Tell Me I'm Not Your Her: Ending 5

And then she heard the word that transformed her universe -- irrevocably, eternally.

"Lisa?"

It hit her, the sound of it, like a sledgehammer in her gut; she couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't do anything but nod mutely at him.

His face altered then, that look of dawning realization she'd envisioned, mutating to... anger?

"You little bitch," he hissed.

"What?" she said, taken aback.

The legs of his chair scraped against the floor as he pushed it back, stood up. "You little bitch," he seethed at her, and she saw in him a cold fury that she recognized too well, although she didn't understand it at all. "What is this, your idea of a joke?"

"Mulder, I, I don't..."

He advanced toward her, and for a moment she thought he was going to hit her. "You set me up from the start, didn't you? You found out it was me, and you've been stringing me along this whole time... I should have known better. I should have known." His clenched fist struck a file cabinet instead, sending the file folders piled atop it scattering across the floor. "I can't believe you'd fuck with my head this way. You little bitch... how could you do this to me, Scully?" and on the last words his voice cracked, perilously close to breaking.

"What is it that you think I've done, Mulder?" she countered, keeping her voice very carefully level.

"You know damn well what you've done! Damn it," and he punched the file cabinet once more, for good measure, and stormed out of the office.

She watched the door slam, felt the sound of it reverberate through her.

Automatically, robot-like, she moved to the file cabinet and began to pick up the fallen folders, stacking them neatly and replacing them in their normal spot. The action steadied her somehow, as if restoring order in the office could neaten the disarray of her thoughts. Uppermost in her mind was hurt, that he would believe her capable of such cruelty -- but on another level, she understood.

How many times had Mulder been hurt? betrayed? trusted, and had that trust shattered? Of course he would expect no less, especially in a situation of such vulnerability. How humiliated she would have been, if things had been otherwise and he'd discovered her secret writings about him to another -- and yes, she might have lashed out at him in much the same way, hurt and ashamed of herself and fearing contempt and scorn...

Granted that his reaction had been unwarranted, and 'way overboard; but then, that was Mulder.

She returned to the report, and actually managed to get some work done; when, after a time, she heard the door open and footfalls proceeding toward her, she ignored them -- if he had something to say to her, he would say it.

Something fell across the papers strewn in front of her: a single rose, carefully dethorned. She took it in her hands, brought the bloom to her nose and inhaled its fragrance, feeling the knot in her stomach loosen and unravel as she realized what it meant.

"I am such an asshole," Mulder's voice came to her, soft and sorrowful.

Scully looked up at him then, took in the fading remnants of the tears he'd shed, and the contrition in his eyes. "I know," she said, without anger or condemnation: accepting it, accepting him.

"It wasn't a joke, was it? You meant what you said," and there it was: the echo of all the past betrayals and agonies, wrapped up in the plaintive tones of the man who still wanted to believe, no matter how much it hurt...

"Of course I did," she told him, feeling tears of her own threatening, rising through her defenses toward the surface.

A long, shuddering sigh escaped him; his eyes closed briefly, opened again to gaze into hers. "I'm sorry..."

"I know," she said again.

"Forgive me?" he asked her.

She smiled. "I always do."

His hand rose, fingers trembling, to touch her cheek; she leaned into the caress, resting her head against the palm that cupped her face, bringing her own hand up to hold his in place -- tears sprang to her eyes, one droplet coursing down her face, and his thumb moved slightly to brush it away.

"I guess we should talk," she heard him say, in that so- soft tone: they were the sweetest words she'd ever heard.

"I guess we should," Scully agreed, her own voice unsteady as more tears escaped the trap of her eyelashes to slide down her face.

He wiped them away with gentle fingertips; and then he pulled up a chair to sit beside her.

And they talked.