From: Amory20@aol.com
Date: Fri, 9 Apr 1999 15:10:49 EDT
Subject: New: Schizophrenic by JLB (1/1)


TITLE: Schizophrenic (1/1)
AUTHOR: JLB (Amory20@aol.com)
CLASSIFICATION: V, A, MSR
RATING: PG-13, i think, sexual situations
SPOILERS: up through US6, nothing specific though
SUMMARY:  Scully deals with her spilt personalities, and what it means for 
she and Mulder.
FEEDBACK: oh, come on, you know you want to do it.  so go for it.  i'll be 
your new best friend. :) Amory20@aol.com
DISCLAIMER:  somehow, i still don't own these guys.  CC and 1013 do, but 
they're
not using them right.  i guess i have to show them the way.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:  okay, i don't know what inspired me to write this piece at 
all.  it's just sort of came out and i went with it.  i'm not really sure how 
i feel about it.  i've been trying to decide if my vision of scully in this 
piece is true to character --
would she really act like this?  so if anyone has thoughts on that, let me 
know.  i think mulder's okay in this piece but if i've gotten his 
characterization wrong too, let me know about that as well.  enjoy!


Schizophrenic (1/1) by JLB (Amory20@aol.com)


I'm sitting on Mulder's couch when I realize that it's finally happened--
the thing I've long suspected would occur.  He's at his desk, pretending, 
though not too convincingly, that he's enthralled with the paperwork in his
lap.  He must not realize I saw him throw that paper airplane into the
fish tank moments ago.  I watch as it begins to soak through and sink
to the bottom.  It's good thing, I tell myself as I prop my feet up on his
coffee table, that all but one fish has died.  I try to refocus on the 
file in front of me, but I'm too busy coming to grips with my realization.

I've officially lost my mind, a cohesive sense of who I am.  I've splintered, 
split apart somehow, become two distinct people.  One who shows her face in 
the light of day, who is cool, detached, in control.  She has a handle on her 
emotions, doesn't relinquish her power to another person.  And she hates my 
other personality, is disgusted by her.  This one who comes out at night, in 
moments like this -- in Mulder's dark, quiet apartment, after midnight.  She 
sits back and waits for Mulder to come to her, ravish her, drive her crazy 
with his body.  She doesn't care about 
consequences or complications.  She likes that Mulder controls her.  She needs
him to almost.

"Hey, earth to Scully.  Scully, come in,"  Mulder laughs, as he throws a paper
airplane in my direction.  It misses my head by about an inch and crashes 
unceremoniously against the wall behind the couch. 

"What?" I ask innocently, understanding he's picked up on my mood.

"I know this paperwork is boring as hell, but you're zoning out over there
like some space cadet."  He smiles, and mimics my dazed expression.

"I'm just thinking, Mulder," I tell him honestly, part of me hoping he'll let 
it go at that, the other part of me knowing that he won't, secretly thrilled 
with
anticipation of the explosions it promises to bring.

"Ohh, Scully, what kind of thoughts?  Is your mind in the gutter again?" He 
leers at me, sliding the folder in his lap against his thighs suggestively.

I knew that sleeping with Mulder would change things.  I just didn't think
it would be quite so dramatic.  For seven years, I stood by his side as his
partner, his friend, his confidant, the one person he knew would always be
there.  He was an attractive man, I knew, and on some level, I wanted him 
even from the beginning.  But I pushed those feelings so far down inside
of me that I could almost pretend they didn't exist.  I became so good
at pretending I didn't want him that when he forced me to admit that
I did, that I ached with want for him, it erupted from so deep within
me that I was powerless to control it, to control Mulder.  I've spent so long
without his touch that now that I have it, I want it constantly.  Every
night.  I'll even plead for it -- even if it means getting down on my hands
and knees.  Sometimes I think it's easier if it does.  

"It's nothing important, Mulder," I say finally, closing my eyes, and
throwing my head back against the sofa.

"Sure.  You get that far away look in your eye, and refuse to answer for
 so long and I'm supposed to believe it's nothing.  The next thing you'll be
telling me EBEs don't exist,"  he says lightly but I know there's real concern
there.

"Mulder I don't--"

"Scully, just tell me what you're feeling."  He says this quietly, his voice
thick and heavy, but still playful.

What does he want to hear?  Does he want to know that I can't separate
myself from him anymore?  That everything I think, feel, and do is an 
expression of him somehow...that often the only time I know who I really
am is when he's touching me, when he's inside me, sending me over that
edge...that he's the one thing I can't let go of, that won't let me go...that 
because of what's happened between us, two parts of myself are at war,
battling each other to the death?  Does he really want to hear the almighty
truth?

I can't tell him these things.  Even if they are exactly what he wants or
expects to hear.  Saying them out loud would make it all too real.

"I'm just tired, Mulder.  Maybe we should go to bed," I say quickly,
casually, hoping maybe he'll accept that, just let things go.

Somehow, I've reached this point where I think that sex can solve
everything at the end of the day.  Maybe not solve things exactly --
but it's so much nicer than talking.  It feels so good, so right, and in 
those moments, all the things that I know are true, all the things I'm 
afraid to tell Mulder, they're still true but I'm not frightened by them 
anymore.  I can feel them,  own them, and I'm not overwhelmed.  I simply
want more of him.  I don't want to stop the descent.

"Come on, Scully.  There's more going on here than a lack of sleep," he
says firmly, closing the folder in his lap. He's serious for the first
time since this conversation began. 

He has to make the first move.  That's how this dance works -- he takes
what he wants, I surrender it.  It's so different from our partnership in
which we're equals in virtually every way.  I know he doesn't like it this
way.  Mulder wants us to share the control.  I wish there was a way.  But
this is how I need it to be.

So I wait for him.  I can't think of a single thing to say that will move him,
bring him to me.  I'm trembling from sheer want.

"Scully," he says sternly.

"I'm really fine," I say, smiling coyly.  "Why don't you come over here
and see for yourself?"  What am I doing, I ask myself.  Who is this woman
shamelessly propositioning Mulder?  Someone stop her.

"Damn it, Scully!"  His voice is so sharp I can almost feel his words piercing
my skin.  He jerks forward, pushing several books off his desk.  I watch as 
he moves towards me, pacing in front of the coffee table.

"Why can't you just talk to me, Scully?  Why can't you open up to me?"

I want him so badly I almost think about letting this go, letting him get his
way.  But anger and desire are so closely related, fall along such a blurry
line, and the two blend together inside me.  I feel myself letting the anger,
the indignation take hold.

"Can you explain something to me, Mulder?  Why is it that you seem to think
you have a right to my every thought and feeling?  You demand to know
every emotion that fleetingly passes through me, but I don't feel I can even
ask you about the important things, things that directly affect me, us."  
I say the words calmly, with such reserve, and I know this will incite him.
He hates when I act so casually about personal matters, emotional matters.

"Yeah, Scully, I really go out of my way to hide my feelings.  I'm sure it 
must 
be very confusing for you," he snarls at me, placing his hands on his hips, 
in 
what I imagine is an action to demonstrate he's standing his ground.  I notice
his clothing suddenly -- his jeans are tighter than I remember them being.  I 
realize Mulder's in the same place I am -- desire and anger converging inside 
him.

I tell myself I can do this. I will do this.  I want him to grab me, kiss me 
brutally,
until I don't remember daylight, until I forget what's it's like to feel 
spilt in two,
until I don't ever want to wake up again.  I can force myself to say this.  

"Who's Diana, Mulder?"  My tone is not at all even anymore.  If you listen 
closely 
enough, the anger and hurt are apparent.  Mulder will hear it.

"God damn it, Scully!  What the hell does she have to do with any of this?
Bringing up Diana isn't going to get you off the hook," he shouts, slamming 
his fist against the bookcase.

"I'm trying to make a point.  You haven't told me anything about her, so if 
I don't feel like dissecting my mood tonight, confiding all my hope and fears,
you don't have any grounds on which to force me."  

He glares at me, the rest of his features still.  I can't wait much longer.  
I need him to take action soon.  

"Neither one of us is perfect, Mulder.  I know we said we'd be more open 
with each other after we..."  Suddenly I'm tongue tied like a school girl.  I 
can't
find the words.  This ignites Mulder's fuse all over again.  He comes towards
me, crouching down in front of my spot on the couch, and pulls my shoulders 
forward, pressing my body so tightly against his I can feel his heart beat in
my head, my arms, my thighs, radiating throughout my body, throbbing
wildly.

"Say it, Scully.  I want to hear you say it," he commands, his face barely an
inch from mine.

"After we..." I stumble again, searching for some innocent phrase.

"After we started fucking?  Huh, Scully? Is that what you wanted to say?" Part
of me is disgusted, another part excited.  It's such a strange combination, 
making
me feel lightheaded and dizzy.

"After we became lovers,"  I finally manage in a weak voice.

"Oh, is that what we are?" he asks sarcastically.  He lets go of me, and pulls
away.  I'm still angry with him but now even more so since he ended the 
physical
contact.  He slowly seats himself on the coffee table.

I stand up, shaking slightly, dimly aware that I'm flushed, out of breath.  I 
can feel Mulder watching me, his eyes boring through me, making every cell
in my body spilt in two, divide, and burn like crazy.  I clear my throat to 
distract him.

"Whatever we choose to call it..." I try to say this lightly.  I want the 
scorching anger to fade away, letting the white hot desire resume control.

"Yeah, potato, po-tah-toe," Mulder says bitterly.

"Neither of us has kept that promise, Mulder.  And maybe that's okay.  Maybe
we can just--"

"No, I don't think it is okay.  Everything's not going to be *fine* just 
because
I take you back to the bedroom, Scully."

The part of me that agrees with him applauds Mulder's self control.  
Unfortunately, she's off the clock. The raging, wanting part of me has taken
over.

"So what then?  I should sit here and listen to all the intimate details of 
your past with Diana, and you should--"

"Jesus, Scully!  Let it go already.  Jealousy is a really unattractive 
emotion 
for you," he spits the words at me, and I flinch as if they're pure venom.

"Screw you, Mulder." 

I start for the door but he grabs me again by the shoulders, and pushes me up
against the wall, making sure I can feel his hips pressed firmly against mine.

"That's exactly what you want, isn't it Scully?  That's what you've wanted
all night, right?"  

God, finally, part of my brain moans.  The other part is outraged.

"Oh, God, Mulder," I groan, gripping his biceps so tightly my fingers turn 
white.

"Yeah, I know, Scully.  I've been watching you," he growls, yanking my
shirt over my head and tossing it back towards the couch.

He pauses for a moment, and looks at me.  His eyes are wild, black, and I 
want him
so badly I almost push him to the ground and take him myself.  But I can't let
myself do it.  That's not allowed.

For a second, maybe less, a softness settles over Mulder's face.  "Scully," he
whispers gently, "It doesn't have to be this way.  All you have to do is ask, 
tell
me."  

It does have to be this way though.  This is the only way I can allow it to 
be.

I pant heavily, and when I don't respond, he continues, pulling the zipper of
my pants down roughly, his hands suddenly everywhere at once. He forces his 
tongue into my mouth, and we grind against each other, unable to stop.

He'll devour me tonight.  He'll have me on that razor sharp edge again and 
again.  He'll render me breathless, weightless, senseless.  Powerless.  And 
I'll love it.  I'll beg him to do it, plead with him never to stop.  

And then tomorrow morning, I'll wake up beside him, sore, bruised maybe, and
I'll hate myself.  Hate that I lost control, that I allowed myself to do it.  
Hate 
that I wouldn't let Mulder be tender, slow, gentle -- all the things he wants
so desperately to show me he can be, all the things he needs to be for me.

I keep hoping that the two people inside me will merge back together, develop
some kind of balance, harmony.  That someday they'll want Mulder in exactly
the same way.  I lose faith though, each day, as the divide seems to grow
deeper and further.  I can barely see across the gap anymore.

Mulder throws me over his shoulder, and carries me off to the bedroom.  I take
a shaky breath and prepare to split even further apart.


the end. (now's the perfect time to send some feedback!  you'll know you'll 
feel better if you do.)