Title: Walls Author: Ellie 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. __________