By Ellie
windblownellie@yahoo.com
 

Rating:  PG
Category:  VA
Summary:  I can't hold out forever; even walls fall
down.  An Orison post-ep.
Disclaimer:  Mulder and Scully are not now, nor have
they ever been mine.  Not being Tom Petty, I also
disavow any claim to the song lyrics borrowed.
Archive: Ephemeral and Gossamer; others ask and
you shall receive!
Immense thanks to XScribe for a fast, fabulous, and
thought-provoking beta!

_____________
All around your island
There's a barricade
It keeps out the danger
It holds in the pain.
-Tom Petty, "Walls"
_____________

He hadn't said a word to her since they closed the
door on the police and FBI agents still milling around
her apartment.  After their brief conversation in her
devastated bedroom, she had slipped into a silent
fugue. Her gaze was focused at some point just
past the passenger window as the car maneuvered the
empty streets towards Mulder's apartment.  She wanted
reassurance, but could not bring herself to look in
his direction until the car moved across the Potomac,
where moonlight caught the water like shards of glass.
The sight startled her out of her stupor, and she
ventured a glance at him.  There was comfort to be
found in knowing he was watching her even as he drove,
but letting her have this time to collect herself.

She didn't know when the walls she built around
herself had turned into those of a fortress.  While
she had always been a reserved, self-contained person,
she knew she had not always felt so far removed from
the world.  She had constructed walls like the Tower
of London, thick and strong, which not only kept
others out, but also kept her in.  They had been built
partly of necessity, she knew, but also in fear and
panic.  There were vulnerable spots, hastily thrown
together, and she feared it had been irreparably
breeched.

Mulder eased his Taurus into a spot in front of the
building, letting the stop jar her from her reverie.
Wordlessly, they walked towards his building, her
overnight bag slung carelessly over his shoulder.  She
could feel the warmth of his hand hovering over the
small of her back, and hesitated just enough to bring
it in contact with her coat.  His hand went rigid for
a moment before relaxing into its usual spot.

Only when they reached his apartment did the hand
leave her back.  For a moment, both stood awkwardly
by his front door.  With a sigh and shuffle of feet,
he moved past her, depositing her bag just inside his
bedroom door.

"I'll let you get changed or cleaned up."  His whisper
was loud in the silence between them as he turned to
face her.  "You want some tea?"

"Yes."  Her gaze remained on the overnight bag as his
hand grazed her back once more before he headed for
the kitchen.

She could hear him rattling pots, perhaps searching
for the kettle, or perhaps just trying in his own
blatant way to remind her of where he was.  After a
few deep breaths, she knelt down to the drawer she
kept in Mulder's dusty dresser.  Her old FBI
sweatshirt was there, on top of a few silkier garments
she didn't want to notice.  She tossed it on the bed,
before rummaging in the overnight bag for her favorite
gray sweatpants.  It was a long moment before she
could muster the fortitude to rip away her torn
pajamas in favor of the clean, comfortable garments.
They were tossed into a corner by Mulder's closet, and
she knew it would be at least a month before he
noticed them there, mixed with his own discarded
garments.

Standing in the doorway to the bathroom was even
more daunting.  She wanted nothing more than to rinse
her face and hands, but stepping into the blue-tiled
room seemed too much.  Only when she jumped at the
squeal of the kettle did she cross the threshold.

She tried her hardest to focus on the sounds of Mulder
in the kitchen, letting the safe, domestic sounds of
coffee cups on countertops ground her.  So long as she
focused on the present, she could keep the specter of
Pfaster at bay.  Still, it took considerable effort
for her to remain calm as she washed her face and
hands; mercifully, Mulder had left his toiletries
scattered near the sink.  The water was barely tepid
when she rinsed the soap off her face. She did not
linger to moisturize her skin as she normally would.

Walking out of the bedroom, she found Mulder settling
into the far corner of the couch.  Two mugs steamed on
the table in front of him, and he handed the cobalt
one to her as she settled next to him.

Steam from the tea rose, soothing the skin of her face
and calming her nerves.  She inhaled deeply, taking in
the faint scent of oranges.

"White tea?"  Her eyes were closed as the mug touched
her lips, both hands wrapped around its warmth.

"Yeah."  He cleared his throat.  "I found it at the
place down the block, the one with the muffins you
like.  It seemed like something you might enjoy."

She took another sip of the tea, thanking him for
allowing her this chance to step back.  Retreat and
regroup, under the protection of this banal chatter.
"Mmm.  I do like it, and I haven't had it in a while."
Another sip lingered on her palate, gentle, without
the bitter tang of Earl Gray or the spicy bite of
Darjeeling.  It seemed ages since she'd been able to
sit and breathe.  "I don't suppose you're having some,
too?"

He was watching her like a hound just catching scent
in the hunt field, and she could see him weighing his
response.  "No.  Actually, I tried a little of yours
and didn't like it.  So I made some of your old Earl
Gray for myself."

Why had he considered that so carefully, she wondered.
Why was he being so damn nice?  She didn't deserve
nice now.  What wasn't he saying?  No, she didn't have
to ask that--not if she was being honest with herself.
The realquestion was in the why, not the what.
Suddenly, emotions swirled to the surface again.  In
her confusion, she wanted nothing so much as to
scream.  Or possibly slap him.

As she tried to decide which was preferable, one of
his hands reached across to join hers on the mug.  She
jerked away, slamming the mug onto the coffee table.
A splash of the pale liquid trailed down the side,
pooling around the base of the mug.

"What?"  It was barely a whisper, yet there was more
challenge than gentleness in his tone.

The anger she'd felt seconds before dissipated, and
her rigid posture deflated.  "Just ask me what you
want to know so I can go to bed."  So I can
lay awake all night, she added to herself.

His tone softened in proportion to her deflation.  "I
just want to know how you're feeling."

Ah, there's the rub.  One of the innumerable questions
she didn't have the answer to at the moment.

"Don't tell me you're fine."  His voice turned to
steel, then broke.  "I was there tonight.  I know
you're not."

She looked up from where her hands twisted in her lap,
finally meeting his eyes.  His eyes were a shade of
green
that reminded her of spring, and she could see tears
pooling in them.  "I know I'm thankful you were there.
That's the only thing I feel sure of.  Everything else
is just confusion."

"Scully...."  His hands reached for hers again, but
she cut him off with a toss of her head.

"Don't.  Not now.  I don't deserve it.  I took
someone's life tonight, Mulder.  No matter how evil he
was, I shouldn't have shot a suspect you had under
control."  Her gaze returned to the hands writhing in
her lap.

"Scully, look at me."  A finger on her chin brought
her focus back to him.  "You shot a man who had been
holding you hostage--for the second time--and who you
knew was within minutes of killing you."  He paused as
she choked back a sob by biting on her lower lip,
teeth scraping already tender skin.

"I know."  It was barely a whisper, and but saying
aloud
lifted a weight from her chest.

He remained silent, but looked at her expectantly.

Reaching over, she took his left hand in both of hers
as she formulated a response.  "I wasn't thinking.  It
was instinctive, fight or flight.  I couldn't flee, so
I
had to fight.  I fought so hard."  The tears that had
been threatening finally spilled over, slipping down
her cheeks.

Mulder resisted wiping them away, instead settling for
running his thumb across the scratches covering the
back of her hand.  "I know you did."

"But it wasn't enough."  She barely heard the words
even as she said them, barely able to believe she'd
voiced them.

"That's why you shot him."

She couldn't have responded to him even if a reply had
been necessary.  Instead, she surprised both of them
by wrapping her arms around him, weeping against his
chest.

Everything she'd been trying to tamp down, to believe
she didn't feel, everything she didn't want to feel,
rose to the surface, spilling out and over.  She cried
in guilt at killing Pfaster; anger at Mulder for
feeling the need to comfort her like this;
disappointment
in herself for wanting his protection at this moment;
in shame at being unable to defend herself.

Mulder had returned her embrace, letting her pour her
feelings onto him.  He remained silent, running
fingers over her hair and down her back.  The touch
was tentative at first, but grew firmer as she clung
to him.

Scully wasn't sure how long they remained entwined
there on his creaky old couch, but it was long enough
for her world to implode and begin to rebalance
itself.  As she pulled away from him, she trailed one
hand along Mulder's shoulders.

"Thank you."

"You don't have to-"

"Yes, Mulder, I do.  This whole situation is still a
terrible one, but you deserve thanks for sitting here
and letting me cope with it."

He nodded and rose to his feet, extending a hand down
to her.  "I wouldn't ever do otherwise.  Now, why
don't you go get as much sleep as you can, so you can
start to sort the legalities out tomorrow."

She felt the defenses starting to reform as she took
Mulder's hand and rose from the couch.  Already the
curtain wall was falling into place, but she promised
herself to leave a wider gate this time, to let Mulder
in when she needed someone.  By tomorrow morning, even
after a fitful night, she was sure enough of her
professional calm would be restored that she could
face setting up meetings with the police and the OPR.

Entering the bedroom, both stalled and stood
awkwardly. "Well, you know where things are," said
Mulder,
shifting to back out of the room.

"Stay."  It was a whisper, but it was enough to stop
him.

"I really don't think that's-"

"Stay, please.  I can't sleep alone tonight."  She
knew he would deny her nothing, and certainly not
this.  "I just want to know you're here."  She felt
her
cheeks flush, but she maintained eye contact.

It was a long moment before he nodded.  "Yeah, okay.
Just let me close the apartment up.  Go ahead and go
to bed."

She crawled under the covers as she listened to him
bustle around the apartment.  Locks slid into place
and mugs plunked into the porcelain kitchen sink.
When Mulder returned, flicking off the lights and sliding
into bed, she could feel the walls reforming more
surely than before.  But this time she was sure there
was a gateway forming as she drifted into twilight
sleep.
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