I DID NOT WRITE THIS: Please respond to the author, Louise Valmoria, at
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the story.

Title: The Truth in the Lie 1/1

Author: Louise Valmoria

Feedback: Yes please. Oh wait. I have to tell you how.
valmoria@eisa.net.au

Summary: Scully has betrayed Mulder in the worst way
possible. Could things really be the way they seem?

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Probably through the fifth season to be safe.

Keywords: No bloody good idea. Can someone tell me?
MulderAngst, ScullyAngst, sort-of MSR? Who knows?

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully aren't mine. They are Chris
Carter's, and he better not sue me, shoot me or lynch me for
temporarily stealing his characters and returning them in a
traumatised state. I'm not good with handling fragile goods
-- I am not taking responsibility if they are broken in their
packaged state.

Author's Notes: Is this how the real end to the X-Files will
be? This is something that occurred to me while writing
about the latest pursuits of Deep Throat; just thought I'd
share it with you. It's not the usual X-Files fanfic type thing
-- it is something that goes deeper than that, and something
tells me that I'm going to get flamed for this piece . . .or if
not, at least scolded for doing this to the characters . . .


I'm sorry, Mulder.
I have never regretted anything more in my life than
this one moment. The look in your eyes is of one being
betrayed by the one person you thought you could trust.
Probably because that is what happened.
Mulder, I know we have been through a lot over the
last few years. Somewhere along the way we have forged a
bond so strong it was doubtful that anything could break it.
But something did.
Me.
And I'm sorry.
We stand at opposite ends of your apartment; myself
at your doorway, you as far away from me as possible. I
guess I can understand that. I have just told you the one
thing that could shatter you forever.
As I ignore the stunned expression on your face and
watch the man in your eyes crumbling, I realise that it
already has.
"Scully," you say, your voice revealing your struggle
to regain composure, "This can't be real."
I resist the temptation to close my eyes and fall into the
dark hole slowly forming in my soul. "It is," I reply, my
voice cracking slightly.
I have just told you that the last seven years of our
lives was a fabrication I knowingly and willingly participated
in.
What you must never know is that this is all a lie too.
I wish I didn't know you so well, that I wasn't able to
read your expressions, that I did not have the ability to
reach into your soul and feel your feelings. Seven years of
constant conversation, action, and pain have all culminated
into this one moment. This one moment that hangs
precariously between us, being held up only by the strength
of my resolve.
Mulder, I'm sorry, I wish I didn't have to do this, I
don't know why I'm doing this but I've already said what
I've needed to say and there is no way I can just take it back
now, it will scar you more than this has scarred you already
--
Each person has their own private hole of isolation;
this is mine. And I am trapped in it, saying words which I
am yet to prove there is meaning to, and words that the
people deserving to hear them will never receive.
Our relationship has been, and always will be, unique
in my life. If only I could find a way now to tell you that. It
has been a candle in a jar, burning brilliantly when newly lit,
and steadily as the years passed on. But as it happens with a
candle in a jar, the wick is about to extinguish itself by
drowning in its own wax.
I give into the temptation and close my eyes. Perhaps
this end of our friendship, our partnership, was inevitable.
I wish this was another time, another place, another
*me*, where I did not feel this sudden urge to tear out
Mulder's soul so soon after had regained it.
Am I wishing for a parallel universe, perhaps?
I want to believe . . .

I can't bear to look at you, Scully.
The pain in your eyes is evident. I don't see why. You
knew the torture you were inflicting upon me when you said
those words and you have no right to think that it was your
soul that got wrenched out as well.
I have found Samantha, and held Cancer Man's dying
body in my arms, and I have lost you to a fate far more
unexpected than I thought.
Scully, how could you do this? How? Why would you
betray me like this?
I don't know the motives behind your constant
deception. I am struggling with the idea that you could have
betrayed me the whole time. You were there for me to pull
me away from the dangerous edges of mental cliffs; I stayed
by your side when your physical and mental state was at its
weakest. Or at least I tried to -- your words have left me
with some doubt as to whether you were ever weak at all.
I don't want to doubt, but I am beginning to think I
have no other choice.
This is certainly a rollercoaster relationship we have
here. It is a strange ride; you think it has many ups and
downs, riding in a strong carriage on a set path to
anywhere, when in reality you are coursing along the fine
silk of a lie, ready to break at the least pressure.
I wish I didn't have to face reality. Reality is merely an
intricately woven web of lies.
Until now.
I suppose that this means that the best way to alienate
someone is to tell them the truth.
And yet I cannot picture it. You, Scully, my greatest
ally and defender, working against me the whole time. You
have gotten me to trust you and then this is how my trust is
repaid.
Dana . . . why?
And yet, when I have my doubts, I look into your
pained eyes, and see the ruthless determination and resolve
within them
--
I do not understand why I would have let this happen.
Dammit, Scully, if you're lying to me, then why? Why
would you do that? Does that mean every shared look,
smile, laugh was all a farce? Your intense, searching gaze
you sometimes gave me, that I often interpreted as
something much more meaningful -- was it all an act?
Your cancer. You almost died. There was *scientific
proof*. That could not have been an act. The agony you
went through, the strain I lived through with you, I cannot
see it all as a lie.
Dana, I've never had cause to doubt you before. But I
am wondering about the motives behind all this. Maybe you
are just lying to me about your betrayal.
I want to believe. So badly. But you, my strength, have
been taken away from me. I want you back, the old you,
even if it was a lie.
Even with Samantha here with me again, it is you I do
not want to see slip away from me again.

Mulder, stop looking at me like that.
This is for you, this is for both of us, it will hurt like
hell but something good of it will come in the end.
I am merely an addition to your quest, another
roadblock to you in reaching your ultimate goal. You have
now found Samantha, your years of fruitless searching has
ended in two major coups; you have also killed Cancer Man
for real. But I know you, Mulder. I know your guilt. You
will want answers for why I was taken, for the cancer that
has subsided in my body a long time ago, why I was given
the alien virus. These are complications arising from our
work on the X-Files.
Mulder . . . Fox . . . don't you remember your reasons
why you began work on the X-Files in the first place? For
Samantha. Only Samantha. And yet somewhere along the
way, I was included as well.
Dammit, Mulder, I love you for doing this for me but I
refuse to be a number in an X-File. I don't want to *be* an
X-File. I want to be me, living my life, and as incredibly
frustrating as you are, I want you in it. I would love to
continue working with you. But not if you're going to be
constantly racked with guilt over the events of the past
seven years.
It might sound like a stupid thing to say now, but I
forgive you for all of that. No, scratch that -- there is
nothing to forgive. None of it was your fault. It was the
machinations of others far superior to us.
The machinations I am now claiming to take a part in.
I open my eyes and meet yours immediately. You look
away, and something stabs at my heart; I have let my
thoughts run away with themselves and said more than I
needed to say. Certainly not what I meant to say.
Oh, Mulder. Your goal is reached. Go. Be with your
sister.
Your eyes lock on mine almost immediately; I realise I
must have said it out loud.

Scully, tell me that this isn't what it's all about.
Oh, God. This is my fault. If it hadn't been for my
stupid quest for Samantha, this never would have happened.
But then I would never have met you, such a
wonderful woman, the only one who could fill the hole
Samantha left and then some.
This is a lose-lose situation. Stay with Scully, be on the
back foot with the conspiracy forever. Regain Samantha and
kill Cancer Man, and you rip my heart out with a few well
chosen words.
But now you have said a few more well-chosen words.
" . . . Your goal is reached . . . Be with your sister . . ."
Dammit, is this what it is all about?
Dana, I have Samantha back. But she has a different
life, has been living a different life. She doesn't need me. She
needs me as a family figure in her life but she doesn't need
my presence as much as I have craved hers these last
torturous twenty-or-so years of my life.
I know you need me.
I can see it in your eyes.
I can read it in your words.
And yet you insist on pushing me away.
What a way to do it, Dana Katherine Scully.
How could you call the last seven years of our lives
one big lie?
Unless . . .
"Scully?"
It is only when she looks at me that I realise she has
broken from my gaze a while before.
This is hard, this is so hard, I don't want to do it but I
have to, my mind and my soul, and my heart, definitely my
heart, is telling me I shouldn't do this, I can't do this, but
something else more stubborn, on a more heightened level is
telling me to hold this woman and never let her go
.. . .
"Scully, why are you lying?" I ask abruptly. I am
surprised by how normal my voice sounds. I don't sound
like you just tore apart my sanity. I just sound like you've
been caught saying you were at your mother's house when I
know you were on a date.
Your gaze turns icy, drilling into me. I desperately
want to look away from the intensity, from the fierceness,
but that damned rebellious part of me refuses to look away.
"Mulder, I'm not lying."
You can't betray me like this. You can't. Scully, you
just can't turn around and tell me that I have come to
wholeheartedly trust a traitor. Never once in my life has a
woman hurt me like this. What you've done is far worse
than Phoebe's manipulations.
But this isn't about her, Scully, it's about you.
The situation has turned farcical. You'd have to be
lying. Seven years is a long time to get to know somebody.
And I know you're lying now.
Even though the niggling doubt remains in my head
that you are a shockingly good liar. Either you've been
acting as my partner, friend and confidante for the last seven
years and are now showing your true colours; or you have
been for real and for some reason, you are holding back
now.
I don't believe that all this has been in vain.
Seven years is a long time to deceive.
Even the Smoking-Man messed up with it.
So say something, dammit, Scully.
Please say something that will heal the wound you've
ripped into me.

My mind and muscles are telling me to run. My heart
isn't returning my calls -- it is threatening to break on me.
My soul, the parts of it that haven't been broken by this
confrontation anyway, stubbornly clings to the intense man I
have come to love over the past few years of my life.
It clings to you, Mulder, and I doubt you'd be able to
scrub it off if you tried.
If there is any hope of salvaging this, I will take the
chance. I am willing to take the risk.
I just hope my mouth doesn't speed faster than my
mind again.
As I open my mouth, I can feel the force of the words
I want to say accelerate.
Believe the lie, you have to live it --
I've lied about my life, I've lived a lie --
This is starting to be crazy --
Trust no one --
Mulder, you're the only one I trust --
Your voice, saying I am the only one you trust --
And now, after this, you'll never trust anyone again --
"Mulder, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you
I'd *never* mean to hurt you but I just didn't want to be an
inconvenience in your life anymore, your work on the
X-Files is done and I don't want you to feel guilty about
anything that happened to me, because it wasn't your fault
--"
I watch you cross the room in two strides and reach
for me. My mind and muscles kick in, and I back against the
wall. There is nowhere else to go. I can duck away and run.
But there is something that needs to be said, and I know
you need to say it.
There is so much I need to say myself.
I see the hurt flicker in your eyes, and I desperately
wish to remove it, but it is far more difficult to heal with
words than to harm with them. "I just thought you could
spend more time getting to know the sister you lost," I say
more quietly, more measuredly. "I know how much she
means to you."
You keep approaching me. Mulder, what are you
doing? What is wrong? You are certainly not reacting the
way I imagined. Somewhere inside you, you have found
more strength. I do not delight in seeing you crumble, but it
was something I have come to expect.
You stand directly in front of me and place a hand over
my mouth. It is only at this close proximity that I can
perfectly read your expression. Mulder, I'm sorry. I can see
your determination to resolve this in a positive manner, and
the myriad of associated emotions, but I can still see,
layered within and around it, the pain, hurt and betrayal.
"Scully," you say tenderly, and the hairs on the back of
my neck prickle. There is something wrong with this scene.
I have just give you news that I have betrayed your every
move to the men whom you feared the most, and instead of
leaving me alone forever like I had reluctantly intended, you
saw through the lie and looked like -- Mulder, are you about
to kiss me?
"I wish you'd shut up."
It is an anti-climax, but the air is still fraught with
tension.
What the hell is going on?

I seem to have frightened you, Scully.
Well, good. Because you certainly have given me a
giant fright yourself.
I can feel adrenaline coursing through my veins. We
are not finished with this confrontation yet.
Anger shoots up my spine and I see you recoil,
pressing yourself against the wall as if you might fall into it
and somehow escape.
Scully . . . how did our relationship get to this point?
"Why?" is only question I ask. But my voice -- I am
frightened by the viciousness I hear within it.
You look startled. "I told you."
"Dammit, you told me nothing!" The anger has crept
up on me from nowhere and switched on full force. The
earlier feeling of desolation has all but vanished, with the
realisation that through all this, you *knew* you were
hurting me, Scully. "Why, Dana, *why*?" I yell, banging my
fist on the wall next to your head. You flinch and I pull
myself away, shocked.
I could have hit you, Scully. There is a dent in the wall
and that could have been you. Scully . . . please help me . . .
if there was any time when I need your strength it is now.
But you are pulling away from me! Why? For the last time,
why?
I will not ask any more after this. If you wish me to
back off and leave you alone, I would. If you think seeing
me beat myself up with guilt would hurt you, then get as far
away as possible from me because you'll be seeing it a lot
more often from this moment onwards.
From this damned confrontation into the rest of my life
. . .
I look at you carefully, scrutinising your appearance.
You look startled, but you don't look scared. Why not? Is it
because you trust me enough not to hurt you? Scully, I
wouldn't, I swear. I would never hurt you. But, dammit,
why would you hurt me?
Yes, I have found my sister. The longest, most painful
chapter in my life has ended. And yet when I turn the page,
*this* is here.
She has her own life. She may be understanding of my
zealous search for her, but she has her own life and she
doesn't want me to interfere too much. Even though I want
to be the protective older brother I never was after she was
gone.
Scully, if I could tell you, would you understand?
Your face is flushed and I can tell you are waiting for
something else to happen. Although you seem to be trusting
me enough not to lay a hand on you, you are still trying to
inch your way through the wall.
Oh, Dana, I didn't mean it, I swear --
The irony of my thoughts pierces my mind and refuses
to fade away as I grab you and begin kissing you with brutal
force.
We have both wronged each other tonight.
This kiss will not make it right.

I know I should pull myself away, but I can't.
This kiss is not one of reconciliation, of love. We are
still trying to hurt each other. I don't know how this
downward spiral of events has come about and I am too
shell-shocked to think of any rational analysis for it right
now.
The kiss is savage, more intended to cause pain than
pleasure, but as the seconds roll into minutes I realise I must
have a more masochistic streak than I thought. I certainly
know that Mulder would be finding some satisfaction in the
hurtful way this kiss is being conducted. I would ask you,
Mulder, but you seem more interested in trying to push me
into the wall.
This is starting to sound like something like a romance
book, I know. But it isn't. The longer our tongues duel in
vicious battle, the more I feel us both sinking into a dark
place. This is not love. We are not doing this for love.
But for what, I dread to ask.
Is it an outlet for . . . hate? How have I damaged
myself in your eyes, Mulder? Could you ever look at me
again, trust me again, knowing of my lies?
Mulder, what are we doing this for?
Why?
What do we hope to gain from it?
The questions crowd my mind until I am afraid it will
burst. I don't think I can deal with this all in the space of a
few minutes -- the consequence of my lie, your reaction, this
damned painful kiss . . . you pull back at the exact split
second I do, and we stare at each other in shock. Your face
is wet with tears. Mulder, you're crying.
But then again, so am I.
I am crying because no matter the outcome of this
night, things will never be the same.
I'm sorry.
Mulder, have you reached the same conclusion I have?
My gaze must be asking the question for me. You look
at me for a long time, and no words are need to be said.
Mulder, I realise that you want me to leave.
And that you don't want me to leave.
I want to go. I want to run from this place, run from
its memories, run from you until the edges have worn off
and everything is a fuzzy recollection. But I will never
forget. I will relive this moment for the rest of my life.
And I want stay and try to work things out. That can't
happen. Your eyes are savage and questioning. Only now
do I realise the impact of words, rather than actions. If I
stay, though, there is no doubt that if we attempt to solve
this sudden problem that we will only make things worse.
Even if our kisses turn gentle.
So what will I do?
Gazing into your eyes, I make a decision.
Mulder, I choose . . .

THE END

Okay, now I've gotten all of *that* out, bye!

Feedback is greatly appreciated and replied to --
valmoria@eisa.net.au

thanx for reading!