From: kayfu42@yahoo.com   
      
   TITLE: Losing an Illusion   
   AUTHOR: Kayfu   
   E-MAIL: kayfu42 (a) yahoo .com (Sorry. I had to butcher the address   
   to upload onto FFnet)   
   DATE: August 20th, 2004   
   RATING: PG   
   SPOILERS: The Beginning, Fight the Future   
   CATEGORY/KEYWORDS: SA; M/S UST; Scully angst   
   SUMMARY: "Losing an illusion makes you wiser than finding a truth." –   
   Ludwig Borne   
   DISCLAIMER: They belong to FOX, 1013, Chris Carter, and all those   
   other big-shots.   
   AUTHOR'S NOTES: Mulder and Scully's whole relationship throughout   
   The End and The Beginning bothered me, thus this bit of angst was   
   born. It was definitely a 'what-if' scenario. Archival is find, just   
   drop me a note so I can visit.   
      
   .   
      
   "Losing an illusion makes you wiser than finding a truth." –Ludwig   
   Borne   
      
   .   
      
   She knew he felt betrayed by her.   
      
   Mulder believed that the proof needed for their reinstatement to the   
   X-Files was in her blood: blood that was cured by a vaccine they   
   still knew nothing about. It seemed a folly to stake such a high bet   
   on just one card, but he had been so sure it was a trump ace, and   
   she had encouraged the thought blindly, bringing with her an   
   impotent deuce.   
      
   The evening before the OPR committee sped along, with Scully   
   stumbling after. She needed the use of a lab, but wouldn't risk any   
   assistants for fear of tampering; this was too important for even   
   misguided scorn towards the paranoia she was displaying. Analyzing   
   her blood-work was a tedious process, with dreary waiting involved.   
   It was made even longer by her solo act, giving her plenty of silent   
   time to try and remember everything she could about their recent   
   jaunt to Antarctica.   
      
   And she could remember nothing.   
      
   Drawing her blood, separating the necessary components, comparing   
   the results. Even after all this, it was well past two a.m. before   
   she drifted off to sleep, her face pressed against her notebook. The   
   tests rested idly in front of her, still incomplete and still   
   requiring compilation.   
      
   Waking up was the worst. Her skin was stuck against the paper, and   
   her eyes felt gritty. Needing to finish, but lacking the time she'd   
   like, Scully forced the sleepy grains from her eyes, ignoring the   
   urge to touch her raw, frostbitten skin. She rushed to get   
   everything finished in time for the hearing, taking a few minutes to   
   work through her results.   
      
   She read them through once.   
      
   She read them through again.   
      
   She checked her watch and dialed Mulder's cell phone over and over,   
   only to get the same recorded cellular company response. These   
   weren't the findings he wanted, and these were not the findings that   
   would hand them back the X-Files. Worst of all: these were not the   
   finding's she'd so foolishly promised him.   
      
   She was late for the meeting, but even more tragic was the fact that   
   she couldn't get a hold of her partner.   
      
   What happened to their ace?   
      
   She swallowed over her scratchy throat, breathing through   
   uncomfortably dry nasal passages. He was up there already, she knew.   
   The first time he was ever punctual for a meeting would be the   
   singular time she wished he'd never arrive.   
      
   She hoped the data wouldn't come up. She hoped that Mulder would   
   recount the experience with his usual flair for arrogantly forgoing   
   evidence. This time, though, she realized her hopes would be in vain.   
      
   'We'll have what we've always needed for validation,' she'd   
   guaranteed, 'undeniable scientific proof of everything that's   
   happened: of the virus that infected me and the vaccine that was its   
   cure. It will be everything we need to procure our continued   
   involvement in the reinstatement of the X-Files.'   
      
   He'd asked for her support, and she'd thought she could give it. But   
   without the desired results, without the proof, she couldn't back   
   Mulder up on his version of events; not without compromising her   
   integrity.   
      
   Seeing his face as he realized she wasn't standing behind him was   
   physically painful to her. There was pain and betrayal, but what   
   hurt worse was, deep in his eyes, she saw resignation, as though he   
   had expected this all along. As though he knew she could never be   
   what he needed: a partner who accepted and strengthened his beliefs,   
   who was there when needed and never compromised his quest: the only   
   thing that mattered.   
      
   She didn't know what to say to him. His pretty words about needing   
   her and owing her rang falsely in her head. She knew he must blame   
   her for what will surely be their denial at reinstatement. Anger and   
   sorrow warred within her, and she wondered if she really did hold   
   him back.   
      
   His anger fairly crackled in the air as the OPR meeting adjourned,   
   and witnessing his contempt added fuel to her own resentment. She   
   met up with her partner outside the meeting room, listening to him   
   throw a biting, sarcastic remark her way. She deflected it.   
      
   He wanted to know, once more, what she observed in Antarctica.   
      
   "Mulder, let me remind you once again," she told him. "What I saw   
   was very little." After being stung, she can blearily recall   
   awakening to Mulder's face and encouraging voice.   
      
   [she is so tired and so nauseous and all she wants to do is curl up   
   and go to sleep but no scully we have to keep moving we have to go   
   c'mon scully you can do it just a little farther keep going]   
      
   She swallowed convulsively.   
      
   He thought she was only making excuses. "You were there and you were   
   infected with that virus."   
      
   She could take the blame for holding the X-Files back and for making   
   promises she couldn't keep, but she refused to take the blame for   
   what the tests had revealed. She told him that the virus was not   
   extra-terrestrial. Rather, it was garnered from their own world. For   
   all the times she refused to accept his theories, he was refusing to   
   accept her findings.   
      
   "I saw what that virus did," he reminded her. "I saw it generate a   
   new being: an alien being inside a human body."   
      
   She carefully explained the virus's methods, seeing his emotions   
   close off to her in cold refusal. "What you can't question is the   
   science." She'd performed the tests herself, and there it was: hard,   
   undeniable proof that the virus that infected her was, in fact,   
   completely terrestrial.   
      
   She saw anger—and what she prayed was not disgust—in his eyes before   
   he turned away and stormed out of the room. She felt a sigh escape   
   her lips, and her breath scraped painfully across her throat.   
   Brilliant investigator that he was, she doubted he noticed her make-   
   up was barely visible and she wore the same clothes he'd seen her in   
   the day before. There were dark smudges under her eyes, and she   
   hadn't eaten since yesterday morning.   
      
   "Agent Scully?"   
      
   She was facing the door where Mulder had left, absorbed in her   
   thoughts, so she hadn't noticed her superiors exiting the conference   
   room. She turned her head around to face them, but she turned too   
   quickly. She was seized by a blast of vertigo; her palm pressed   
   against her forehead, and she stumbled several steps, trying to   
   reestablish her equilibrium. Her vision blackened around the edges,   
   spots dancing before her eyes, until her whole world darkened. Her   
   sight returned after several seconds, and she realized she was lying   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)