away from here for a while, to escape everything."
I smiled sheepishly. "Do I sound like a coward?"

Mom shook her head. "No. You sound like someone who
knows what she needs to do for her own mental health.
We've all been through a lot in the past year or so."

My eyes met hers, and I could see the threat of tears
glistening there. "I miss her, Mom," I whispered.
"I miss her a lot."

"Me too."

So much still went unsaid, hovering in the air between
us. I knew deep down in my heart that she didn't blame
me for Melissa's death, but I wasn't sure I would ever be
able to truly accept that, to let that vindicate me somehow.
It was like a raw wound between us that would probably
never heal. And there really wasn't anything I could say
about it that would make either of us feel any better.
She understood that, too.

"So where will you go?" she asked, turning the subject
away from Missy the way she always did.

"Go?" I hadn't even thought about it.

"You should go somewhere fun, somewhere you can enjoy
yourself. Maybe visit a friend?"

I chewed my lower lip thoughtfully. Someplace fun, someplace
I could escape, some*one* fun. And then it hit me. Oh, boy,
if this could work... "Maybe I could call Cecelia."

My mom looked at me with a mixture of humor and trepidation,
the singular look she reserved for my former roommate.
"Cecelia Baudino? The two of you together again, there's a
scary thought. She's living in New Orleans, isn't she?"

I nodded. "She designs costume jewelry down there.
And I love that city. I really can't think of anyplace else
I'd rather spend some time. And Cece...wow. She would
definitely help me forget about work for a while." I laughed
softly, and Mom patted my hand.

"Do what you think is best for you," she advised. "But
don't shut Fox out. He cares about you deeply. Don't
forget that, no matter how burnt out you are."

"I won't."

****
The decision was made but I was positively wracked
with guilt. Should I talk about it with Mulder now? Or
wait until after I had cleared it with Skinner and made
all the arrangements? Ultimately, I decided to wait.
There was no point in hurting Mulder until it was absolutely
necessary. And I knew it would hurt him, but this was
something I knew I had to do. For my own sake. I would
die for Mulder, but I was having a lot of trouble living for
him.

I didn't call Mulder back that night, afraid that somehow
my plan would spill out of my mouth. Instead, I went into
the office bright and early the next morning, bringing some
danish as a peace offering.

He was there, of course. I suspected that he sometimes
slept there, although he'd never admit to such a thing.
His face lit up when he saw me, but it was shadowed with
pain and regret. "Hi," he said tentatively.

"Good morning," I replied. I walked straight over to his
desk and set the brown paper bag down in front of him.
"I got us breakfast. Blueberry danish."

"Thanks."

"I'm sorry I didn't call you back last night, Mulder,"
I said quietly. "I just needed some time alone."

"That's okay. I'm sorry if I was harassing you." I shook
my head to assure him that he wasn't. "I'm really sorry
about yesterday, Scully. I shouldn't have snapped at you.
If I wanted anyone in this world look at Sam's file, it would
be you. You know that."

"I do, Mulder. And I'm sorry I said such hurtful things to
you. I was angry, and upset, and I lashed out."

"No, you were right, Scully. About everything."

"Mulder," I said, and I could feel myself getting
impatient already, "that's not true. I said some really
out-of-line stuff yesterday that I didn't mean, and you
should *not* take it all to heart and let it eat you up inside.
Understand?"

He nodded, but I knew that I hadn't gotten through to him.
I covered his hand with my own, and squeezed hard. "We
okay now?" He nodded again and squeezed back. We
shared a slow smile, and I fought the impulse to throw my
arms around him and envelop him in a bear hug. I think he
felt the same way, because he reached up with his other
hand and gently squeezed my arm. I finally pulled away
reluctantly and hung up my coat while he devoured the
danish in a way that made me think he hadn't eaten anything
the night before. He's a big boy, Dana, I reminded myself.
Stop it.

I filled out the leave of absence request that afternoon
and dropped it off with Skinner's assistant. I felt horrendous
about going behind Mulder's back, but I knew I was doing
the right thing by waiting to tell him. What if I were to mention
it and then leave was denied me? Knowing Skinner and
how he felt about us, it was a possibility.

I got a call from Skinner's office the next morning.
I made up some silly story to Mulder about having to go
visit Agent Pendrell, which elicited a sly smile and an X-
rated retort, making me feel even worse that I was lying
to him.

Skinner was waiting for me, pacing behind his desk.

"You realize, Agent Scully, that this is highly irregular," he
said by way of greeting.

I cleared my throat, reminded myself to be confident, firm.
"I'm aware of that, sir. But you'll notice that any time I have
had off has been due to injuries occurred in the line of duty
or...extraordinary circumstances." I swallowed hard. Best
not to dwell on that, forge ahead. "And there are many
instances where I was entitled to leave and elected to decline."

He absentmindedly ran a hand over his bald pate.
"You don't have to tell me, Agent Scully." He stopped
pacing and looked at me squarely. "Have you discussed
this with anyone? A professional?"

Typical reaction. Maybe working side by side with the
Bureau's resident nutcase has finally rubbed off, huh?
"Sir, I don't need a psychiatrist to confirm that I just need
to get away for a while. A few months off, and I'll be fine."

He exhaled loudly, decision evidently made. "Agent Scully,
I'm going to grant you leave for 12 weeks, but I'm going on
record as not liking the idea. Have you spoken to Agent
Mulder about this?" He skewered me with a stare, and I
could practically hear him thinking, How am I possibly going
to keep Mulder in line without Scully here to hold the reins?
I forced myself to refrain from squirming, but the oppressive
guilt I was feeling made it difficult for me to meet his eyes.

"Not yet. I wanted to be sure I had the leave before I told
him about it."

He cracked a small smile, just for a second, but it took me
aback nonetheless. "Well, I don't envy you that task, Agent
Scully. Good luck."

Sensing that was a dismissal of sorts, I stood and extended
my hand to him. "Thank you, sir."

He shook it firmly. "Godspeed."

I chickened out and didn't tell Mulder that afternoon. Or
that evening when we had dinner together at our favorite
Chinese restaurant. I wanted to talk to Cecelia first, make
sure that all this was really going to happen.

End Part 3.

"Divided We Fall" by Dianora 4/13

All previous disclaimers apply.

"Hello." Cecelia's voice almost knocked me over with
the rush of memories it brought.

"Hi, Cece. It's Dana."

"Dana Scully? Holy shit!" I could practically see that excited
gleam in her dark brown eyes. "What's going on?
How are you?"

"Cece, I need a favor. A big favor. In fact, it's huge."
There was no sense in beating around the bush with
Cecelia; if you even tried small talk first she'd see right
through it and lose all respect for you.

"Uh oh. Knew there had to be a reason you were calling.
God forbid you just call to say hello," she said sternly,
but I knew she was only trying to psych me out. She
could give Mulder lessons on that one. "What is it?"

"Well...I'm taking a short leave of absence from the
Bureau. Three months, to be exact. And I wanted to
spend it in New Orleans."

"And you need a place to stay."

It was refreshing to talk to someone who was so blissfully
direct. "Um, yeah. Where else would I go?"

"There are some lovely hotels in the area."

"Cece, please. At least until I can find a place to sublet.
I know it's a lot to ask, but I really need you to come
through for me. Please?"

"Oh, all right. I'll make the sacrifice, turn my life upside
down and inside out for you," she said melodramatically.
"I do owe you one, I guess. Give or take about ten thousand."

"That's for sure. I can't wait to see you," I said fondly,
laughing.

"Me neither, girlfriend. So get your ass down here!
The sofabed will be waiting for you."

****
Once all the arrangements had been made, there was
nothing to stop me from telling Mulder. I tried to rationalize
it by telling myself that Mulder was always running off to one
place or another, on some wild goose chase, half the time
without even letting me know he was leaving. But I knew
this wasn't the same thing. Not by a longshot.

My stomach was in knots all the next morning at the
office. I waited until we were both settled and knee-
deep in work before I worked up the nerve to broach
the subject.

I cleared my throat softly. "Mulder? I need to talk to
you about something."

He looked up from the report he was reading, his
brow furrowed with curiosity. "What is it, Scully?"

I studied my fingernails. Just do it, Dana. Stay calm.
"I've been doing a lot of thinking, Mulder, and I've come
to the conclusion that I can't deal with things around
here anymore, not right now. Between finding out more
about my abduction, and what that implant was probably
for, and the way things have been between us lately...I
just, I've decided I need to get away for a while. Skinner's
given me a three-month leave of absence, and I'm using
it to go to New Orleans, stay with Cecelia. I know this is
probably unfair to you, but I need to do this. I hope you
can understand." The words all came out in a rush, and
when I was finished I looked up from my nails to see his
reaction. He had gotten to his feet, as if the information
was too much to absorb sitting down.

"You're leaving?" he said in disbelief. "Just like that?
Ditching me? Abandoning our work?" His eyes darkened,
closing off from me.

"I need to do this, Mulder," I repeated, trying to get
through to him, to break down some of those defenses.

"I can't believe you're just going to leave me," he said,
possibly more lost than I had ever seen him.

"It's just for three months," I told him. "I'll be back
before you know it." The words sounded unconvincing
even to my own ears. Why did he have to make this
so difficult? Why did he have to need me so much that
I could hardly hold on to even a small part of myself
any longer?

"Which is it Scully?" he snapped at me. "Is it me, or
is it the X-Files you're running away from? Which?"
He came closer, loomed over me, his head hovering
just above mine like always, making my heart flutter
and my resolve weaken. "Tell me." His hazel eyes
were harsh and demanding.

"B,both," I stammered, forcing myself to meet those
eyes that were condemning me, to look straight at him and
let him see the truth on my face, yes, I had to get away
from him, from all this, at least for a little while, and I
hated myself for it.

"When do you leave?"

"Saturday."

"Two days from now. Well, you certainly didn't waste
any time, did you, Scully."

"Please don't make this any more difficult than it has
to be," I whispered, looking away from him.

"Sorry, Scully, I wouldn't want to make this *difficult*
for you," he sneered.

"Why can't you understand?"

"Why did you feel the need to do all of this behind
my back? Why didn't you tell me about this as soon
as you decided on it? How could you go to Skinner
without telling me?"

"I didn't tell you because I didn't know if Skinner would
let me take so much time off. I didn't see the point of
telling you until I knew for sure I was doing it." His eyes
were shadowed with such pain and sadness, and it
tugged at my heart. But I forced myself to be strong.
"Do you think this was an easy decision for me? That
I'm enjoying this? It's just something I have to do, for
myself. I'll be back in three months, maybe as good
as new," I said, trying to sound optimistic.

He crouched down beside me so that he was
looking up into my face. "Scully, how much of this
is about the implant? Tell me the truth."

"That's a part of it," I admitted.

"'Cause if that's what this is all about, we can talk
about it, we can get you some help--"

"Mulder, stop." I had to smile a little; I wasn't used
to him being quite so earnest. I took his hands in
mine, as if my physical touch could somehow get
through to him when words failed. "The implant,
what I discovered in Allentown, that's definitely a
part of why I need to get away from here. I need
to distance myself from it, to try to come to terms
with it. But there's more to it than that."

"What?"

"Now, Mulder, I don't want you wrestling with my
personal demons any more than you already have
to." He smiled sardonically as I threw his own words
back at him.

"Touche, Agent Scully." He got up and walked away
from me, running his hands through his hair in
exasperation. "I don't like this, Scully. I can't
remember when I liked anything less."

"I'm not leaving forever. I'm not abandoning you."

"Fine. Whatever." He grabbed his coat and was
out the door. I was getting tired of all of our
arguments ending that way.

****
I didn't go in to work on Friday so that I could
pack for my trip. At least, that was the reason I
gave Mulder. He must have known I was really
just being a coward, because he showed up at my
apartment that night, rumpled and unshaven and
smelling faintly of alcohol.

He surveyed the disarray caused by packing for
three months' time and allowed himself a small smile.
"This is the messiest I've ever seen this place."

"Well, take a good look, because it'll never be this
messy again," I grumbled. I wasn't too happy that he
had decided to drop in unannounced. The last thing
I had any time for was melodrama.

"Harumph," he harumphed, flopping down onto my
couch and loosening his tie further. "You got anything
to drink?"

"Mulder, I am not going to contribute to your getting
drunk. You should know that when you get drunk
you just get incredibly boring."

"Now, don't try to sweet-talk me, Scully. Give it to
me straight." At that moment I really wished I hadn't
given away the Pomeranian to Mom; I would have
loved to sic him on my partner. "Are you almost
done packing?" I could tell he was trying to keep
his voice neutral, and I had to give him credit for that.

"Almost."

"Will you leave me Cecelia's number?"

I had been dreading this moment. "Mulder, I don't
plan on leaving you with any contact information.
Cece's number is unlisted. If there's an emergency,
you can call my mother, and she'll give you the
number. I'm not even turning on my cell phone while
I'm gone."

"You're not going to leave me with a way to get in
touch with you?" I swear I wouldn't have been surprised
if he had started crying, he looked so wounded.

"I just told you a way, Mulder. Look, I know you.
If I give you the number where I'm going to be, you
will call me every other day just to check up on me.
And I'm not going to let you do that. I need to get
away from here, and you calling me all the time is
not going to help me do it."

"Well, don't you have a high opinion of yourself,"
he said nastily.

"And please don't use the Gunmen or anyone else
to try to track me down. Mulder, I'm not just doing
this for me. I'm doing it for you, too. You need
to realize that you can get along just fine without
me."

He flew off the couch and grabbed my arm so hard
it hurt. "How can you say that to me?" he whispered.
"How can you do this to *us*?"

I jerked my arm away from him. "Us? Stop it, Mulder.
Stop talking like we're a couple. You are not my
husband. You're not even my boyfriend, or my
lover. You have no right to say things like that to me."

He opened his mouth to retort, but shut it as a look
of intense sadness passed over his face. "I guess
I don't, do I?" he mumbled softly, more to himself
than to me. "Scully, I thought that what we share
goes deeper than anything sexual. I'm sorry if
I'm wrong about that."

"Mulder..." Now it was my turn to feel awful.
How could two people who were so close have
such problems communicating with each other?
"You're right. I'm sorry. But I'm still not giving
you the number. I'll call you, okay?"

"Okay. If that's the way you want it, I guess
I can't stop you. But I'm driving you to the airport
tomorrow."

"Mulder, please, that's not necessary."

"Let me do this for you, Scully. It's the least
you can let me do."

Something in his eyes pushed all my buttons.
"Okay. Pick me up at 11."

As he walked out the door, he said, "You know,
I think I'd feel better about this whole thing if you
weren't staying with Cecelia. That woman is out
of control."

"I'll try not to have too much fun without you," I
told him, and pushed him out into the hallway.

****
He picked me up promptly the next morning,
and the ride to the airport passed mostly in
silence. We didn't really say much of anything
until we were at the gate and the boarding of
my flight was announced.

"I have to go, Mulder," I said, not sure what
else to say.

"Call me when you get there, so I know you
arrived okay?"

I hesitated, then nodded. "I will."

"Scully, I need you," Mulder said simply.

"I know, Mulder. And that's not always an
easy thing to live with."

His eyes watered, and I could feel the sting of
unshed tears in my own. "I'm sorry," he
whispered.

"Me too."

He held open his arms, and I stepped into
them, clinging to him, memorizing the scent
and feel of him, imprinting it on my brain to
last me for the next three months. He buried
his face in my hair, and I rapidly blinked back
tears. God, this was so much harder than I
thought it would be. I pulled away from him
before all of my nerve evaporated. "I'd better
get going."

"Scully--" And the next thing I knew he was
gripping my shoulders and his mouth was on
mine, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth.
My mind went blank for a second, and then an
unbelievable surge of desire shot through me,
and I started to return the kiss hungrily, wanting
nothing more than to wrap my arms around him
and lose myself in his embrace. But common
sense soon invaded my thoughts and quickly
gave way to righteous anger. I pushed him away
as hard as I could, which, granted, didn't have
the desired effect. Damn him for being so huge.
He couldn't even look at me.

"Mulder, that was so unfair," I said quietly, glad
that my voice wasn't shaking. "Not to mention
manipulative. That display wouldn't have gotten
me to stay, even if I had thought for a second
that you meant it." I shouldered my bag and
turned to go.

"Scully..." He reached for me, but I shrank
away from him.

"Goodbye, Mulder." I forced myself to walk away
from the most important man in my life without
looking back.

End Part 4.

"Divided We Fall" by Dianora 5/13

All previous disclaimers apply. Cecelia and Colin are
mine. Rated R. Thanks again to Schlampe and XFScully
for information on New Orleans. E-mail me at
Dianora2@aol.com

I settled into my seat on the plane, my mind and
emotions awhirl. What had just happened back there?
How could he pull a stunt like that? Who did he think
I was, Angela White or Bambi or some other bimbo?
Of all the rotten, low-down, dirty tricks to pull...

What bothered me the most was that I had indulged in
quite a few fantasies of what our first kiss might be like.
I wasn't stupid or naive; I knew it was always a possibility
that we would advance our relationship in that direction,
although I also knew it was just as likely that neither one
of us would ever work up the nerve to make the first move.
And for him to finally do something, but for completely
selfish reasons, purely to get me to stay so that *he* would
have what he needed -- it just made me sick to my stomach.

If only it hadn't felt so damn good...

That's enough of that, I admonished myself. You are on
this plane to get away from precisely that sort of nonsense.
I pushed Mulder out of my thoughts and concentrated on the
future. Which only led me right back to the past.

Cecelia Baudino. She was the kind of friend who enters into
every bookish girl's life at some point, the kind of friend that
a geek like me thought commanded the world, and could some
of that please rub off on me? I felt so cool around her, so
envied, and while we were roommates I did some of the craziest
and most reckless things I had ever done. Like the time we
conned that cop into letting us into that club, or the time the
two of us picked up that businessman off campus, or the incident
with the FDA raiding the dorm...no wonder my mom was worried.
And when she and Mulder had met it had been an unmitigated
disaster. Cecelia came on to him like a Mack truck, just like I
expected her to, and according to Cece things actually started
progressing between them before Mulder bailed out. I don't
think she ever recovered from the blow to her ego. I never did
get the full story from him on why he turned her down, but it
certainly strained things between them. I couldn't wait for her
to go back to New Orleans so I wouldn't be caught in the
middle any more.

Which all brought me right back to Mulder. Damn him,
anyway.

****
Cecelia was waiting for me in the Arrivals area, waving
her hands wildly, as if I could somehow miss her electric
blue satin jacket or that trademark mane of long, curly,
brown hair. She was practically jumping up and down
by the time I dragged myself and my luggage over to
where she was standing.

"Dana!" She enveloped me in a strong hug, and the scent
of Red washed over me. "You look fabulous!"

"You're not looking bad yourself," I said dryly. Now that
I was close to her, I noticed that underneath the satin blazer
she wore nothing but a black unitard, capped off by black
platform sandals. Her body made me green with envy,
always had. It wasn't enough that she was 5'9" and drop-
dead gorgeous, with pale skin and liquid brown eyes and
cheekbones most models would kill for. She had to have
a body that never quit on top of that. The woman could eat
a pint of ice cream a day and not gain a pound. Sickening.

"You've lost weight, haven't you," Cece chattered on. "And
your hair looks so much better! I love the style, and that
color is just perfect."

"Thanks, Cece," I said automatically, used to these little
appraisals. "Can we get out of here? I'm beat."

"Oh, of course! The car's double-parked out front. I
actually talked a cop into keeping an eye on it for me, can
you believe?"

"Absolutely," I said, glad that I had my own badge and
didn't need to depend on the kindness of strangers.

She picked up one of my bags without my having to ask
her to, a sign that she must have been excited to see me.
I could feel my spirits already starting to lift, especially
when we walked out of the terminal and I breathed in that
sweet New Orleans air. Granted, it was heavily tainted by
carbon monoxide fumes in the parking lot, but I was eager
to take what I could get. Cecelia effusively thanked the
young officer who was indeed keeping a close watch on her
car, and asked him for his number so she could further
thank him at a later date. I had to bite the inside of my
cheek to keep from laughing at the young man's eagerness;
I knew perfectly well she had no intention of calling him,
unless she needed to get out of a speeding ticket.

We talked comfortably in the car on the way to her
apartment, and she obligingly pointed out all the necessary
places: laundromat, hair salon, supermarket, drugstore, and
every bar and restaurant. I remembered the last time I had
been here; there hadn't really been enough time to do much
more than the usual French Quarter debauchery. Not that
there was anything wrong with that, but I was looking
forward to getting to know the real New Orleans.

She helped me lug my bags up the two flights to her
apartment on Julia Street before collapsing onto her black
leather couch, kicking off her sandals and massaging her
temples in a display of fatigue. I was tempted to start
unpacking right away, but decided I'd much rather be doing
what Cece was. I flopped into an armchair and spread my
legs in an undignified fashion, loving every minute of it.

"Tonight," Cece declared, "we do take-out. I'm
exhausted."

I smiled at her. "Cece, all you did today was pick me
up at the airport. You can't be that tired."

"Oh, it's not that, sweetie. I was out late last night,
that's all."

I looked at her enviously. I couldn't even remember the
last time I had been out late on a Friday night, doing
something that didn't involve a case. I certainly didn't
want Cecelia's lifestyle; it was just that once in a while I
could use some excitement in my life unrelated to serial
killings or conspiracy theories. Was that so wrong?

"So do you want to talk about it?"

Her question startled me out of my reverie. "About
what?" I asked, pretending not to understand.

"About why you're here, stupid. Something major must
have gone down for you to leave your job for three months.
That job is your life."

"Really? I hadn't noticed," I said dryly.

"Sarcasm does not become you," she snorted. "You're
talking to the master, remember?" She narrowed her
eyes at me, and I almost cringed. I had learned to be
wary of that look. "This is about Mulder, isn't it? The
only guy in the world who ever turned down sleeping
with me? Because he was too hung up on you?"

"That wasn't why," I mumbled, feeling my cheeks
redden.

"Yeah, right. It must have been my hideous physical
appearance."

"Cece...yes, a lot of this is about Mulder. But not in the
way you think. Mulder can be very...difficult. There is
one person in this world that Mulder trusts. Me. That's
a lot to live up to."

"It also says a lot about what kind of person you are,
Dana," she said quietly. "And about how he feels
about you."

I shook my head, not wanting to hear this. "We're
partners. And we're good friends. But sometimes I
feel like he needs more than that, and doesn't know
how to ask. Doesn't *want* to ask. Besides, I wouldn't
know what to give him."

She raised an eyebrow at me in a perfect arch. I
had picked up that particular habit from her during
college. "Are we talking about the big 'L' word, here?"

"No," I said quickly. "That's not what I mean.
Lately I just feel like he needs me too much, to the
exclusion of *my* needs. It was really getting to me.
And that was part of why I had to get away for a while."

"So what's the rest of it?"

"Just work," I said vaguely, rubbing the back of my
neck self-consciously.

"Dana." Cece leaned forward, forcing my eyes to meet
hers. "Has it ever occurred to you that maybe you need
Mulder just as much as he needs you?"

I looked at her steadily. "No."

I stopped myself from adding, I'm not the one who's
all fucked up in the head.

I called Mulder that night, as I had promised I would,
and luckily he wasn't at home. I didn't want to think
about where he was, what he was doing. I left as civil a
message as I could manage under the circumstances.

"Mulder, it's me. I'm here. I'm fine. Goodbye."

When Cece left for work on Monday I took the opportunity
to wander the city on my own, soaking it all in. Although
I hadn't planned on it, I soon found myself in the Garden
District, strolling down St. Charles Street and breathing in
the scent of wisteria. It was so peaceful here; the streets were
fairly empty on a weekday afternoon, and the houses were
my silent companions on my journey. And what houses they
were: mansions, really, at least most of them, with Greek
columns and iron lace balconies and shuttered windows. The
clinging, blooming ivy was so prevalent that I could almost
imagine it as one huge plant, strung through the blocks and
over houses like a grand string of Christmas lights.

I went looking for Anne Rice's house, and once I found it
on the corner of First and Chestnut, I just stood there and
reveled in the beauty of it, in the dusky purple paint and
the wrought-iron gate and the multiple balconies. According
to Anne the house was haunted, and looking at it now, at the
dark windows and the lush vegetation that surrounded the
house like a shroud, I could--almost--believe it. It struck me
that Mulder would love this house, would love to just stand
outside and stare at it and formulate theories...no. He would
concoct ghost stories, fanciful tales of terror and gloom, his
energy and imagination fed by the air of mystery that hung
in the air in this neighborhood. He'd see a ghost behind
every curtain and shade, I mused.

Suddenly I was angry with myself. I was doing it again,
bringing Mulder into my thoughts when I was supposed to
be forgetting about him for a while.

And there it was in my head again, that kiss, his lips
pressing against mine. God damn. I was still seething.
Well, aren't these productive thoughts, I thought self-
mockingly. Such a good thing you came down here to
escape, Dana.

I took a final longing look at the majestic house, then set
off in search of Po' Boys to take home for dinner, already
anticipating Cece's look of disgust at my buying something
so *obvious.* I couldn't wait.

End Part 5.

"Divided We Fall" by Dianora 6/13

All previous disclaimers apply. Just remember that
Colin and Cecelia are all mine; all those X-Files types
aren't. Rated R. E-mail me at Dianora2@aol.com;
I'd love to hear from you. :-)

Three more days passed before I got dragged into Cece's
social life.

"Get dressed, Dana, we're going to a party."

I looked up from the latest issue of Newsweek to see
Cecelia cramming herself into a black dress that from
where I was sitting looked more like a tube top. "*Now*
you tell me? Great timing, Cece. And what makes you
think I want to go, anyway?"

"You have to come with me, Dana. I am determined to
show you a good time while you're here. Besides, I hate
walking into parties alone. Everyone there assumes you're
leaving with them."

I couldn't help myself. "Aren't they usually right?"

She folded her arms and made a classic face at me, sticking
out her tongue like a six-year old. "You know, I am not
half the sex maniac you'd like to think I am."

"You're right, Cece. You're *twice* the sex maniac I
think you are." Her grin and enthusiasm were irresistible,
though. "Okay, okay! What should I wear?"

The party was too loud. I decided this when Cecelia
mouthed something unintelligible to me fifteen minutes
after we arrived and then disappeared into the crowd,
leaving me alone in an apartment full of some of the most
outlandish creatures I had ever encountered. And that was
saying a lot, considering my line of work. The throbbing
music pulsated through my body as the smoke aggravated
my sinuses, and I dimly wondered when I had used to enjoy
this sort of thing. A random partygoer took pity on me and
handed me a beer, and even though it was some watered-
down swill, I accepted it gratefully, taking a swig in an effort
to loosen up a little. I concentrated my efforts on looking
as inconspicuous as possible--probably not too difficult in
my navy shift and black sandals--and thought dark thoughts
about Cece for abandoning me.

"Excuse me." I looked up to see a walking stereotype,
dressed in a tanktop, acid-washed jeans, and a thick gold
necklace buried in the curling black hair at his neckline.
Probably half of the trendiest people in New Orleans were
gathered in the apartment that night, and there I was,
staring at a man in a tanktop.

He leaned in close, a little too close, and I took a step
away from him. "Great party," he said, smiling to reveal
(surprise!) a set of crooked teeth. I nodded and craned
my head around, searching vainly for my missing roommate.

"That's a really nice dress," he continued, his face still
too close for comfort.

"Thank you," I managed, wondering when I should go
for my gun, just to sca