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From: Amory20@aol.com
Date: Sat, 1 May 1999 22:20:27 EDT
Subject: New: Shattered (1/1) by JLB


TITLE: Shattered (1/1)
AUTHOR: JLB (Amory20@aol.com)
CLASSIFICATION: V, A, MSR
RATING:  i'll say R, sexual situations
SPOILERS: Two Fathers/One Son
SUMMARY: fourth in the schizophrenic/breakdown/treatment series (if you need 
any of these, drop me a line and i'll send them pronto :)
FEEDBACK: good god, yes!  amory20@aol.com
ARCHIVING:  sure, wherever.  just let me know. :)
DISCLAIMER: okay, i do not own them...never have, never will.  CC and 1013 
all the way. 
AUTHOR'S NOTE:  first of all, i have to thank michelle for her super beta 
reading -- she cleaned up so many mistakes that i can't really thank her 
enough -- and for counseling me through my problems with mulder.  (batting 
practice made all the difference!) and she deserves all the credit for the 
title...i couldn't come up with anything. also, big thanks to datya for her 
wonderful advice and suggestions -- it's not just anyone who can listen to my 
nonsensical ramblings.  i think this is the last of the series, though if 
someone can convince me that there's more to be done with it, i could be 
talked into it.  i think, though, that i'd like to some light stuff for a 
while...no angst.  DD inspired with his charming episode.  so we'll see.  
anyway, enjoy!

Shattered by JLB (Amory20@aol.com)

Rain.  

It's raining.  That's the first thing that registers when I finally wake up.  
I don't take in my surroundings right away, unsure where I am exactly.  I 
can't even remember what day it is.  All I feel, sense, hear is the rain 
against the window.  The soft pitter patter, a gentle melody playing against 
the glass.  Soothing in its cadence, disturbing in its persistence.

The next thing that registers is Mulder.  Mulder in a towel, dripping wet 
from the shower.  

When I slowly open my eyes, that's what I see -- Mulder emerging from the 
bathroom, a bright blue towel wrapped around his waist, his skin slick and 
shining with wetness.  The blue of the towel plays against his tan skin in a 
sensuous way -- I feel the flush blooming across my face. It comes back to me 
suddenly...Sunday morning. I'm in Mulder's bed, I tell myself as he runs a 
hand through his hair.  I watch as the droplets fly through the air like a 
dozen tiny bullets.  We make eye contact eventually, and he grins at me 
sheepishly.

"I thought you should sleep in," he says, yawning, "It's still so early."  He 
gestures to the clock beside the bed.  9:37 AM.

I cringe internally as I calculate the figure.  I've spent almost twenty-four 
hours in Mulder's bed.  With the exception of several trips to the bathroom 
and a few brief expeditions to the kitchen, we haven't left the bed since 
sometime early yesterday afternoon when Mulder carried me in here.  It's a 
record for us, even if it was a shameless attempt to stifle the issues 
beginning to push their way between us, wedging their way into the room with 
us.  They still haven't found a way into bed with us -- it's our last haven 
it seems.  The only place Mulder and I can connect anymore. 

"I guess I'll skip mass today," I yawn quietly, as I reposition myself in 
bed.  Guilt has always been a powerful force in my life because of my 
upbringing -- my father's influence as well as that of the church -- but as 
guilty as I feel, the urge to stay in this warm, soft bed...Mulder's bed...is 
stronger.  

"You sure?" Mulder asks, concern etching across his features.

"Yeah.  I'm still sleepy."  I fluff the pillow up under my head, and sigh.

He nods slowly, and goes to his dresser, pulling drawers out, searching 
through them.  I watch the muscles of his back contract as he pulls out a 
random shirt and shorts.  I love Mulder's entire body -- his toes, his knees, 
his chest, all of him -- but his back is my favorite part.  The skin is so 
smooth, so soft and tan, and the muscles beneath the surface are tight and 
firm.  It's beautiful.  He's beautiful, and I lie back and just take in the 
sight of him.

Suddenly I'm reminded of something -- a look, a feeling -- and a movie begins 
to play in my head.  Grainy black and white images fluttering across the 
screen...hazy, gauzy memories of something elusive yet persistent.  Haunting, 
like the sound of rain drops outside the window.  Words echo suddenly, 
begging to be said aloud.  Feelings resonate, desperate for expression.  My 
throat feels swollen shut, each breath causing a dull ache in my chest, and 
my eyes are burning.  I have to close them, the light from Mulder's bedside 
lamp now strangely bright.

"Are you okay, Scully?"  Mulder's voice brings me back.  He asks the question 
halfheartedly, expecting to be dismissed, prepared to hear the usual, 
monotone "I'm fine."

I blink several times to stop the whirlwind of picture buzzing through my 
consciousness, and sit up against the headboard.

Deep breath...one, two, three.

"I was just thinking about how we got here," I whisper, my voice thin and 
scratchy.  I can't prevent the frown that almost immediately crosses my face.

Mulder turns around slowly, and places his hands on his hips, causing the 
towel to slide further down his body.  I'm enthralled with his navel for a 
moment before I hear his sigh, notice the slight flicker of his eyes.

"Oh, Scully, don't worry.  You're only what, 100 pounds? My back's fine."  He 
smiles blandly, trying to coax a laugh from me.  I can't even manage a smile.

"Mulder..."

"How we got here...right."  He looks at me intently, his gaze penetrating the 
distance between us.  I feel his eyes everywhere at once, and as much as I 
want to look away, I can't.

He moves to the edge of the bed, and sits down at my feet, stroking my calves 
lightly, almost wistfully.  I finally force a half smile but it fades when I 
realize I have to say something.  I've started this, brought us here, and I 
have to see it through.

"That first night..." I whisper, shaking slightly at the memory of the events 
that lead up to falling into Mulder's bed for the first time.

"I didn't think you wanted to talk about that...ever," he says quietly.

"But it's becoming an issue, isn't it?  It's here," I gesture around the 
room," whether we acknowledge it or not."

"Yeah...yes, it is, Scully."  He pulls my feet into his lap, and begins 
massaging them, kneading slowly and methodically.

"You know, Mulder, I think they're the one part of my body that's not sore," 
I smile, relieved that he's touching me at all.

"Never know what's coming next, Scully," he leers, flashing a playful smile, 
"Gotta be prepared."

"Hmmm...you would have thought I'd learned that much by now," I say absently, 
and watch as Mulder's face transforms -- guilt, sadness, regret taking up 
residence in his eyes, in the stiff line of his mouth.

"Scully..." He grabs me under my knees, and pulls me down the bed to him. I'm 
in his arms in seconds, and I begin to burn when he nuzzles my cheek.

"God, what the hell is wrong with us?"  Mulder moans, burying his face in my 
shoulder.

The question...that question.  It's been obvious for some time that 
something's wrong.  With us, with me, with him...it's hard to say exactly.  
But things have been so far from right that we seem wrong...wrong together.  
Like we don't fit anymore.  That maybe we were never meant to fit together in 
this way.  I haven't been able to admit that to Mulder, admit that maybe 
we've made a mistake.

I pull away from him slowly, and settle myself beside him, my legs stretched 
out in front of me, crossed daintily at the ankles, a wrinkled sheet wrapped 
around my body.  The room is so eerily silent that I can barely remember how 
to speak, what words I intended to say.  The falling rain is the only thing I 
hear ... the rhythm echoing over and over again, matching the throbbing in my 
head.

"I try not to think about it, Mulder," I say finally, my voice shaky, "I try 
to block it all out.  But it always comes back.  Always."

I don't look at him but I hear his breathing change.  It becomes hurried, 
frantic almost.  He must know what's coming.

"I hear Cassandra begging you to kill her.  I feel the scorching of the decon 
shower.  I see..." I pause for a moment, taking in as much air as my body 
will allow, "I see Diana...the look in your eyes when you told me I was 
making it personal..."  

Mulder sits up stiffly.  His body radiates tension and heat in waves so 
strong that, when I close my eyes, I feel my skin soaking them in, feel it 
all dripping off me.

"And those burning bodies...God Mulder...and then I remember you, bringing me 
back here, neither of us able to look the other in the eye.  And before we 
could even say anything...'I'm sorry,' 'Let me explain'...things that should 
have been said, that we both needed to say...before any of that, we were 
here...that irreversible step taken..." I lose my pace, the words rushing out 
with little time to consider them fully.  Out of the corner of my eye, I see 
Mulder slowly nod his head, his eyes shut firmly, almost as if he can block 
everything out if he simply refuses to look.  I've tried...the visions keep 
coming.  They wear you down.

"I guess now I can't help wondering if we..."  I can't finish the thought.  
It's too much for me to say it aloud.

"If it was a mistake?"  The calm of his voice stuns me for a moment.  I look 
at him, searching his face for his reaction.  He looks slightly dazed.

"Mulder..."

"No, I think I understand, Scully.  We lost each other that night. If only 
for a moment.  But we did and I think we both believed that this would bring 
us back to each other, that it was the only way for us to hold on.  And in a 
way, I think it worked.  But it's not enough now, Scully.  Sex can't make up 
for the fact that we barely know each other anymore."  His voice cracks as he 
finishes.  It sounds like glass breaking, shattering into a million tiny 
pieces.  I picture myself stepping in it -- the sharp pain, blood seeping 
from my foot, an infection maybe.  

"Mulder..." I whisper, as I run my feet along the stiff cotton of his sheets, 
"You're always asking me to open up...so let me say this.  I was hurt and 
angry that night.  I can admit that.  And I guess I worry about what that 
means for us now.  What if we're here for all the wrong reasons?"  I wonder 
if I'm shouting.  My voice seems abnormally loud.

"I want you, Scully.  That's a good enough reason for me," Mulder says 
defensively.

"But Mulder, you're the one--"

"I've thought about this, Scully...and I think we were inevitable.  It was 
only a matter of time."

I turn to him, raising an eyebrow.  I try to fight back a smirk but it 
escapes, unfettered.  He catches my look, and smiles in response.

"Okay, seven years is a long time but it was always going to happen, Scully.  
So if it took something like...if it took something like that night to make 
it happen, then that's what it took.  That in and of itself doesn't have to 
affect us."  His tone is firm, tight by the time he finishes.

"But I think--"

"Look...the fact that I wanted to trust Diana, the fact that I blew you 
off...yeah we should deal with that.  Because it doesn't only affect us here, 
it affects us on the X-files as well," he says excitedly, caught up in his 
thoughts.  

I look over at him for a moment, silently regard him.  He's playing with the 
edge of his towel, rubbing it between his fingers as if he's analyzing the 
texture and weight.  His other hand strokes the back of his neck, slowly, 
easing the knots there.  

Maybe that's all this has ever come down to for him.  Work.  The X-files.  
Maybe it's too difficult for him to juggle us both, and when push comes to 
shove, I can guess which he'll chose.  My vision blurs when I realize this.

"So we have to deal with this for the sake of our work?" I ask quietly, 
unable to hide the pain in my voice, the force it requires to get the words 
out.

"Scully, don't.  You know what I mean.  This is a lot bigger than just a 
typical lovers' spat.  We need to recognize that," he says matter-of-factly.  
I see the broken glass again in my head, working its way into my skin, 
imbedding itself inside me, scarring.

"I do recognize that.  I do."  I don't hide the anger, can't make that effort 
right now. "That's exactly why I held back from this for so long.  Because it 
can't be just you and I here. We're never really alone.  We're responsible to 
and for so many others.  We can't make choices without considering what they 
mean for everyone else.  That's a lot of stress to put on a relationship."

"I think the problem we have here is more elemental than all that.  How can 
we have any kind of relationship -- personal or professional--if you won't 
let me in, Scully?"  He's looking at me now.  I feel his eyes on me, as 
intrusive as imagined shards of glass.

When did Mulder start lying, I wonder.  When did he stop being honest with 
himself?  Yesterday I offered.  As difficult as it was for me, I presented 
him with the key.  And he refused.  He brought us back here.  To this place 
where nothing exists but the physical.  How does he expect me to cooperate 
when he keeps changing the rules?

"I don't understand you, Mulder.  I told you I wanted to talk yesterday.  I 
told you that we could--"

"You didn't want to talk.  We both know that much, Scully.  If you were going 
to give in, throw a few crumbs my way, it was only because I was forcing you. 
 Because I gave you an ultimatum.  And I didn't want it that way.  That's 
what yesterday was about, Scully.  To show you that's not us, that we can't 
keep doing that."  He grabs a pillow, and clutches it to his chest.  I hold 
the sheet in place against my body.

"That might be true...but there was a moment there, Mulder, right before you 
carried me in here, when I wanted to talk, when I had questions...I tried.  I 
just couldn't..." 

"Be honest, Scully.  You think that sleeping with me is going to bridge this 
gap...that somehow if you let me touch you, if you touch me, we can ignore 
the rest.  But can't you see that it doesn't work?  We can't."  

He tugs lightly on the sheets, and they fall to my waist.  I watch, in slow 
motion it seems, as Mulder leans forward to kiss me, his hand on my thigh, 
caressing lightly but enough that I feel it, that I respond.  

He brakes the kiss suddenly, and I moan, trying to protest.  My head 
spins...I have no idea what's happening here.

"See. Nothing's fixed," Mulder announces as he moves back to his position 
next to me.  

Angered or high on the feel of Mulder's mouth, I pull him back to me, kissing 
him again, almost punishing him, stopping only when I feel him tremble 
against me.

"Scully..." he says breathlessly.

I pull the sheet back against my chest, and smooth my hair.  I need to feel 
composed.  I need to feel I'm in control.

"We've been together for seven years Mulder...and we've never really talked 
before.  I just assumed you knew, that things didn't need to be said.  
Because I know, Mulder.  I don't need to be told." I tell him in my clinical, 
detached voice.  Silently my body is thrumming, the after effects of Mulder's 
touch and pent up emotions.  

"Scully, that whole unspoken thing might have worked before...but it doesn't 
now.  We're in too deep here to just expect one another to infer what's going 
on."  He's exasperated.  His breathing is still slightly erratic.

"I don't know what to tell you then, Mulder.  I can't give you everything you 
want."

"Why not?  Why can't you just let me in?"

I notice suddenly, for the very first time, that Mulder has a photo of me on 
his bookcase.  I study it from across the room, unable to tell when it was 
taken.  Recently I think, based on my haircut, but I have no recollection of 
posing for it.  I feel my heart race, all the blood rushing to my head.  
Sinking.  I'm sinking.  I feel myself screaming...praying for someone to 
throw me a line so I can pull myself out. I turn to Mulder, who's looking at 
me like I have all the answers.  I almost laugh at the thought...I know 
nothing.

"I've been alone in every way that counts for years, Mulder," I whisper, my 
eyes closed, "There has to be something that's just mine, that I own.  
Something no one else can touch."

When I look at him, I know he's confused, almost as if I'm speaking to him in 
an entirely different language, an ancient forgotten language that only I 
know.  He takes a deep breath, and is about to speak but I beat him to it.

"You can't understand because you've always had this quest of yours, this 
mission to find out what happened to Samantha.  Your work."

"You have the X-files too, Scully," he asserts.

"I don't really.  Not the way you do, Mulder.  You...to this day...after 
everything we've gone through, after everything I've done...you still think 
of them as yours.  I'm always an afterthought."

"Scully, that's not--"

"Yes.  Yes, it is.  It's okay.  I think I've finally come to understand.  But 
I need something too...room, space.  I need to feel like I'm still me.  Not 
just a piece of the X-files, some part of Fox Mulder."  

We look at each other, and I feel the distance between us.  He's right -- we 
barely know each other anymore.  Lately, we catch each other off guard, 
unprepared all the time.  He's hurt, I realize.  His eyes give it away.  I 
reach for his shoulder but he pulls away before I make contact.

"I told you, Scully," he says in a dangerous voice, "I told you last summer 
that you make me whole, that without you I'm incomplete, broken.  That scares 
me, sure, but I accept it, admit it.  Why can't you?"

His face tightens, and I know I shouldn't touch him.  He's gone somewhere 
that I don't know how to reach.

"It's hard...I can't explain it well..." I try to move closer to him -- if I 
can't bridge the emotional gap, I'll bridge the physical one.  He doesn't 
seem to notice.

"I'm only asking you to try."  

"You make it sound so simple, Mulder.  It's not though."

"Scully, come on.  Just let go.  It's me.  Only me."  His voice is gentle, 
desperate.

He thinks that should make this easier.  Mulder thinks that I can do it with 
him when I couldn't with someone else.  I can't tell him the truth -- that 
it's easier for me to open up to strangers than to him -- because he would 
think it is a reflection on him.  And in a way, I suppose it is.  I am 
terrified of him.  Absolutely terrified.  Because Mulder is the one person 
who could make everything else in this world meaningless for me.  He is the 
only person who has to the power to consume me totally, absorb me into his 
existence, leaving virtually no evidence that Dana Scully was ever a 
separate, distinct entity.  

The room seems to get smaller.  Mulder is so close, too close maybe.  I 
realize that I'm at a fork -- I either give him something or I stall yet 
again.  I focus on Mulder's eyes for a moment...all darkness, no light.  
Decision made.  I fold my hands in my lap to keep myself from touching him.  
That will only make this more difficult.

"Do you know what it was like for me every time you ran off without me?  
Before this, I mean..."  I see him grimace, his face scrunched so tightly I'm 
afraid it might snap in two.  He makes no effort to speak.  I look quickly at 
the photo of me on his bookcase before I continue.  

"No...you don't know.  Because I never told you.  Most of the time I was just 
scared, frantic to know if you were okay...you know, trying prepare for the 
worst but still remain hopeful...at times like that, I thought that maybe I 
could finally understand what you went through when I was abducted...how 
desperate for news you must have been, how easy it would have been to lose 
faith that I'd ever come back.  But there was an important difference...I was 
taken against my will.  You willfully put yourself in these dangerous 
situations, without regard for yourself, without regard for how I would feel. 
 And that's where the anger and hurt would come in."   

Mulder is listening, intently, but he's started to rock back and forth 
against the bedpost.  He turns to look at me, his eyes so sleepy and 
apologetic.  

"You couldn't trust me enough, Mulder.  To take me with you or just let me 
know where you were going, what was going on.  Either because you didn't 
think I was strong enough to handle it or because you just didn't think of me 
at all, you refused to let me be a part of it.  And I told myself that I 
couldn't really react because I didn't have grounds to get so emotional over 
you.  If I shared what I was feeling, you would have known...it would have 
been because of something more than partnerly concern.  But now...now the 
stakes have been raised triple fold.  I don't know if I'll be able to stand 
it when you go..."

I'm not certain anymore what this has to do with the conversation we're 
having.  It forces its way out because it's something I've thought and felt 
for a long time.  I could never find a way to say it...I don't think I'd even 
composed the thoughts fully in my head.  I suddenly realize I feel almost 
empty inside now...I've given something away, and I can feel it.

Mulder reaches his hand out to my chin, and turns me to look at him.  I'm 
expecting to see guilt, regret -- the typical Mulder emotions, especially 
when it comes to me -- but not now.  He's angry.  His eyes are entirely black 
now, dark, wild.  I watch his lower lip tremble as he takes a shaky breath.  

"So you think that if we just jump into bed together every time we're alone, 
you won't feel that way, Scully?" he taunts, pinning me to the spot with his 
eyes.

"No...I don't know what I think.  I just...you're making this too difficult." 
 Tears.  I feel tears flooding my eyes so I jerk away from Mulder's hand, and 
tilt my head backwards.  Anything to keep them from falling.

"Why, Scully?  Because I'm holding you accountable?  I'm sorry but I think I 
deserve an explanation," he growls, gripping my shoulders now.  The sheets 
fall back across the bed.  I am painfully aware of my state of undress.  I 
scramble for some sort of argument to throw at him, surprised by how easily I 
manage to come up with something.

"If you feel so used, Mulder, why do you let it keep happening?" I ask 
smugly.  Take that, Mulder.  Explain this one away.

"Because we can't go back now, Scully," he says softly, releasing his hold on 
my shoulders, "and I can't lose you."  

I freeze.  God, my emotions are buried so deeply, encased in some kind of 
cement inside me, so I have to actively chisel them out, allow myself to feel 
them.  Mulder...I look at Mulder.  He wears everything on his face.  His 
eyes, his beautiful mouth, the creases in his forehead.  We owe something to 
each other.  We do.  It's not something I can ignore anymore.  

His hand is in my hair suddenly, stroking lightly, gently.  I want to cry.  I 
could.  Things should be easy for us.  After everything, we've been through, 
this should be easy.  And yet, everything is difficult.  Every touch, kiss, 
breath.  All the words.  It's a struggle, a constant battle.  Mulder and I 
have lost so much that we deserve this.  Uncomplicated, simple, painless.

He pulls me against his side, bare skin on bare skin, and I find myself 
playing with his towel, pulling the ends apart, searching for more skin.  I 
need to see, feel more of him.  He throws his head back, eyes closed, and his 
breathing quickens as I stroke his thigh.

"Why do you think you'll lose me?" I ask quietly.  

"Because we're so far apart now," he says breathlessly, almost a moan as my 
hand moves further up his thigh.

"Maybe it's not as far as you think," I tell him, trying to convince myself 
as much as Mulder.

"Scully..." He pulls me to him, so I'm straddling his lap, his hands stroking 
my hips, "I want to believe that's true..."  His eyes are so sad as he 
presses a kiss to my throat, but I can see light in them again.  They're 
almost too bright to look into directly.

"You've never had a problem with that before."  I smile as I bend slightly to 
kiss him.  A kiss to prove to him that he hasn't lost me, that I haven't lost 
him.  My lips and tongue can convey all the things that words can't.  

He brakes the kiss, and looks at me thoughtfully.  "This is different..." His 
voice is rough, edgy.  Without realizing it, our hips have begun to move 
together in rhythm.  I lose track of everything for a moment as I feel Mulder 
beneath me, warm, close.

"It doesn't have to be," I say finally.  I slowly fall back against the bed, 
taking Mulder with me, feeling his weight on top of me now, his entire body 
pressing against mine.  And somehow, I can't believe that we're that far 
apart.

As I wrap my legs around his waist, he whispers in my ear, "Is this 
avoidance, Scully?  Are you putting me off again?"  I gasp as his hips rock 
against mine.

"I thought I was...*getting* you off, Mulder," I tease.  He grunts against my 
shoulder, and my body vibrates, head to toe.  "Expression, Mulder.  This is 
expression."

"Scully..."  He moans.  It's a protest, though, but we're talking entirely 
too much right now.  It can wait.

"Shhh..." I silence him with my fingers, and still his hips with my legs. 
"Let's just take a nap, and then we'll conquer all the world's problems."  I 
smile at him, and he returns the favor.  I feel lightheaded when I realize I 
truly believe what I've said.  I will try to fix this with him.

"Okay," he whispers, nipping at my neck lightly.  "Stop trying to steal my 
thunder," he growls, thrusting his hips so forcefully the grip of my legs 
can't stop him, so I feel my body spilt in two, a pleasant ache taking up 
residence in every nerve ending.

Then the glass shatters, rain falls, the room tilts on its edge, and for the 
first time, I open my eyes to see Mulder as we fall.

the end.
(hmm...it's over. what are you going to do now?  could always send some 
feedback -- what fun!  amory20@aol.com)