I Can Eat Glass by Mish mish_rose@yahoo.com Classification: SA, MSR, third party POV Rating: R, for language and sexual discussion Spoilers: Orison, small one for Anasazi Summary: A late night distress call shatters the calm. Distribution: Yes, go for it, just let me know where, okay? Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and Karen Kosseff are the property of Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. Takes place approximately one month after "Orison", almost immediately after the events of "I Say Obsessive, You Say Compulsive". Last in the series that began with "Intuitive Reasoning", then "I Say Obsessive, You Say Compulsive". I recommend reading those first; otherwise, this may not make much sense. Thanks to Mistress Galia, they can be found on my page at: http://galias.webprovider.com/mishfic.htm Thanks to my betas, Alicia, Audrey and Renee. You all are the best. Any mistakes you see are my own. Most special thanks to Galia, for holding my hand and checking up on me. Author's notes at end. I Can Eat Glass Part One I round the bus stop and feel myself drift into slow motion. There are two patrol cars double-parked in front of her building, their red and blue lights blinding in the dark night. In the time it takes for me to force my limbs to accelerate, I see two officers emerge. Relief makes my heart slow considerably. At least they haven't taken Dana into custody; or Mulder, for that matter. Officer number one, a pudgy man, scratches his belly. "I thought the guy was gonna break outta those fuckin' handcuffs. Of course, I'd a done the same thing to get back to that dish, ya know what I mean?" His laugh makes his belly shake like Jello. At his insensitivity, I amend my thought. 'Pudgy' was too kind. "And what about that redhead, huh?" the other one asks. "Had to almost use a God damned crowbar to get that gun out of her hand." They pass me by without a glance. Boss Hogg, nee 'Pudgy', laughs again. "Man, do you believe that bullshit story they fed us?" "Nah. Guess you can get away with anything, though, when you're F-B-I...." Number two sneers the last. "Ain't that the fuckin' truth." They continue mumbling and laughing all the way to their cars. "What assholes," comes out of my mouth before I can stop it. I think I just surpassed my 'five curse words a day' limit. What the hell. From my vantage point on the stoop, it looks as though nothing is amiss. A single lamp is burning in Dana's living room window. What I think is her living room, anyway. I've only been here once; twice now if you count this. Now that the patrolmen have left, things are eerily quiet. In the time it takes me to get to her apartment, I straighten my mussed hair and take a few deep breaths. I don't want to frighten Dana with the appearance of panic, even though the dread is coiled within me like a snake. Handcuffs? Gun? Every step I take is punctuated by those two words. Handcuffs, gun, handcuffs, gun. Like some sick parody of a nursery rhyme, they mock me. Then it fades, gelling into an inevitable conclusion. Mulder wouldn't have called me unless it was absolutely necessary. The asinine musings of the patrolmen have only served to solidify my concerns. Dana's front door is ajar, and I say a hesitant, "Hello?" as I give it a small push. Nobody answers, so I swing the door open wide. The first thing I see is the bottle of wine flanked by two half-empty glasses on the dining room table. Dana hasn't replaced any of the furniture, which is not surprising; it is so like her not to give in to what would be a normal reaction to violation. I walk in slowly and look to the right. The living room pieces - sofa, chairs, coffee table - are all in place. But the figure that sits upon the sofa in bowed stillness looks sadly out of place. "Mulder?" I ask quietly, taking a few steps toward him. His bare back is hunched and the only sign he's heard me is the slight straightening of his spine. Although he's now aware of my presence, I repeat, "Mulder?" I tread lightly in the face of his unnatural silence. At my second greeting, he turns his head fractionally in my direction, but doesn't face me. The side of his face that I can see is draped in shadow, backlit in the glow of the single lamp on the far side of the room. "Karen," he says quietly, "thank you for coming." Karen? He's not angry or confrontational. Neither is he being smart-assed with the use of my first name, like he was earlier today. In fact, I would have to say he's quite calm. Emotionless, almost. His voice is as flat as unleavened bread. "Mulder, where is Dana?" I suppose I could find her myself, but at the moment that snake of dread is winding its way up my throat. "She's in the bedroom... I think," he answers. He brings a hand up to his face, rubbing his temple with slow, shaky fingers. I step closer, flanking him now. My eyes lower and I feel a foolish pang of relief; he has on jeans. For a second there I thought he was naked. "You think?" I shed my coat and stumble over a buckle in the throw rug, silently cursing my clumsiness. "You aren't sure?" Throwing the coat to the chair behind me, I deliberately move into his line of vision, impatience coloring my voice with shades of steel gray. "Last time I saw her, that's where she was," he replies, his face finally coming into lighted focus as I turn on the lamp beside him. Bullshit on this sitting in the dark business. He flinches, bringing his hand back up quickly to his face, but not before I can fully appreciate the damage that's been done. My God. The left side of his face is a mass of cuts and reddish bruises; his chest is covered with scratches that look suspiciously like they were made with fingernails. His lower lip is split and has swollen to almost twice its normal size. All in all, I'd say he has the look of a prizefighter that just finished twelve rounds with Mike Tyson. I can't hold in the gasp; he hears it and colors profusely, which only serves to makes the bruises look more painful. "Mulder - are you okay?" I sit on the coffee table in front and just to the side of him, longing to soothe some of his obvious pain, but knowing it is not my place to do so. He laughs humorlessly. "Yeah, I'm fine." He reaches for the pink- tinged washcloth draped over his thigh and dabs at the blood still oozing from his lip. "You know, the neighbors didn't hear a fucking thing a month ago. But now all it took was a lamp crashing over my head to bring the cavalry running." He pauses, then adds quietly, "That, and her screams." I put a timid hand on his knee; he tenses but says nothing. "Mulder, is Dana okay?" "She's... physically, yes, she's okay." He raises smoky eyes to mine. "Karen, she needs help." Dear Lord. This afternoon he was so sure she was going to be okay. Back to herself in no time. Why the hell didn't I see this coming? Because I was an arrogant pea brain who had the time of her life trying to outwit Fox Mulder, that's why. In the midst of my little guilt trip, I catch Dana shuffling from her bedroom. Without even a glance this way, she walks to the far end of the hall, disappearing into what looks like the bathroom. Her legs are bare, and I can make out the hem of her pajama top peeking out from below the lightweight blanket she's draped around her. The door closes and I can hear the scrub of brushing teeth over the din of splashing water. So normal. Too normal. "Mulder, what happened?" I'm not really sure I'm up to talking to Dana yet, anyway. A sudden attack of cowardice makes my guilt multiply tenfold. Mulder sighs, a trembling, awkward exhale of breath that snaps me out of my little pity party. "She was fine," he begins. "Earlier this evening, she was fine. We had dinner, laughed a bit over my meeting with you...." He makes a half-hearted attempt at a smile, but it falls flat. I think he expects me to comment on our conversation, but I don't have the courage to do so. We both know we've been avoiding the real problem here. Time for self-flagellation later. "Go on, Mulder." "We... we were..." he continues, his gaze trained upon the wash cloth in his hand, "I really don't feel comfortable talking about this." The washcloth bleeds in his grip. "Shit." He stands and moves to the window, his back to me. My guilt subsides enough for my reasoning to return. Jesus, why didn't I see this before? It's so obvious; their state of undress, the faint smell of sex that wafts under my nose in his wake. "You were making love?" I supply. Mulder was truthful about his discomfort, which frankly, surprises me. He comes across - in my view, anyway - as a confident person. Surely he's had to ask questions similar to this before; I can't imagine him having trouble answering them. But the difference is, we're talking about Dana here as well. "Yes," comes his soft reply. "Did something happen while you were making love?" "Yes." I barely hear the word this time. Getting up, I cross to his side, standing far enough away to give him some room yet still be able to discern his facial expressions. One look could be worth a thousand words. And Mulder's face runs the gamut. From guilt to sadness to anxiety. Any minute now, he's going to fall apart. Hating what I have to do, but knowing that it's necessary, I pursue the issue. "Tell me, Mulder," I gently prod. Another sigh. He throws back his head and closes his eyes, swallowing. After a few seconds of silence, he focuses on a small cobweb in the corner of the window and brings his fingers up to touch it, the words tumbling from him. "Everything was fine. Nothing was wrong. It wasn't the first time, but you know that already, don't you?" he says, casting a wry glance my way. I smile slightly and nod. No use pretending any more, for either of us. Dropping his head, he clears his throat and continues. "I wasn't exactly coherent." Who is when they're having sex? "Before I knew what was happening, she'd cold-cocked me with a lamp. She started hitting me, scratching me, screaming bloody murder...." He drifts off, lost for a moment in the memory. His brow knits and he takes a few quick gulps of air. "When the police came in... God knows how much later, I really don't know... Scully had me at gunpoint. Christ. I thought she was gonna fucking shoot me. I mean, she's shot me before, but that was different." "She shot you?" My God. What else am I going to hear tonight? "Long story," he mumbles. "Look, I wasn't so much worried that she was going to shoot me. I just didn't want her shooting anyone, especially one of the cops. I tried to tell them to back off, but they wouldn't listen." "Was she lucid?" His head whips in my direction. "Lucid? With a fucking gun pointed at my head?" He's right; Dana would never do something like that if she wasn't disturbed. "I'm sorry," I say, turning at the cessation of sound coming from the bathroom. "I gather one of the police officers disarmed her?" "Yeah," he snorts. "Only after they hauled my ass out of there." He rubs at the red marks around his wrists. "They finally listened to me long enough for one of them to get my jeans from the bedroom. My ID was in the pocket. I told them Scully had mistaken me for a prowler." A sarcastic grin flashes my way, then dies just as quickly. "Kind of ridiculous, don't you think? A naked, sweaty prowler still sporting a halfway decent hard-on?" Against my will, I find myself blushing. Mulder isn't looking at me, though; he's gotten past his initial reticence and shock is setting in. "I managed to throw enough weight around to get them to forget the whole thing. Scully must have backed me up... one of the officers finally came out of the bedroom and said she was okay, she wanted them to leave. "After they left, I tried to get her to talk to me, recognize me. She'd talked to them; I was sure she was okay. But she was just... sitting there, almost...." "In a trance?" "Yes. It scared me more than the gun. That's when I called you," he whispers, and sways slightly. Grabbing hold of his arm, I guide him back to the sofa. "Mulder, sit," I order, and to my relief he does without protest. The bathroom door opens and Dana returns to the bedroom in the same, zombie-like fashion. "At least she's moving around now, huh?" he says quietly, hopefully, the need for reassurance evident in his voice. Reassurance is something I will not allow either of us right now. "You do know what this is, don't you, Mulder?" He sighs and looks up, nodding. "Post-traumatic stress." "Delayed onset, from the looks of it." I pull my sweatshirt down, battle ready. "Has she shown any of the usual signs? Trouble eating, sleeping? Startle response?" Although I've asked these questions of Dana many times in recent weeks, it's obvious she hasn't been truthful with me. "No. I've been with her..." he pauses, "*staying* with her since the incident. I would have noticed any behavior changes, wouldn't I?" "Not necessarily. Dana is a very strong person, Mulder, you know that. Very closed in, naturally. If she didn't want you to see her pain, she knows how to make it happen." Not only did she pull the wool over Mulder's eyes, she apparently did the same to me. "By being herself." "Exactly." "But - what brought this on?" He's trying so hard to understand. Sympathy for him weakens me momentarily; I'm supposed to be detached, and it takes all my willpower to remain so. My voice cracks just a bit, anyway. Damn. "It... it was most likely triggered by a sensation - a feeling, a smell, a sound." A desperate grimace makes his lip split open again. "We were having sex. God - even though she said no... you don't think Pfaster...." "Raped her? No, I don't think so." I take hold of his wrist and bring the washcloth back up to his face. He blinks, then realizing that he's bleeding again, holds it to his mouth. "Even though this has been difficult for her, Dana wouldn't lie about something like that. First and foremost, she's a law enforcement officer. She's bound by the truth." Apparently, the smell of the bloody rag has become too much. He closes his eyes and his face drains of color. "Karen... I think I'm gonna..." He stands and takes a few rapid breaths. Oh, Jesus, he's going to vomit. Quickly, I push him in the direction of the bathroom. I can't stay; just the sight of someone retching has always turned my stomach. He'll be okay, I tell myself as I close the bathroom door on his dry heaves and swallow down my own nausea. It's time I talked to Dana, anyway. Taking a deep breath, I slowly walk into the bedroom, rapping my knuckles against the half-open door. "Dana?" Her head pops up from the other side of the bed. "Karen?" she says, brushing the hair from her face in confusion. She gets up from the floor, a jagged piece of ceramic in her hand. The room looks like a tornado hit it; the bedcovers are strewn every which way and pillows dot the floor like oversized mints. "Do you mind if I turn on the light, Dana?" I'm having trouble seeing her in the moonlight streaming in from the window. I have to make sure she's okay. Instead of answering, she moves to the small lamp on the dresser and flicks it on. The shadows are chased away by the yellow glow. It's almost unnoticeable, but her small flinch doesn't escape me. I move further into the room. "Dana, are you okay?" "Yes," she says with little inflection. Without sparing me a glance, she returns to her cleanup, picking up pieces of the lamp one by one and depositing them in the wicker basket by the night stand. I let her finish before digging in a little further. "How did the lamp break?" I move further in, not much, just enough to catalogue her every move. "It just... broke," she replies. She sits on the far side of the bed, her back to me. This is not good. "Dana, may I sit next to you?" "Sure. Make yourself comfortable." When I settle in on her right, she pierces me with sharp eyes. "May I ask why you're here, Karen?" I'm surprised it took her this long to ask me. Normal thought processes disrupted; she's usually much faster on the uptake than this. "Mulder called me, Dana. He's worried about you." She pulls the blanket in close, then gives me her profile. "He worries too much." Okay. We'll try a different tactic. "Mulder said you hit him with the lamp." Her face pales slightly, but she remains rigid. "I wouldn't do that." "Why would he lie?" "I... I don't know. Maybe... maybe...." A light sheen of moisture develops on her brow. "He said you were making love. He also said you suddenly hit him with the lamp, then held him at gunpoint." "That's not how it happened." "Then tell me how it happened, okay?" She sighs and brings the blanket fringe to her face, wiping away her nervousness. "We were making love, yes. After - well, you know -" I nod, telling her with my gesture that I don't need to hear the details, and she continues. "Mulder got up and went to the bathroom. I must have been disoriented, maybe half asleep, I don't know." She pauses for a second or two, then looks at me with an impatient roll of her eyes. "He frightened me when he came back into the room, that's all. "I screamed, I guess. Unfortunately, there must have been police officers responding to another call in the building. They heard me and came running. Before I knew it, they'd dragged Mulder off in handcuffs." She grins at the memory, as if it's all one big joke. "He was pissed, I'm sure. He's okay, though. I explained what happened to the police; just a foolish misunderstanding." God, it's worse than I thought. She's wrapped her mind around the story they fabricated for the police and totally blocked out the trauma. My stomach does a swan dive as I mentally slap myself. Twice, for good measure. Why the *fuck* didn't I see this coming? Suppressing my angry self-derision, I decide to see this through, then back away. I'm obviously to blame for some of this fiasco; I've become complacent in my approach to Dana. Complacent in that I allowed her to lead us to resolution. I can see that this incident with Pfaster has scarred her terribly. And I haven't been paying enough attention to her this time. The signs were there; classic avoidance of the issue. Simply put, I was guilty of a little avoidance of my own. But I'll be damned if I'm going to take the coward's way out before I get to the bottom of this. "Dana, Mulder said you were unresponsive to him." Anger slowly invades her words, and she arches an eyebrow. "I spoke to the police, Karen. If I was unresponsive, how could I have done that?" "I didn't say you were unresponsive to the officers, just to Mulder." "Hmmph." She declines to answer, setting her jaw and turning away from me again. "Dana, I'm going to ask Mulder to join us, okay?" "Why? I mean, hasn't he gone home by now?" "Why would he? He's been staying with you lately, hasn't he?" I counter. Her lips purse, but she says nothing. "I'm here, Scully." Mulder's voice, steady now, comes to us from the doorway. Dana turns to look at him; I keep my eyes on her. A look of disbelief and concern shadows her words. "Mulder? What happened to you?" As he approaches, I get up and move to the corner of the room. He takes my place beside her and reaches for her hand. "Nothing, Scully. Just a little accident." From my vantage point, I cross my arms and make my first move. "That's not true, Mulder," I say, and watch as he whips his head in my direction. "Karen, I think we should talk about this tomorrow." His eyes are telling me not to press her. "She's okay now." No way, Mulder. If we wait until tomorrow, then it may be too late. Dana is an expert at burying her emotions, can't he see that? The sooner we get past this, the better. Before she has a chance to rebuild those walls. He called me because Dana hadn't acknowledged his presence; now that she has, everything is back to normal, in his eyes. Bad move, Mulder. "Dana, look at him. Does it look like a 'little accident' to you?" Fuck you, Karen, he glares at me. Leave it alone for now. Dana lets go of his hand and reaches up to turn his face to hers. "My God, Mulder," she breathes, as if just realizing how bad he looks. "Who did this to you?" "You did," I answer quietly. Her eyes widen with skepticism. "I did this? I don't think so. I would never hurt Mulder." "You did." I emphasize the words with a nod of my head. "You're lying." Soft, lethal, controlled. "Scully!" My gasp undercurrents his appalled cry. If she had stabbed me with a knife, it would have hurt no less. Immediately, I gather my resolve, though, filing away the pain in a dim corner of my heart. As a friend, I'm saddened at her distrust of me. However, my training comes to the forefront and an imaginary wall of bulletproof glass slides into place in front of me. I know she's just grasping at straws. Dana stands to face me. "She's lying, Mulder," she says to him, all the while staring me down. "We've seen efforts to discredit us before. She took what you told her and twisted it all around. Look at your face, Mulder! I couldn't have done that to you. The cops roughed you up, didn't they?" "Scully -" She presses on, her voice resounding off the walls of the bedroom. Her eyes dart from him to me. "And she's going to tell Skinner I did it -" "Stop it!" Mulder stands between Dana and me, overpowering her with his command. "Stop it, Scully." He grabs her shoulders and grates, "*You* did this to me, Scully. There is no coverup. There is no conspiracy." His head drops and he walks to the far side of the room, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand before facing her across the expanse of the bed. "You did this to me." His reluctance of a moment ago has vanished; the implications of her denial, and more so, her accusation of me, are monumental. Dana is teetering on the edge. Mulder has stepped up to pull her back into reality. I sag against the imaginary glass. Thank you, Mulder. She falters just a bit, indecision making her blink once, twice. Glancing from Mulder to me, she makes a final attempt, her words more unsure now. "Mulder, I couldn't have hurt you. I love you." Mulder pounces on her momentary wavering, walking back to her and taking her in his arms. "Then let's talk about this, Scully. Let's work it out," he whispers. "Right now?" she asks, leaning back to raise watery eyes to his. Mulder shifts her in his embrace until they both face me, the question reiterated in the look he bestows upon me. "Right now," I reply firmly. She is at her most vulnerable; I don't want to wait until tomorrow, when she will stride into my office, armor intact, memories buried so deep they may never surface again. Despite the years of trust we've accumulated between us, Dana is still eyeing me with faint suspicion. I watch as her face hardens slightly, the paranoia threatening to take hold once again. I mirror the tense of her cheeks, the unforgiving line of her jaw, my words dripping with warning. "Unless next time this happens, you want to see Mulder carried out of here in a body bag." Her face becomes pasty and she swallows, my words hitting home at last. "Okay. I'm not sure what you want, though." "Tell me," I say. "Tell me everything from the beginning." End Part One I Can Eat Glass Part Two Disclaimer in part one She moves in a stiff parody of her former self, her precise movements designed to protect her body and her soul. Tiny steps from the pantry to the counter, the tea bags held close to her torso. Elbows bent inward as she reaches for the cups. The flinch she cannot suppress at the whistle of the tea kettle. I can eat glass, it does not hurt me. Those words float to the surface of my mind as I sit at Dana's kitchen table. Having no remembrance of where I heard them, or in what context, it occurs to me that they describe her perfectly. Dana swallows her pain and sorrow like shards of glass, hoping to digest them before they make a reappearance. What she doesn't realize is that glass cannot be digested; the broken pieces will eventually eat away at her, causing her to bleed from within, until the flood has nowhere to go, spewing from her violently, uncontrollably. This realization makes me calm. In the midst of her tirade, I absorbed the pain, hers and mine. I know now that I can also eat glass, the cold slivers of pride and arrogance dissolving in the acid of learned humility that sits at the pit of my stomach. I am no longer a friend; I am no longer her counselor. I am an empath. Although the clinical part of me is screaming, "Detachment!" I cannot make myself step away until this is finished. For both of us. Her icy fingers brush up against mine as I take the cup of tea from them. I watch her sit next to Mulder at the kitchen table; he takes her right hand in his left automatically and gives her a small smile. She lets the corners of her mouth go up briefly in return, then directs a question my way, her smile fading. "Do we have to have the light on?" The light surrounding us in its circle isn't that harsh, but I imagine she feels as if she's in the spotlight, or undergoing interrogation. Before I can accede to the request, Mulder is out of his chair and flicking off the switch. Over Dana's head, his eyes meet mine, daring me to protest. Although he agreed to the discussion, he is still protecting her as much as he can. In the filtered light from the living room, I try to convey my agreement. His shoulders droop with slight relaxation and he slides back into his chair, once again surrounding her hand with his. "We'll take it slow, okay, Dana?" I begin. "You aren't going to hypnotize me, are you? Because I don't want that." Her voice rises into a staccato rhythm of pinpoints. "No," Mulder and I say simultaneously. I flash a look of irritation his way and he clamps his jaw shut. Let me do this, Mulder, okay? "I just want you to tell me what you remember. Take all the time you need." I take another sip of my tea, intent on giving this conversation more of a sense of normalcy and less of a feeling of analysis. Dana tastes her tea as well, her eyes shifting from side to side. "I don't know what else I could possibly say, Karen. You've heard Mulder say I hit him; you've heard me say I don't remember doing it." Actually, what she said was that she didn't do it. Mulder looks up to see if I caught it. Yes, I did. Small, but noticeable difference. She sets the cup down and starts when it clicks sharply against the saucer. "Unless you want to hear the mechanics of our lovemaking," she says. "No, that won't be necessary," I say. "But I would like for you to describe your feelings at the time, if you think you can. If you're not too uncomfortable, that is." With a sigh, she looks down at their entwined fingers and begins to rub her thumb over the back of his hand, her eyes drawn to his. In the darkness, I swear I can almost see the arc of electricity between them. "I know I was enjoying it," she murmurs. "I always do. I love making love with Mulder." Mulder's face softens, though he tries hard to hide it from me. I don't know why; we've already established that they are a couple, in every sense of the word. If I didn't already know how deeply connected they are to one another, I would know now. He looks at her as if she was the source of all that's good and fine. I could see that this afternoon, and she wasn't even in his presence. Seeing it now as he looks at her is blinding, like looking into the sun. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I continue. "Something happened, though, didn't it, Dana? Something was different this time." "No!" She pulls her gaze away from him and bites at my insistence. "It was as it always has been. Loving, satisfying..." she faces him again, "and perfect. Just... us." She's not cooperating; we're concentrating a bit too much on the feelings and not the actual physical joining. Although I really don't want to hear exactly *how* they have sex. Maybe it's time for another approach. "Mulder, what about you?" "Huh?" He tears his gaze away from Dana and gives me a 'what- the-fuck-are-you-doing?' glare. "Anything unusual that stands out in your mind? Maybe we could jog Dana's memory together." He doesn't care for this at all. Frankly, I don't either. In my time with the Bureau, I've not had many opportunities to delve into issues of sexual intimacy; my experience with discussions of this nature is very limited. Hopefully, we can get to the root of the problem fairly quickly. "Go on, Mulder. We have nothing to hide, do we?" For a moment there, I'm sure her words are another dig at me. But her voice is calm, encouraging. No longer is she focused on the problem, on my supposed betrayal of them. She's fallen back into the more normal role of his helper, his protector, his partner. In the time it took to brew the tea, she bandaged his cuts, raised an eyebrow about his not wanting to go to the hospital and made a comment about having to explain his appearance to Skinner. In her mind, it's as if her participation in the event was minor, an outsider looking in. That's okay; she doesn't realize it, but disassociating herself from the memory is a good thing. It will allow her to be more objective. Mulder looks at me, the question in his eyes. I sense a reluctance still on his part, but at Dana's drift into distancing, he knows that we have to proceed, immediately. His reticence is understandable, especially after our duel this afternoon. Yesterday afternoon, I correct myself. My sense of time has become completely skewed, something that should bother me, according to him. Funny how control of my life doesn't seem so important right now. "Once again, Mulder," I continue, "tell me what you remember. It doesn't have to be detailed - just sights, sounds, smells - anything that stands out in your mind." After this, it will probably be a long while before I come so close again to earning his trust, but by then the point will be moot. I won't be seeing Dana anymore. With a pained sigh, he begins. "Sights, huh? Well, she was beautiful. Scully is always beautiful to me. Especially when we're...." Discomfort makes him falter; he's not ashamed of his feelings, though. He's just a very private person. I can understand that. You don't have to spell it out for me, I say with my nod. "What else?" Dana squeezes his hand and forces him to look at her. Their eyes meet and hold; she urges him forward with a small smile. So far, so good. "We were in her bed... it wasn't completely dark, the lamp was on." "Did you have any music on?" In our previous sessions, Dana mentioned a particular song that was meaningful to Pfaster, as well as to her. Maybe that was the trigger. "No," he replies. "Scully likes to listen to classical music, something I don't particularly care for." He gives her a wink; she shakes her head as if to say, 'We've had this argument before. Still at odds.' No music. Hmm. "I assume you've gotten rid of the candles, right?" Another Pfaster foible. Damn him. Besides being a homicidal maniac, he sure knew how to ruin a romantic evening. "Oh, yeah." Dana answers this one, quick and decisive. "If I never see another candle again, it will be too soon." Okay. We'll have to delve a little deeper, into more intimate territory. Dear Lord, I pray, though I've not seen the inside of a church in years, please help me do this right. Post-traumatic stress I've dealt with; it's expected in the volatile, high-risk arena of the Bureau. It's amazing that Dana has been able to hide it so well. By now, I can pretty much tell what an agent suffering from it will say when they walk into my office. I can't sleep. I can't eat. I freeze in the field. Shit, I sound like a God damned textbook. When did I become such an automaton? But sexual dysfunction, much as I'm loathe to ask, is a symptom of PTSD. Going by the book I'm going to toss when I get home, I check it off the list of symptoms I've been ignoring. Although I don't think Dana would have told me of any sexual problem even if I'd asked weeks ago. "Did either of you reach orgasm?" There, I've said it. Wasn't so difficult. Dana is the first to answer, albeit out of the corner of her mouth. "Yes." Although I'm not sure if I believe her; after all, her version of events included the completed sex act, but Mulder hinted it was otherwise. "Mulder?" He follows the dip of her head with his eyes and swallows noticeably. I had my doubts about her small affirmative, but now that I see his reaction, I'm sure. She's lying. He knows she's lying. Once again, she's replaced the bad with the good. Again, I ask, "Mulder?" Come on, Mulder. Make Dana wake up. Make her feel. "I... I was close," he whispers at last, all the while drawn into her gaze, seeking its strength. "I think she was, too. I could feel her arms around me, her breath on my face. It was hot, fruity... sharp like wine...." Instead of watching him, I keep my eyes on Dana. Look at him, I tell her silently. See the truth in his eyes. In the muted light, I see tiny beads of sweat form on her brow. Her lips part and her breathing is beginning to become labored, uncertain. Indeed, she is reliving the moment with him. Success is a light on the horizon. "I kept moving... I told her I loved her... my eyes closed seconds after hers did. God dammit, I was *so* close." Dana drops her head, breaking the visual contact as she lowers her lips to his wrist. I squirm in my chair, but I don't say a word; we're nearing a breakthrough now, I can feel it. I don't want to disrupt our progress with a show of discomfort. Mulder disengages one of his hands and places it on her hair. He strokes the light strands with shaky fingers and closes his eyes. He's lost in the memory now, just as she is - just as we all are. "I kept thinking that this was gonna be the best yet... Scully was urging me to hurry, told me she wanted it harder... everything was so right, yet... something wasn't." My senses, half-drugged by his monotone, perk up at that. "What wasn't, Mulder? What wasn't right?" Don't give up on it, Mulder. Say it. He inhales sharply, as if the memory takes him by surprise. "The phone. The God damned telephone wouldn't stop ringing. I felt it all the way up my fucking spine." Dana freezes in the act of nuzzling his arm. "Do you remember the telephone ringing, Dana?" "No," comes the strangled, too-quick reply. Mulder's hand slows its petting. "Scully?" His attention is totally focused on her now, but he slides a concerned glance my way. Again, "Scully?" I meet his look with a similar concern before following his gaze back to Dana. "Dana?" She stands and sniffles, bringing the blanket back up over her shoulders from where it had pooled at her lower back. With all the fluidity of a knight in rusty armor, she jerkily gathers the cups and walks to the sink. "I think that's enough," she declares, turning the tap on and reaching for the sponge. When the blanket slips again, she drops one of the cups into the bottom of the sink. Its shatter is accompanied by a muffled, "Shit." Mulder springs up from his chair, but I stop his rescue with a hand on his arm. He jerks away, but catches on to my mouthed, "Wait," and stays where he is. "Dana, did you hear the telephone ring?" I ask again, rising from my chair slowly. "God dammit, I told you no!" Her back is rigid, her tone frostbitten. The profanity speaks of her distress more than anything else. Dana is not one to curse; control issues forbid such a waste of energy. "I think you did." She whirls at my quiet accusation, the tears flowing easily. "I didn't! How many fucking times do I have to tell you - I didn't!" She's pale, shaking like a reed in the wind. "Scully, if I heard it, then I know you did." Mulder takes a step forward, diverting her ire from me to him. He knows this is a breakthrough, a major one, from the looks of it. Infinitely more important than her loss of control a while ago, when she was sure I was the enemy. "Fuck you, Mulder," she hisses. "Tell me you heard it, Scully," he persists. "Stop it, Mulder." "Say it." "God damn you to hell, Mulder!" she cries. "Why can't you leave me alone? You never stop, do you?" "Scully -" "You always do what the hell you want to do, don't you? Now you keep harping on me about the God damned telephone!" She's nearly hysterical now. I shadow Mulder's approach, ready to spring if she becomes violent. "You don't know when to stop... when to stop... just like him... he wouldn't stop!" I freeze. Dana is still shouting. "He wouldn't stop!" The words hang in the room, echoing above the hum of the refrigerator. "Who, Dana? Mulder?" She's breathing in great gulps of air now, her chest heaving with the effort. The blanket falls to the floor; her arms slide behind her back and her head falls to one side. The realization that we're witnessing a re-enactment of the attack makes the bile rise in my throat. "He... he tied me up... dragged me across the room... I told him he would fry for this." Her neck arches, the unseen hand pulling at her hair. "No, no, not a gag... can't breathe...." "Yes, you can," I tell her. "You're just remembering, Dana. This is not real. You're watching from afar - he can't hurt you." My words seem to ease her a bit, though tears spring to her eyes. "He's going to kill me... I know he will... he's dragging me into the bedroom... into the closet...." Her shift from past tense to present compounds Mulder's anxiety and he flashes me a panicked glance. He starts forward again, intent upon putting an end to her misery, but I deny him access with a hissed, "No." To Dana, I say, "Who? Who's doing this?" Her eyes are dilated, wild with the memory. "Pfaster," she whispers. "God damned mother fucker. Won't leave me alone. I tried... tried to stop him. Hit him, punched him. He keeps coming back." "It's okay, Dana," I say. "You're all right." Her words become slurred, wearied. "The phone is... ringing... I know it's Mulder. Why isn't he here? Help me... Mulder -" Her eyes roll back; Mulder catches her before she hits the floor. ********** Dana rouses briefly when Mulder lays her upon the bed, long enough to ask for a drink of water and to look at me like I've grown another head when I ask her name. "Dana Scully. 2000. Maggie Scully." The right answers roll off her tongue with wry impatience. "Maggie Scully is the president?" "She should be," Dana replies dryly, then turns over and mumbles, "'Mmm tired. Go home, Karen. You look like hell." A chuckle of relief accompanies my sigh. Normal it's not, but it *is* Dana. I back away and meet Mulder's eyes. "Don't leave yet," he tells me. "I'm not." Feeling drained, I back away, closing the bedroom door in my haste to create distance. It's coming, I can sense it. Home is where I should be right now, but that's impossible. Instead of going home, I stumble into the bathroom, covering my mouth with my hand, trying to stifle the eruption. At the last possible second, I turn the lavatory taps on full blast and it comes, bursting forth from my throat. I cry until I can't anymore. Cry at her pain and at Mulder's split lip. Sob until my face blurs in the mirror, wanting to shoot Pfaster for his treatment of Dana, not caring that he's already dead. Sit on the toilet and hiccup at my incapable hands and most especially, my stupidity. Then I clean up, gather my resolve and return to the bedroom to wait out Dana's sleep. Her mind, overtaxed from the events of the night, simply shut down. A condition I can also feel creeping up on me. Mulder sits beside her in the bed, propped up against the headboard, his hand curled around her wrist as if to assure himself her heart still beats. If he heard my breakdown, he gives no indication. My knees pop as I sit in the chair; within minutes I'm nodding off. ********** The first grey streaks of the approaching dawn bathe Dana's bedroom in a surreal glow. I wait for the sunrise with bleary eyes, listening to Mulder sigh over and over. He hasn't left her side in the four hours since she fell into an exhausted slumber. "I'm sorry, Karen." "About what?" I turn my gaze from the sunrise; it's the first words spoken between us since I crept back into the bedroom hours ago. "About Scully's paranoia." In my exhaustion, it takes a moment or two before I realize he's referring to her calling me a liar. While I make the connection, he continues. "Guess I've rubbed off on her, huh?" "From everything I've heard, Mulder, you two have good reason to suspect anyone. Don't let it bother you. I haven't." Well, it hasn't bothered me since I cried it all away. He continues speaking, his sorrow just now surfacing. "I didn't stay with her that night. We were still so... new." His face sags with regret. "Dammit, I should have been here." "Mulder, it's not your fault." My throat is beginning to hurt; I could say it a hundred times and it still wouldn't absolve him. Or me. He looks at the bedside clock, then to me, scrubbing a raw hand over his eyes. "Yes, it is. I should have been here that night and I should have been with her... *really* with her since then." Oh, Mulder. I think we can safely say we share the blame on this one. 'With her', listening to her, in tune with her - whatever name we put on it - we both guilty of not doing it. "I was so fucking worried about whether or not anyone knew about 'us', I didn't pay attention to her pain." His chin drops to his chest. "She always bounces right back. Always tells me she's okay, and even though I know better, I let it go." He laughs derisively. "Because I want to fucking believe." I lean forward in my chair. "Mulder, I want Dana to see another counselor." I've had time to think it over; my decision is not an easy one, but it's the best I can do. She needs help, and I don't think I'm the person to give it to her. "What?" His voice has become hoarse; he pins me with his eyes instead. "Why? Scully trusts you." "I've become too close, Mulder. I let my concern for Dana... my friendship with her... blind me to her problems. I'm just as much to blame for this episode, if not more." There. That was infinitely easier than the orgasm question. "Karen, I don't think that's a good idea," he warns. "Scully needs you. We *both* need you." Ouch. Bet that hurt. He's sincere in his plea, though, having thrown caution to the wind for the sake of his life - all that's contained in the petite form of Dana Scully. "I can't be objective anymore, Mulder," I explain. "I should have seen this coming, but I didn't. That's not good for Dana." "Nobody could have seen this coming, Karen, certainly not a perfect stranger. That's what you're suggesting, you know. Putting her mental health in the hands of a stranger." "Sometimes even the best practitioners know when to walk away, Mulder." He huffs at my statement. "So you think the best thing to do is walk away? I could never do that to her. I don't think you could, either." "If it was in her best interests, yes, I could. I will." Sighing, I lower my voice. "Mulder, Dana needs someone totally objective. I could recommend a very good doctor for her, someone outside the Bureau -" "Yeah, right," he snorts. "Good luck getting her to see one, Karen. You're it, lady. Like it or not, Scully trusts you. If you refuse to see her anymore, she won't see anyone." I can't refute that logic. It took years for Dana to really open up to me; honestly, I don't think she can wait the years it would take for her to be as comfortable with anyone else. "You know I have no valid argument against that." Damn him, he's good. He smiles at my defensive tone, then sobers, taking a deep breath and enunciating every word with surgical precision, cutting away at my hesitation. "Then don't do this, Karen. For Scully's sake, don't do this." One look at the closest he will ever come to pleading with me and I can't tell him no. Sighing, I nod my agreement and say, "Okay, Mulder. You win, for now. But only on one condition." "What's that?" Whoosh! Those defenses rise up again in an instant, all the way up to his narrowed eyes. "We do this together. Dana, me... *and* you. I want her in my office tomorrow and I fully expect to see you there with her. You said yourself moments ago that both of you need this." Okay, so that wasn't *exactly* what he said, but maybe I can slip it by him. Maybe. His jaw tenses so firmly, I'm afraid he's going to crack a few teeth. Before he can answer, he's interrupted by the sigh of his name. "Mulder?" He leans over her, not too close, just close enough that his face is the first she sees when she opens her eyes. "I'm here, Scully." Dana smiles sleepily, then pulls his head to hers. "Good morning," she says. You would think with all the intimate disclosure of the night before, witnessing a mere kiss would be child's play. It isn't. There's something about the way she touches his cheek with her hand... the way he protectively shields her from my presence with his body... that makes me rise and stealthily walk from the room. Will she remember her disclosure? I don't want to intrude upon such an intimate moment, but I really don't want to leave until I'm sure everything is okay. So I pace. From the sofa to the table and back. Their faint voices drift to me from the bedroom, mostly Mulder's low tones. After several minutes, I hear quiet sobs, followed by silence. Good. She either remembered on her own, or he told her. Either way, it's progress. Gathering my coat and purse, I prepare to leave, hesitating with bated breath when Mulder staggers into the living room. At my questioning look, he nods. "She remembers. All of it. She asked me to tell you thank you." Despite my smile, my eyes fill up with tears. "Is she okay?" With the memory, with my bungling, with our pressured attack of last night? I leave that hanging in the air between Mulder and me; he knows what I'm asking. He grabs my coat from my hands and helps me put it on. "Yes, Karen. She knows that what you did, you did for her own good." "What I did? What *we* did, Mulder," I correct him, moving toward the door. "No, Karen. What *you* did. I never could have helped her without you." "And I never could have helped her without you," I reply, my voice a faint whisper. I've never been loud to begin with and I find I no longer have the strength to try. "Just goes to show - Dana needs the both of us to see this through." "I can't promise you anything, Karen," is all he says. I can understand his reluctance; seeing Dana through this crisis was a private affair. Having to walk through my door in full view of the prying eyes of the Bureau is something else entirely. "I understand, Mulder. All I'm asking is that you try." I take my leave as the suns breaks through Dana's window, the light scattering on the floor in a shower of broken glass. ********** It's almost five p. m. and Dana still hasn't shown up. She called around noon, saying she would come in this afternoon. A very good sign. Of course, I said nothing about Mulder's participation. I can't force him to have a session with us. Well, yes, I could. All it would take is a telephone call to Skinner with a mention of the events of last night; but I wouldn't do that, and Mulder knows it. I never witnessed the incident and although the police did, there is no official record to make the issue real. Until she called, I'd been popping antacids all morning, nervous to the point where I actually became sick, vomiting up the overload of coffee I'd ingested to wake up. Was I doing the right thing in keeping their secret? There are no easy answers for any of us. Hopefully, in the rationality of my sterile office, we can continue where we began in the warmth of Dana's kitchen. God, I hope Mulder shows up as well. I don't have much confidence in myself right now. The dial on the clock changes to 5:00. They're not coming, not even Dana. Disappointment clogs my throat; I allow myself a moment of misery before gathering my things to go home. If she doesn't come tomorrow, I will have to call Skinner, secrets be damned. The hall is filled with personnel, eager to be away to their homes and families. I'm turning to lock my office door when a sudden lull in the goodbyes floating through the corridor makes me pause. Jesus, is my skirt stuck in my pantyhose again? I feel a flush coming on, already anticipating the snickers as I twist to survey the damage to what's left of my ego. As my spine pops with fatigue, I lift my eyes to meet the open-mouthed stares of those... *not* looking at me. What the -? The throng parts to reveal Dana, her slow stride confident, her chin high against the murmurs that almost drown out the click of her heels. So what's the hubbub about? She stops suddenly, as if jerked by an unseen hand. With a small frown she turns, glaring at the bulky man that caused her to lose her grip on.... Mulder. A smile escapes me at the sight of his weary, damaged face. His cracked lips part in a lopsided grin as he catches my look, then he moves gently back to Dana's side. She takes his arm in hers, unmindful of the curious stares they are attracting. He tries to brush her off, but she will have none of it; her whole mien is one of daring and pride. Say what you will, her eyes tell the crowd. I don't care. With a few more careful steps they approach me and my chest swells with a mother's pride, as if I'm watching the first steps of my toddler. "Good afternoon," I say softly. "Rather late, aren't we?" I school my features into a mock reprimand, but the burn I feel in my eyes tell me they're twinkling, my happiness at the sight of them threatening to ruin my stern moment. "Mulder's been bothered with indigestion all day, Karen," Dana replies. "I told him he didn't have to come, but he insisted. I hope it's not too late?" "No, no, of course not. Are you okay, Mulder?" Aside from the bruising, I never thought he may have suffered an injury of a more internal nature. "Yeah, I'm fine. Scully checked me out and I'm okay," he says, giving me the 'Don't worry Mom' expression. In a lower voice, he adds, "I'm kind of nervous, though, you know?" I laugh, feeling my anxiety drift away. "Join the club, Mulder. I have a wide assortment of antacids in my office. Care to sample some?" Dana laughs with me, reaching into her jacket pocket and withdrawing the economy size bottle of Tums. "No thanks. We brought our own. But we *would* like to come in and talk, if that's okay?" As if I would say no. We meet in the middle, Dana and me, like we always have. Her eyes ask for help in a way I never thought I'd ever see. Mine ask for her pardon, something I thought I'd never have to do. Our tentative smiles settle the issue. "Sure. Go right in." I open my door and they proceed ahead of me, battered, sore, but still whole. And together. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes for a second. I can eat glass, but I refuse to keep it down. It cannot hurt me that way. END Well folks, that's it. My sincere gratitude to all the readers that have sent feedback on this series. Thank you so much. As I've said before, I have no clinical knowledge of psychology or PTSD. I've tried to research the subject as best I can; if I've offended, please forgive me. I realize this wasn't the easiest fic to read, but feedback of any kind would be deeply appreciated. I can eat glass; I refuse to let it hurt me. :-) Email me at mish_rose@yahoo.com. For Biddy. Now I can cry.