From: Laura Anne Gilman 
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NWE STORY:  BETRAYAL  (warning: contains Adult Content)
Date: 20 Oct 1995 03:10:15 GMT

                                     
I wasn't going to post this, but a fellow 'phile who's off-line convinced 
me that some of you might enjoy it.  This was created at the instigation 
of the Dark Circle of E-Mail, and it is All Their Fault .

Disclaimer (official):  The characters used below ain't none of my creating, 
they're Chris Carter's and he's got lots and lots of lawyers so he =could= 
sue me.. but that's bad for fandom, so he probably won't.  One hopes.  
(everyone  do quick chorus of the 10-13 copyright song)

Disclaimer (timeline):  This story was originally written during the summer, 
but it can be placed pretty much at any point in the current season...

Disclaimer (emotional): The below story contains some violence, some
sex, and a lot of Depressing Stuff.  I've tried to keep it in
character, but if you don't like seeing the darker side of Our Duo,
you might want to skip this.  Rated...  R, I guess.  Graphic, but not
explicit (for my stuff, anyway.  Your mileage may vary)



                          BETRAYAL
       


       He sat in front of the television, his gaze blank.  Scattered
in front of him was a fan of papers, some crumpled, some torn -- all
damning.  He stirred just enough to lift the glass to his lips, the
sound of ice cubes clinking against each other the only noise in the
room.  On the screen, bodies writhed in silence.
       The scotch burned, and he waited for the warmth, the oblivion.
It didn't come. Draining the glass, he reached for the bottle, pouring
a healthy dose over melting ice.  Was this three?  Four?  Probably
closer to five, truth be told.  His mouth twisted into a bitter
curve. Truth be told.  When was the truth ever told?  Not to him.
Never, goddamn it, to him.
       The glass was empty.  He stared at it, uncomprehending.  It
seemed too much effort to swear.
       "Bitch."
       The word dropped into the silence like a crack of lightning,
startling him.  His hand dropped to a random piece of paper, drawing
it to his face.  He didn't need the light to know what it said.  He
was an old hand at reading transcripts.  Transcripts of two-bit hoods,
racketeers, corrupt cops -- FBI muckety-mucks.
       
       
       
       Turncoat backstabbing partners.
       The glass shattered.

                                    *  *  *  *

       Dana Scully paused outside the door.  The apartment was silent.
She knocked again, then drew the key out of her pocket and entered.
       The room was dark, save for the flickering of the television.
She shook her head, stepping around the papers scattered on the floor
to look down on the figure slumped across the sofa. He must have
forgotten that they were supposed to meet for dinner.  It wasn't the
first time.  For a man with perfect memory, he really could be such an
airhead at times.  She bent down to wake him, and smelled the liquor
on his breath.  She froze, concerned.  The last time Mulder had tied
one on had been after not-Samantha, when he was finally off the
medication and she would let him drink again.  Why tonight?
       Her gaze fell on the paper in his hand, and she lifted it
gently from his grasp.
       "No.  Oh god, no."
       The paper was snatched out of her hand, and she looked down
into her partner's stone sober eyes.  Cold eyes.  A stranger's eyes.
       "What's the matter, Scully?"  He could have been asking about
the weather, his voice was so matter-of-fact.  "Something wrong?"
       She bit her lip, stepping away from the sofa, stepping on the
papers scattered on the floor.  "Mulder --" Dana swallowed as he rose
from the sofa in a graceful slide, moving forward as she went back.
She tried frantically to say something, anything, but every word stuck
in her throat, the moment out of her worst waking nightmare.  No, a
little voice said.  Not your worst nightmare.  They showed you that
already.
       "What?  Dana Scully without something carefully thought-out and
practical to say?  Dana Scully at a loss?"  Mulder grinned
unpleasantly.  "Who'd a thunk it?  Special Agent Dr. Dana Scully out
of her depths."  He stood in front of her, looming, his height
threatening in a way she'd never felt before.  Suddenly she was aware
of how big he was, the strength that had always seemed so comforting a
sharp threat.
       No, she told herself.  This is Mulder.  I will =not= be afraid
of Mulder.  But she was.


                                                   *  *  *  *

       Mulder could see her eyes grow wide, a small voice inside him
crying out in pain to see her so afraid.  Shut up! he told the voice.
She should be afraid.  She should be peeing in her pants.  But she
wouldn't.  Not Dana Scully.  Not calm, collected, always-goddamn-right
Scully. Judas Scully.
       "Did you enjoy yourself?" he asked, advancing on her again.
"Did you laugh about how easy it was to fool old Spooky?  Or did you
have the decency to keep it professional?"
       She shook her head, the gems in her ears catching the
television's reflection.  Garnets.  He had bought them for her last
Christmas, after weeks of agonizing and driving more than one
salesclerk to distraction.  His hand had shook when he handed the
package to her, terrified.  She had smiled that soft, killer smile at
him, he remembered.  Smiled, and given him the first and only kiss he
ever received from her.  A feather-light touch across his check.  He
had wanted to wrap her in his arms, toss her to the ground, but he
hadn't.  He had restrained himself, kept their relationship on a good
working level.
       And all the time she had been spying on him.  Telling tales.
Keeping track of Spooky Mulder for the Powers That Be.
       "What did they offer you, Scully?"  He heard his voice crack,
and hated her for it.  "A plushy office?  Fastrack to promotion?"  His
hand lashed out, catching her chin and turning it up so that she had
no choice but to look him in the eye.  "I hope to hell it was worth
it."
       "Mulder --"
       He flicked her chin away harshly, turning so that he didn't
have to look at her.  He didn't know what he would do if he had to
look at her anymore.  "Get out.  Go tell your masters they won't win
that damn easy.  Go put that in your report, Agent Scully."
       "You don't..."
       "I said get out!" he roared, his arm slashing an arc around
him, knocking the lamp from its' table.
       They both stared at it for a moment, then Mulder's shoulders
sagged.  "Get out," he repeated more quietly.  "Please, Scully.  Leave
me this much dignity, at least."
       She ignored him, bending down to pick up the jagged pieces of
ceramic.
       "Damn you, what is your problem?!  You're useless, Scully.
There's not much good in an agent whose cover has been blown, didn't
they teach you that in the academy?"
       She stood, drawing herself up to her full height.  She looked
like a housecat confronting a tiger, and despite himself Mulder felt a
familiar swell of pride in her absolute fearlessness.  He tamped that
emotion down ruthlessly, determined to send her away with at least
some of the pain he was feeling.  Grabbing her by the shoulders, he
shoved her towards the door.
       She stumbled, slamming sideways into the wall.  He hadn't mean
to do that, he thought.  Had he?
     She glared at him, her eyes shadowed and hurt-looking.  "Judge
and jury, is that it, Mulder?  You come across tangible evidence, and
I'm convicted?  And since when do you =believe=" and her voice dripped
angry sarcasm, "in the obvious answer."
       He stared at her, feeling the slow pulse of anger in his
temple.  "Is this a lie?"  The papers crunched underfoot.  "Is it all
a set-up?  Tell me it's a lie, Scully.  Make me believe you."
       She stared back at him a long moment, then dropped her gaze,
those clear eyes filled with something Mulder couldn't identify.  But
he wasn't interested in her emotions, only that tacit admission of
guilt.
       "I trusted you," he spat, reaching out to grab her by the
shoulders again.  "I told you everything -- =everything!= His hands
closed on her shoulders, shaking her fiercely.  "You goddamned
=bitch!="
       His emotions tangled beyond control, Mulder didn't know whether
to knock her into the wall, or... he gave in to the suggestion of the
alcohol running through his system and pushed his partner against the
wall, holding her there while his mouth descended against her lips,
devouring her.  Punishing her.


                                                 *  *  *  *

       Dana couldn't breathe.  His body was crushing her against the
wall, his lips stealing the air from her lungs.  She was terrified,
aroused, humiliated.  This wasn't Fox Mulder -- this was some stranger
she had never seen before.  She flashed back to the alien bounty
hunter, wearing Mulder's face, throwing her against the wall, and
cringed from the memory.  Then she had known it wasn't Mulder.  Here
there was no such comforting barricade to hide behind.
       Her hands went to his chest, her arm muscles cording in an
effort to push him away, to no avail.  His tongue forced her mouth
open, and she died a little inside when her body responded without her
consent.
       She wanted to fight him, and couldn't.  She had caused him
enough pain, she never wanted to hurt him again.  Had never wanted to
hurt him, not ever.
       That small voice came back, telling her that the pain he was
inflicting on her meant nothing.  It would be nothing more than she
deserved.  Nothing more than she had expected all along.  You betrayed
him.  You let him down like you let everyone else down.  Like you let
Jack down.  Like you let your father down.  Melissa.... What right do
you have to cry foul now?
              

                                    *  *  *  *

       Mulder felt her body change, the resistance flowing out of her
like rain through a drainpipe, but it only infuriated him more.  She
was not going to play to his chivalrous side, not any longer.  He
should have learned his lesson with Phoebe but no, he had to be the
eternal fucking optimist, the hopeful romantic.  Maybe this would
teach him, one and for all.  But he'd be damned if he didn't get
anything out of this.  Be damned if he'd play the knight in shining
armor now.
       Tearing his lips from hers, he reached with one hand and tore
the neck of her blouse, lowering his head to chew at the soft skin
along her neck.  She whimpered underneath him, inflaming him even
more.  He wanted to hear her whimper, wanted to hear her scream for
mercy.  Scream his name.
       Sliding his hands along her shoulders, he pushed the torn
fabric off her torso, baring the pale skin to his touch.  His lower
body pinned her against the wall when she would have struggled, his
knee spreading her legs enough for him to press up against her, make
her feel his arousal through the cloth of his trousers, the fabric of
her skirt.  She moaned low in her throat, her hands grasping his hips,
pulling him closer.  He smiled grimly, rocking into her to hear that
moan again.
       "Is this what you want, Scully?" he asked, his voice a harsh
whisper.  "I can give you this.  Will you write it up in your report?
I wouldn't want you to give me anything but high marks."
       "Mulder..."  Her voice was soft, her breath warm against his
ear.
       "Is this what you want, Scully?" her repeated, rubbing against
her slowly.
       "Yes," she admitted, her voice breaking.
       "Yes, what?"  he prompted, one thumb hovering a hair from her
breast, teasing the nipple with the promise of friction.
       "This is what I want," she said in a rush, arching her body
against his hand.  "This is what I want."
       He pulled away from her, half-tempted to send her away
unsatisfied.  But that wouldn't satisfy =him.= He wasn't sure why she
wasn't fighting him, but her capitulation didn't please him.  He had
expected more of her, somehow.  He =needed= her to fight him, build
his anger back up to a level that would protect him from the rodent
gnawing at his heart, his soul.
       "Take your clothes off," he ordered her.
       Her eyes never leaving his face, her hands moved to the
remaining buttons of her blouse, then hesitated.  Her face was flushed
with shame, he was pleased to see.  Crossing his arms, he watched her,
his expression unyielding.  "Take them off, or you won't have anything
left to put back on."
       Shrugging out of the garment, she unzipped her skirt and let it
fall to the ground.  Her panties were a soft shade of rose, her bra
matching lace.
       "Very nice," he said.  "Tasteful, demure -- just what you would
expect from Dana Scully.  But we know that appearances are deceiving,
don't we, Scully?  And innocence has always been overrated, in my
opinion."  His voice hardened.  "Take them off."
       Nude, she stood before him unflinching, and once again an
unwilling admiration rose up in him.  Damn her, he thought bitterly, I
won't back down now.
       He started to unbuckle his belt when Scully stepped forward,
her hands moving his out of the way.  She made short work of the belt,
and then his trousers puddled at his stockinged feet.  He stepped out
of them, letting her draw his briefs down as well.  Her hands were
warm against him and he drew in a sharp breath.  He hadn't expected
this.  Not at all.
       "Is this your apology, Scully?  One blow job in exchange for
screwing me over?  I'm not that cheap."
       Then her mouth was on him, and he forgot what he was saying,
barely able to hold on to his anger as she worked him with her tongue,
her hands alternately grasping and caressing his ass.  He tried to
think of something to say, something hateful and hurtful, but all he
could concentrate on was the gentle strokes of hand and tongue that
were steadily driving him mad.  Growling, he tangled his hand in her
hair and pulled her away, sinking down to his knees, pushing her onto
her back on the bare wood floor.
       Spreading her legs, he fit himself between her thighs, holding
himself over her.  "Is this what you want?" he asked again.
       She nodded, her eyes unfocused and confused, a sadness in them
that threatened the anger he was hoarding.
       "No, Scully.  Tell me.  Beg me."  He ran a finger along the
side of her left breast, toyed with the nipple.  "Beg me for it.  This
is what you wanted, isn't it?  Since that first day you sauntered into
my office, oozing sincerity and wholesome charm?" He bared his teeth
in a parody of his rare smile.  "Tell me, did they expect me to fall
into your bed that first case?  Is that why you showed up in my room?"
His voice thinned, his features creasing with bitter lines.  "Did they
train you for that, too?"
       The sudden crack of her hand against his face caught him by
surprise.  He reached for her, and she clawed at him, suddenly a
spitting cat again.  "Go to hell, Mulder.  You've gotteneverything
else I can give, but I won't let you treat me like that.  Do you hear
me?  I'm tired of being used!"
       The anger which lust had softened roared back into focus.
"=You're= tired of being used?  Oh, that's a great joke, Scully.  A
really great joke.  You don't know shit about being used."
       She scrambled to her feet, rose-tipped breasts heaving, the
back of her hand to her mouth.  "Fuck you, Mulder.  You're so damned
righteous, you never stop to think that other people have to pay too.
Well, here's a news flash.  You're not the only victim here.  Other
people get caught up in your windmills, and they pay just as much.
You have no =clue= what goes on outside your tunnel vision, absolutely
no clue."
       He glared at her, incensed.  "I know that you betrayed me!"
       "Mulder, I kept you alive!"

       There was silence.  

                                    *  *  *  *
       
       Dana turned away, walking to where what was left of her blouse
lay on the floor.  She picked it up, running the material through her
fingers.  She had worn it because she knew that Mulder liked the
color.  Her mind kept tossing that fact back and forth, and she
recognized, with what part of her brain was still functioning, that
she was in shock.
       He still hadn't said anything, and she used the silence to put
her underwear back on.  It didn't help.  She still felt naked,
vulnerable.
       "Dammit, say something," she said finally, looking over her
shoulder to where Mulder stood, looking for all the world like a
whipped puppy.  A tall, naked, whipped puppy.  The thought should have
made her smile.  She wanted to cry.
       "What did they offer you?"  His voice was quiet, controlled,
but with none of the venom of earlier.
       "You."  She swallowed.  "Your safety.  The X-Files."
       "And you believed them?"
       "They kept their promise," she said simply.
       "And you never once thought about telling me?  About the fact
that I could take care of myself, =had= taken care of myself before
you came along?"  There was anger in his voice, but it didn't frighten
her now.  She was beyond fear, beyond anger -- beyond everything
except the aching emptiness inside her.
       "You weren't as successful before I came."  
       The truth stood between them for a long second, eons after her
words dissipated into the ether.
       "And you never tried to buck them?  Never tried to stop?"  He
sounded beaten, and she thought about lying, but couldn't.  Not any
more.
       "Once."
       He looked at her, questioning.
       "I tried to stop, once.  I didn't tell them about Puerto Rico."
She steeled herself to look at him.  "I was... punished for that."
       The realization of what she meant sunk in slowly.  She could
see it in his face, the horrified understanding, and her heart broke
as it hadn't when he hurled those hateful words at her, when he
perverted her fantasies of them with cold lust. His hazel eyes held a
bleakness in them she had never seen before, not even when his father
died.
       "If I didn't.. behave, it would be you next."  She hadn't meant
to tell him that, had hoarded her reasons inside for so long she
half-expected the sky to fall in on them now.
       Shaking, he moved the few steps to the sofa and sat down
heavily, still staring at her.  "They were using you to control me, by
using me to control you."  He started to laugh, a broken, hiccupy kind
of laugh that was too close to hysteria for comfort.  "It's beautiful,
Scully.  If it weren't so damn twisted it should be in a museum, it's
that beautiful."
       He believed her.  Her knees gave way in relief, and she would
have fallen if Mulder hadn't sprung from the sofa and caught her.  She
hid her face in his shoulder, the tears she had been fighting for too
long now finally breaking free.
       "I wanted to tell you," she whispered into the warm flesh
underneath her.  "I was so scared..."

       Mulder felt his arms go up to encircle her, the most natural
movement in the world.  He was exhausted, exhilarated.  He didn't
trust either feeling, but was too tired to question either.
       "Why now?" he wondered.  "Why feed me this information now?
What did they hope to gain?"
       He felt her stir, pulling away to look up at him.  Her eyes
were still shadowed, red-rimmed from tears, and his heart curled
around the edges at the thought of what she had done, at the reasons
she had done what she had done.
       "Dana?"
       He wasn't sure what he was asking, but her mouth brushing
against his was answer enough.  Groaning softly, he tangled his
fingers in her hair, gently pulling her head back so that he could run
his lips over her face, licking away the tears still drying on her
cheeks.  Rubbing noses softly, a wave of tenderness swept through him,
as far opposed from his earlier rage-fueled arousal as it was possible
to be, but his penis reacted just the same, surging forward against
her bare stomach.
       Her hands slid from his waist up along his spine, smoothing the
skin in a slow, erotic movement, and he shuddered under her touch.
       Not trusting his voice, he released her hair, stepping back and
holding out one hand to her.  She looked at that hand for a long
moment, and Mulder felt his breath catch painfully before she placed
her small, capable fingers within his.  The slightest tug, and she was
following him back into the bedroom, their eyes never leaving each
other.
       She swallowed once when he sat down on the bed, but came
willingly into her arms. They stayed that way for a long moment, skin
against skin, then he began to caress her softly, fingertips barely
touching the skin.  Shivers ran along her flesh, and her head fell
back.  He frowned in concentration, using this touch to erase all the
hurtful things he had said, the harsh way he had touched her before.
She had been right.  He had used her, forgetting all too often that
she hadn't been created solely as his sounding board, his personal
possession.  He wanted very much to make that up to her.
       Drawing her down beside him, Mulder ran his hands along her
sleek sides, memorizing every change of texture, every soft curve and
rough scar.  His mouth touched the gentle puckering where a bullet had
creased her leg, and she shivered as though someone had walked over
her grave.
       His mouth moved lower, kissing the underside of her knee, the
heel of her foot, and then back again.  His breath tickled the
sensitive skin of her thigh, causing her to startle.
       "Mulder..."
       His name was a drawn-out sigh, her voice fogged,
dazed-sounding, with none of the hurt of before.  Pleased, he stroked
the soft skin, fingers parting her, tongue flicking at the nub of
flesh.  She stiffened, her shoulderblades flexing, raising her upper
body off the bed.
       "Mulder, please..."
       He raised his head to look up at her, and she curled her
fingers into his hair, forcing him to come level with her. Her mouth
found his, tongue darting inside, pulling him down into her embrace.
Their legs shifted, adjusting, hips bruising against each other.  He
caught her lower lip between his teeth and tugged gently, then nuzzled
into the side of her neck, breathing in the warm, salty scent of her.
When was betrayal not betrayal, his mind wondered fuzzily.  When is
the truth untrue?
       Scully moved underneath him, her hands coaxing, controlling,
and Mulder let himself drift into the sensations.  Moving his hands
underneath her, he slid inside like a long-delayed homecoming.  Scully
sighed, and they lay there, his head bowed against her chest, for a
long, unmoving moment.  Is it a betrayal of the truth when the truth
itself is a betrayal?
       "Stop thinking so much," Scully chided him gently, her hands
slipping up his backside in a movement designed to tease.  "Don't
think.  Don't worry.  Just feel.  Just us, just here, just now.
Nothing else exists."
       "Nothing except us," he agreed, withdrawing slightly, then
pushing himself back in, reveling in her sudden gasp for air.  Her
legs twined, encouraging him.  He sat back on his knees, pulling her
with him.  Hands at her waist, he increased the pace, delighted to see
her head fall back, her lower lip caught between her teeth.
       "Scream, Dana.  Let me hear you.  Let me please you."  The
combined moisture of their sweat made their skin glisten, causing his
hands to slip as she pushed herself further down onto him, crying out
in short, incoherent bursts of noise.  He felt her contract around
him, her body jerking once, then shaking with exhaustion.  Her head
fell forward onto his shoulder, her voice giving out with a tiny moan.
       At that last sound, he felt his control break, coming inside
her in a painful release.
       "I love you" he whispered into her hair.  It didn't matter if
she heard him.  There would be time enough for that later.  All the
time in the world.
       Secure in that thought, in the comfort of her body against his,
Mulder felt himself drift off into sleep.


       Dana lay on her side, Mulder's warmth a comforting presence
curled up against her backside.  His arm was flung over her, his
fingers curled possessively over her wrist.  His breath brushed
against the back of her neck, raising goosebumps of pleasure.  The
storm had passed, and they emerged scathed but unbroken.  Stronger,
perhaps.  United, without secrets.
       Except one.
       
       "Why now?  Why feed me this information now?  What did they
hope to gain?"
       
       She had explained her reasons to Mulder.  But she hadn't told
him everything.  Hadn't told him about her reports.  Her betrayals.
Her lies.
       She had lied to him... and she had lied to them.  Only they had
found out before he did.

       "Why now?  Why feed me this information now?  What did they
hope to gain?
 
       There was nothing to gain.  A three-times turncoat, she was of
no use to them any more.  And, she knew, what they had no use
for... they rid themselves of.

       Her eyes wet, Dana Scully turned into Mulder's embrace.




               =end=



     =And this is why I got the nickname "Mistress of MindF*ck"=
                    LAG  
                                                      

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