TITLE: Blundht Edge of the Knife.

AUTHOR: Triton

Email: triton-x@yahoo.com

or visit my little library at: http://www.oocities.org/triton-x/Fanfic

DATE: March 20th, 2000

CATEGORY: MSF themes.

RATING: PG-13

SPOILERS: Well, a few direct references to Season Four and some vague references to Season Five and Six.

ARCHIVE: Sure, Fine, Whatever.

DISCLAIMER: X-Files, Mulder, Scully and all related characters belong to that amazing person called Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and the Fox Network. I mean no infringement. I am just borrowing the characters briefly to entertain a cherished friend. CC can have them back anytime he likes (well, that does depend on Yoko’s wishes!).

NOTES: at end

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If he had known that a simple plain envelope, hand addressed in small tight cursive, had the ability to infuse him with so much distress, he would have personally fed it through the electric shredder. Unfortunately, Mulder did not share x-ray vision traits with Superman, and was not forewarned. So, whether it was fate or free will, or even pure absent mindedness that compelled his decision, Mulder opened the envelope and read the enclosed letter.

*************

It was 5:00 pm on a Friday afternoon, and a weary Scully and Mulder arrived back at their basement office with the express intention to initiate a folder to store all the documents and photo’s they had amassed from their trip to Canada. After Scully had collected the three days of mail that had accumulated in their allotted receptacle in the mail room, a solemn ten minutes passed as both perused their individual messages before Scully finally admitted defeat, tidying up her part of the desk and repacking her briefcase.

"Mulder, I’m exhausted. I’m going to take these notes home and write up the report from there," she informed him. ‘After a long soak in the bath and some home-cooked food, of course,’ she thought to herself. When Mulder didn’t respond immediately, she raised her voice a notch.

"Mulder?"

Silence. Mulder was focused on the page he was reading and didn’t look up.

"Mulder!"

"What?" he snapped, raising his eyes in her general direction.

Scully narrowed her eyes as she scrutinized his vacant facial expression. She contemplated snapping a response back at him, but as it had been a long tiring week and she didn’t really want to start her weekend on a bitter note, she refrained.

"Mulder, I said I was going home. Are you OK?"

Mulder blinked slowly, nodding absently towards her. "OK, Scully, have a good weekend," he murmured as he turned his concentration back to the letter.

Scully hesitated, staring at his bowed head for a few more seconds, then shrugged to herself and left the office.

*************

LOCATION UNKNOWN

SIX HOURS LATER

Mulder knew he was drunk. Very drunk, actually.

The smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke drifted around him as he lounged back into the oak and red leather booth, his sticky hand wrapped around a shot glass filled with opaque, amber liquid. He blinked slowly, trying hard stop his eyeballs from tap-dancing behind his eyelids.

The jukebox in the next room pounded out a rock ballad that vibrated through the floor boards and up through the soles of his feet. The squeals, yells and high pitched laughter emanating from the next booth jarred his aural organs, and Mulder suddenly felt nauseous.

Leaving his last drink untouched, Mulder left the bar and staggered into the street.

He wandered into the darkness, lost in his thoughts, concentrating intently on walking in a forward manner. It wasn't until cold rivulets of water found their way from his saturated hair and trickled down behind the back of his trench coat that he registered that it was raining. Stopping to take note of the downpour, he was amazed to discover that his clothing was drenched and that his socks were squelching inside his shoes.

His inebriated status had slowed down his thinking processes, the concept of resolving his current dilemma suddenly foreign to him. Stare morosely up at the sky seemed to be the only solution, although he had no idea what he was looking for. He appealed to his clouded mind for a flash of inspiration.

"Look for shelter?" he murmured to himself. He ambled off in search, ducking from tree to tree in an attempt to seek reprieve from the downpour. The rain continued to fall, increasing in its intensity, until it got to the point where he couldn’t see a centimetre in front of him. Looking around for a landmark, it crossed his mind that he was lost. He didn’t recognize anything in the surrounding locale. It was quiet where he was standing. A suburban street. No traffic, no houses lit up from within. No one to ask. No cabs passing him by.

He reached into his jacket pocket for his wallet, hoping he had enough cash left to afford a cab if the possibility arose, and was disappointed to find only coins. "Not enough," he grumbled, then sighed deeply. "Life sucks!" he mumbled into the darkness. Turning left, he began moving again. Walking in the dark, aiming nowhere, staring at his feet. Trying to focus on following a straight line. A dizzy sensation knocked him off balance and he grabbed out at a picket fence to guide himself.

Mulder stopped again and looked around. He still could not establish where he was, nothing seemed familiar in the dark, and the rain was pelting down so hard that it disguised anything that may have been familiar. His head began to pound, his toes were cold, and he felt like crying.

Another heavy sigh.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cellphone.

*************

Scully was asleep on the sofa when the phone rang. She sat up abruptly, spilling files and scraps of paper from her lap onto the floor. Reaching for the phone with one hand, she looked at her watch on the other and sighed, knowing who the call was from.

"Scully," she grumbled into the mouthpiece.

"Scully, um.. it’s me."

Scully felt a constricting sensation as the sad, downtrodden tone of his voice wrapped itself instantly around her heart.

"Yes, Mulder," she replied, lowering her voice to acknowledge his mood.

"Scully, I.. um.. I need your advice. I.. um...I’m drunk, I think I’m somewhere in Georgetown, and it’s raining, it’s dark, and I haven’t got enough money..." he rambled into her ear.

"Mulder, what exactly are you asking for?" she queried softly.

He didn’t respond immediately, but she was sure the noise that echoed down the phone line was a sigh of despair.

"Scully, I don’t know what I want! I’m scared to ask you for anything. Considering that I have a bad habit of saying the wrong things to you, is it OK if I just put myself into your capable hands and let you tell me what to do? Please, Scully?" he pleaded, sorrow saturating his words.

Scully opened her mouth to refute him, but was unable to answer. His unhappiness had developed into a physical presence and had now enveloped itself around her like a shroud, dragging energy from her muscles and pooling as an uncomfortable heaviness in the pit of her stomach.

"I need you, Scully. I’m lost. I know I could just stop where I am and sleep it off, but tomorrow you will gaze at me angrily with your steel-blue eyes and chastise me for not calling you. Or I could just turn up, unannounced on your doorstep, and you will fix your icy-blue dagger look at me and demand angrily why I didn’t call first. Or, if I do call you, I will hear the wrath in your voice, telling me to leave you alone." A melancholic sadness tinged his rushed words and she felt the same sensation colouring her mood.

Admittedly, it was her choice that he was unable to get close to her, and even when he tried to understand her complicated unemotional language, she didn’t make it easy for him. But she had her reasons. It was part of her inner strength to be this way.

"Scully, are you still there?"

"Yes, Mulder, I am still here. I am not angry with you, either."

A wry chuckle echoed through the ear piece. "You are angry with me, Scully. No matter what I do, it seems to piss you off..."

"Why are you drunk, Mulder?" she interjected.

"I know you are angry with me, Scully. The case in Canada wasn’t an X-File. The airline food was terrible. You ruined another pair of shoes. You always seem to be angry. And I wanted to be angry back, but then that seemed too petty..."

"You believe I am always angry, Mulder?" she interrupted. "I’m not always angry. I get frustrated, and I get confused, and I get overwhelmed at times... Mulder, why are you panting?"

"It is bucketing down now, I’m jogging to try and miss the big drops. Keep talking, Scully, I’m going to keep moving towards you until you tell me what to do."

Scully moved over to the window, pushing apart the blinds to look out at the pelting rainstorm. Although it would be kinder to just go and find him, she had to be honest with herself, a very drunk Mulder was something she wasn’t comfortable dealing with face to face. It would be a wiser decision to let him walk to her place and sober up a bit. Let him walk off his dark mood.

"Do you have any idea where you are, Mulder? Are you still in the States?"

"Very funny, Scully. Ha Ha. I don’t think I am too far away, I left my car at work."

"You walked all the way here?"

"I had a bit of thinking to do, so after I left the office, I just walked and walked. Then I spotted a bar and decided to...well, you know."

Scully wandered slowly back to the sofa, dropping herself heavily into its padded depths. Tucking her feet up underneath her backside, she leaned against the padded armrest and stared up at the ceiling, listening to his haggard breathing through the phone line.

"Scully? Would it be better if I never rang, if I limited our partnership to working hours only, if I never relied on you to always be there for me? Would that be the best way to reduce this..this...this dislike you have for me?" Mulder's voice had dropped even lower, the final words close to a whisper.

Scully felt her eyes tear up and she raised an arm to cover her brow, using the barrier of soft skin to stem the flow of tears. Speaking now would only alert him to her predicament, so she just waited. She wished she could reach out and physically soothe his heart, to assure him that he was wrong, that she didn't want him to move away from her.

Her free hand slipped down from its position across her wet eyes to cover her mouth, fearful that Mulder would hear the shudders of despair that were vibrating through her body, escaping as soft gasps from between her lips. This left the tears to stream freely down her cheeks, soaking into the fabric beneath her head.

Sloshing could be heard and Scully pictured Mulder kicking at a puddle with frustration.

"Oh, Mulder, I don’t hate you. If anything, it is quite the opposite."

"Scully, you may love me, but you don’t like me very much. There is a big difference."

"Why do you think this, Mulder? Is this why you went out and got drunk?"

"Well, that was part of it. The letter was probably the main reason."

"This would be the letter you were reading as I left the office tonight?"

"Yep, Scully, that is correct. Another neon-pointer that reminds me I am a failure!"

"Mulder, who was the letter from?" Her voice cracked and she licked away the tears that had trickled into her mouth.

*********

Mulder hadn’t kicked at the puddle, he had slipped and fallen into it. Laying in the shallow pool, he gripped the phone harder and let the rain hit him directly on his face. He grimaced ruefully as he contemplated his situation, knowing that the current consensus amongst his peers had been reinforced. He really was a loser. He couldn’t even get drunk right.

Mulder was not usually a big drinker, it slowed down his thinking processes too much, and he didn’t like to lose that control. It was the contents of the letter that had initiated his desperate descent into this current drunken state. Well, actually, it wasn’t the letter itself that motivated his behaviour, it was the accumulation of the many disappointments and regrets that had been brewing in his subconscious for a long time. The letter was a mere catalyst.

Eddie Van Blundht had the audacity to send him that cheery little letter, under the pretence of a ‘thank you for helping me, I now see the error of my ways’ guise. Asking Mulder how he was fairing. Innocently comparing their shared lack of social life. Blundht had managed to, without expressing the exact words, allude to a different version of Scully, a more intimate interpretation of Scully’s personality. A side to Scully that Mulder had still not been witness to.

Mulder often wondered what Blundht and Scully had discussed.

At the time, Scully had been embarrassed by the incident, and to respect her privacy, he hadn’t mentioned it again. He had waited for her to broach the subject, but was not really surprised when the issue didn't present itself again. That was Scully's way of dealing with things.

But sometimes, when he was feeling reflective, he wondered about the circumstances that motivated his partner to suddenly drop her defenses and confess her secrets to the ‘Other Mulder’ that night. How could she do that?

It was always her choice, this distance between them. And he made it easy for her to establish these boundaries. He knew he was obstinate, stubborn and closed off emotionally at most times. It was always her definition of their relationship that defined the rules. This ultimately didn’t bother him, he promoted it, because without Scully, he’d be dead now. Without Scully, he would not be taken seriously. Without Scully, he’d be a fragile shell without substance. He trusted her with this role in his life.

He sighed again and rolled out of the puddle, pushing his sodden body into a standing position.

*************

Scully waited patiently for his reply, but when an immediate response from him was not forthcoming she began to worry. She could hear the rain and she could distinguish his breathing, but as the minutes passed by she became increasingly more concerned by the absence of further communication. She jumped up from the sofa and was reaching for her car keys when she heard his sigh.

She could sense the hesitation in his voice as he answered her previous question.

"The letter was sent to me from tail-boy, actually. A nice taunting note that threw vague and cryptic hints that alluded to my inadequacies. The usual run-of-the-mill type of correspondence I get regularly."

"Mulder..."

"It’s OK, Scully. If you don’t want to tell me about your prom night, you don’t have to. I never expected that anyway. But, Scully, do you want to know what hurt me more than your willingness to share snippets from your past? You thought it was me at the time, you thought you were talking to me, but, when ‘I’ - the real version - arrived, you closed yourself away from me. Instantly. Why did you do that? You thought Eddie was me and you told him things about yourself. But then when you realized I was the real me, you changed and pulled away. He didn’t make you angry, yet I always seem to have this affect on you."

"Mulder, as I told you then, and I will tell you again now, you are not a loser. I admit I got a bit carried away by the moment, but the truth is he wasn’t you, and he never could be you. It would not have taken me long to figure it out and I would have been very disappointed."

The silence that ensued indicated that Mulder was assessing this comment.

"You wouldn't prefer someone more like him?"

"No, Mulder, I wouldn’t."

"Why not? You seemed very comfortable with him, you talked to him, told him things that you never share with me. What is the distinction here? Why wouldn’t you prefer having a partner with whom you could relax with, or laugh with?"

"Because, Mulder, I’d much rather have you in my life than him. He wasn’t taking me seriously..."

"Why does everything have to be serious, Scully?"

"Because, Mulder, that is what you and I have. And that is more important to me than finding out the following morning that I am not with someone who is my equal, with someone who challenges me, or with someone whom I could not imagine living without."

Another pause. Scully could hear the cogs turning in his brain as he processed this declaration.

"You can’t imagine living without me?"

Scully smiled to herself. "No, Mulder, I can’t. You think I am angry with you all the time, and I’m not. I’m only angry at the situations we find ourselves in and the constant disappointments we both experience."

"So, if you’re not angry with me, are you going to tell me what I should be doing right about now?"

"Mulder, if you are still lost, maybe you should give me a street name. I'll come out and get you."

"No need, Scully, I can feel you guiding me already, talking to you always gives me direction. I know where I am now. I just don’t know what to do once I get there."

Moving back to the window, Scully watched as Mulder appeared at the end of the street. She swapped the phone into her other hand, stretching out cramped fingers that had tightened due to the constant grip on the handset.

"Scully, do you ever feel lonely?" his wistful voice ebbed through the ear piece.

Scully blinked at the sudden change of topic, and was about to deflect his personal query when she caught a close-up view of him. He had stopped outside her building and was looking up at her window. Rain dripped from his hair and he resembled a drenched rat. His eyes, even from that distance, radiated dejection. He needed to hear something from her, and this time she wanted to give him an honest, heartfelt answer.

"Not really, Mulder, I am too wrapped up in my work. But sometimes it does sneak up on me. Occasionally I wonder why I have put myself in this situation, or why I choose to spend my spare time so involved in this soul consuming existence."

"If you could change anything, would you?"

"No, Mulder, you know we have to do it this way."

Mulder reacted to her use of the collective term ‘we’ with a widening of his eyes. "While I was sitting in that bar, Scully, I felt alone and detached. I wish that sometimes we could experience a less intense lifestyle and spend some time doing those mundane activities that everyone else enjoys."

"Yes, Mulder, I feel the same way. I knew that at some point this evening, after I had unpacked my travel bag, had my long soak, cleaned up the dinner dishes, and had done some work I would stop and sigh and wonder why I am sitting all alone on a Friday evening, writing up a report on some grisly or unfathomable situation."

"What would you rather be doing, Scully?"

Scully smiled down at the bedraggled and lanky man below.

"I’d rather be spending time with a friend who would, without hesitation, go to the ends of the earth to find me. I’d rather be running a warm bath for a friend who has walked home in the rain. Or even having an interesting discussion with someone who also knows what mood I am in by the colour of my eyes. You know, that sort of thing."

Mulder’s smile was breathtaking in its joy.

"So, I should come up then?"

"My door is always open to you, Mulder."

"Does the warm bath AND the interesting discussion occur concurrently, Scully?"

"Don’t push it, Mulder!"

END.

Author’s Notes:

This story was written as a request. My friend Yoko asked for a story where Mulder and Scully talked to each other, and actually resolved an issue. She particularly wanted the ‘loser’ theme explored, and since I have a special fondness for ‘Small Potatoes’, it wasn’t too hard to create a small universe with that story in mind.

A special thanks to Christina for her comments and suggestions. Thanks to those at Scullyfic who answered my query on the use of commas. I do have an obsessive compulsion to overuse the little fellows, but am now overcoming my urges with deep-massage therapy.

And, yes, I do have a penchant for wistful phone conversations and looking out through windows - hahahahahaha.