Subject: NEW: Black and Blue (1/1)
Date: Mon, 26 Apr 1999 14:35:11 -0400
From: "Emily Siazon" 
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative

"Black and Blue" (1/1)
By Emily Siazon

Rating: PG
Category: VA
Spoilers: None
Keywords: Scully/Other, Pre-XF, abuse.
Feedback: Please! Send it to 
Summary: Ever wonder why Scully tries so hard not to lose
control? A new take on the Scully-was-in-an-abusive-relationship
stories.

Disclaimer: All characters belongs to 1013 production, Chris Carter,
and FOX. No infringement is intended.
*********************************************************************

"It's okay to lose control, Scully," Mulder whispered, watching her
knuckles turn white from gripping the bench too tightly.

She refused to look at him, instead opting to stare at the bustling
DC streets in the distance. The murky city lights caused by the
smog gave the scene a surreal quality, matching the conversation
between the two FBI agents perfectly.

"I killed an innocent man, Mulder," Scully answered, her left hand
automatically going to the cuts in her arm that she received in their
last case. "I should have been more careful when I shot Webster."

"You were watching my back."

"Was I? He had all the time in the world to kill us, Mulder. I could
have waited until the attendant was out of the line of fire."

"By then he might have killed both of us. Who'd save the kid then?"

"Well it wasn't like I saved him this time, either," she answered
bitterly.

"It's okay to lose control, Scully," Mulder repeated.

If only he knew.

Mulder frequently told her that it was all right to lose control. He
wanted her to cry and not bottle up all her grief, but he never seem
to consider its flip side—a side she was only too familiar with.

Scully wasn't always so controlled; she used to be able to laugh
without care like everybody else. But an event early on in her
life changed all that. Had she believed in such words as "fate" and
"destiny," she would have said that it happened for a reason.

Scully closed her eyes, remembering that day as easily as she could
see her reflection on the river before her. She had been a freshman
in college then, the envy of all the girls as she dated the campus
newspaper editor, Rick Whitman. Everyone agreed he was a great catch.

And he was—at least until that balmy April night when she learned
otherwise.

She had been in his room, pretending to be interested in her history
book when all she could really concentrate on was the feel of his
nose nuzzling the back of her neck. She heard him chuckle at her
sharp intake of breath when he touched a particularly sensitive spot.

In the meantime, his hand explored the rest of her body, slowly
trailing down her side only to come back up to caress her breast. His
warm breath on her upper back was all the encouragement she needed
to arch her body to give him better access.

Far from passive, Scully decided to return the favor and began to
stroke his lower body; an action that immediately caused his
breathing to become ragged.

She attempted to open up Rick's zipper to help alleviate his
discomfort. He playfully batted her hand away, murmuring, "not yet"
while he carefully laid her down on the bed.

They made love under the orange light of the setting sun, painting a
rainbow of colors on their heated bodies as they slowly thrusted into
one another. They were oblivious to the stark white walls and the
books waiting to be read only a couple of feet away. All they could
think of was the fire running down their veins, making them both feel
more alive than ever before.

An hour later, just as Scully was drifting off to sleep, she felt
Rick hold her close and whisper, "Sheila."

"What?"

She felt him tense, then quickly let her go to sit up. "I didn't
realize you were awake."

"I didn't realize I was being used," Scully responded bitterly.

"You're not. You have to understand, Sheila and I were together for
two years. You can't expect me to just stop loving her because I love
you. I thought you of all people would understand. How would you feel
if we broke up?"

She was angry, and perhaps she was being petty and juvenile; but at
that moment all she could think of was hurting him the way he hurt
her. "I never said I love you."

"I'm sorry."

His calm response irritated her even more. She threw his book at him
which he tried to block halfheartedly with his arm. "Stop saying
that! You're always sorry! What makes you think it will make things
any better?!"

Rick looked at her then, a suspicious glimmer in the corner of his
eye. "Because I love you."

Scully shook her head. "I—I can't do this anymore. I'm sick of
watching you look up whenever someone who even remotely resembles
her passes by, only to hear seconds later an apology you don't
mean."

She made no effort to expel his arms as they wrapped around her bare
waist. No matter how much she hated him at that moment, she still
wanted him.

"I love you," he reiterated. "You have to believe that. I'm sorry
that I hurt you again; but I promise I'll make it up to you, even if
it takes an eternity to do it."

There was a brief silence. Then she sighed. "I didn't hurt you too
much, did I?" she asked, tacitly forgiving him like she'd done after
countless other "I'm sorry's."

"Nah. It'll go away."

Scully nodded, pretending not to see the bruise already beginning to
turn black and blue as she headed towards the mini-fridge to get him
some ice, all the while horrified by what she'd just done.

What was wrong with her? What made her think that lashing out at him
like—like some *barbarian* would solve anything?

Scully could almost see Ahab shaking his head at her in
disappointment, just like when she'd broken her mother's favorite
vase when she was six—hear his baritone voice, saying, "I thought we
raised you better than that, Starbuck."

She was filling up the ice pack when she looked up at him sadly and
whispered, "I'm sorry."

Rick sat back down and closed his eyes. "I know."

Scully swore that it would be the first and last time that she'd hurt
an innocent person. She constructed around her a Maginot Line to stop
anyone from getting too close, thinking that it couldn't happen again
if she was always in full control.

But Mulder had long ago sent those barriers crumbling with his
friendship and his trust. The provocation towards him in their last
case only served as a final blow, making her break her promise.

It had started normally enough, with Mulder and she driving in the
middle of nowhere. The raindrops had splattered on the windshield
with a loud, rhythmic thud, obscuring Scully's vision as she tried to
navigate her way around the coastal highway. A quick glance at the
glowing clock on the dashboard informed her that it was already two
in the morning.

She stifled a yawn and tried to ignore the hypnotic sound of the waves
crashing near the side of the road, turning up the radio as loud as
she could without waking up the svelte man slumped on the passenger
seat. She drummed her fingers along with the music, quickly losing
interest when a slow, romantic song began to play.

After another suppressed yawn, Scully decided to move her eyes around
to keep herself alert, but she only got motion sickness as they
whizzed past the imposing redwood trees that northern California was
known for.

Scully opened the window and took a deep breath of the salty air.
Her head was instantly soaked, sending the icy liquid to trail down
her back. She shivered and quickly closed the window back up.

The whisper of wool sliding against the leather seat brought Scully's
attention to her companion, or more accurately, his bare back. She
could see a tantalizing hint of his butt as his coat and shirt rode
up in his effort to get her a towel from the backseat.

"Here," he murmured in a voice still scratchy from sleep. "Wipe some
of that water off before you get sick. There's no way I'm
interviewing all these people about what they like to do with their
manure by myself."

"Gee, Mulder, has anyone ever mentioned what a sweet person you are?"

 "All the time," he answered with a smirk.

A comfortable silence blanketed the car as they drove down the next
couple of miles, only interrupted briefly by Mulder insisting that
they stop and refresh his dwindling supply of sunflower seeds.
Whatever protests she had wafted into the cool night air and died
without so much as a whimper when he accompanied it with a pleading
look that he knew she couldn't resist.

They ended up on opposite sides of the store, with him near the
counter to get his seeds while she went on the back to get a Snapple.
She was trying to reach an iced tea on the highest rack when she felt
the cool metal of a gun pressed against her back.

Scully inhaled sharply and adopted a neutral expression before
turning around. She was dismayed to find her assailant, whom she
later identified as an escaped convict named Robert Webster, without
a mask or anything to help disguise himself, a sign that he didn't
intend for anyone to get out of the situation alive.

She looked over at Mulder. His back was still turned away from her,
humming "Jailhouse Rock" under his breath while he tried to decide
which flavor of sunflower seeds to get.

Scully felt the gun move from her neck towards the back of Mulder's
head. She purposely dropped her bottle of Snapple to distract
Webster, hopefully giving her partner enough time to assess the
situation and for her to get out her weapon.

She made the mistake of underestimating Webster's reflexes and was
therefore caught off guard when he pushed her towards the ground.

Scully suppressed a cry of pain as she landed on the broken shards of
glass. She watched as her assailant then tackled Mulder while he
unholstered his Smith and Wesson, taking it away and then kicking
him hard on the ribs.

Mulder grunted and tried to roll away, only to find the barrel of his
weapon aimed at his face.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Webster warned him as he clicked
off the safety. He then backed away, taking hold of the inanimate
attendant who suddenly looked too young to be working there.

Webster alternately pointed Mulder's Smith and Wesson between Scully
and her partner while he waited for the attendant to empty the cash
register. Scully took advantage of his divided attention to put her
hand over her weapon while she waited for a chance to get a clear
shot at Webster.

Mulder apparently had the same idea and tried to reach for the gun
strapped to his ankle; unfortunately, his hand knocked over one of
the displays, sending bags of potato chips to scatter all over the
floor.

Webster switched his full attention to Mulder, pointing the Smith and
Wesson at him a little too long for Scully's liking. She saw the
finger on the trigger tense, and time felt like it had slowed down to
a crawl, one agonizing second dragging after another as she took out
her weapon, aimed at the thief, and fired.

Scully closed her eyes, swearing that she could feel every drop cling
to her face as the room was sprayed with blood, wiping it away from
her eyes before opening them to assess the damages.

Both Webster and the attendant were on the ground, their blood
mingling on the filthy white tiles. She could tell by Webster's empty
gaze, his countenance without even a hint of surprise, that the shot
at his heart had killed him instantly. The attendant, on the other
hand, laid two feet away gasping for his breath. Blood seeped out of
arm at an alarming rate. Scully knew that she'd hit a major artery,
and she bent over to do the futile task of slowing the blood flow,
already knowing that it was too late even as she listened to Mulder
bark out for an ambulance to hurry.

She ran a blood-soaked hand through the kid's hair, her shaking hands
betraying her as she whispered that he was going to be all right. The
attendant smiled up at her faintly in response and whispered through
parched lips, "I hate it when people lie to me."

She watched as he then quietly slipped away. It happened so quietly,
without fanfare, that for a second she almost convinced herself that
he'd simply gone to sleep. Scully even put a finger to his neck just
to be sure. Nothing.

Scully stood up, finding the inside of the convenience store suddenly
too confining. She could hear Mulder asking her if she was all right.
He sounded far away, like he was talking to her from the other side
of a tunnel. He was easily overpowered by her own voice, murmuring,
"My God, what have I done?"

"It's okay to lose control," Mulder repeated again, breaking
Scully's reverie.

To which she replied, "No, not always."

END.
*********************************************************************
Author's Notes: Please send feedback to  I'm really
interested in what people think of this story.

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