Title: "Burning the Facade" Author: Heather Horn Rating: G Category: MSR Original Post Date: 08/18/00 - Revised 03/27/02 Summary: Not even fire can destroy true love. Spoilers: "One Breath" and "Brand X" Distribution: Anywhere and everywhere. Please keep my name attached, and let me know where you are putting it. Thank you! Feedback: Please send any comments - kisses and flames are both greatly appreciated - to heathabear@hotmail.com. Thanks a billion! Disclaimer: "The X-Files" is copyright Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and The FOX Network. No money is being made from this. No copyright infringement is intended. Acknowledgements: Thanks, Marie, for all of your hard work, kind words, and input - you're the best beta-reader a writer could ever ask for. "Without trust there is no love." - "Moulin Rouge" "Burning the Facade" (1/1) By Heather Horn What on Earth had he done? He had been the executor of plenty of senseless diversions before, but telling Scully that he had picked up a pack of cigarettes on his way to work? That topped the cake. Because of his latest mistake, she probably thought him to be a malodorous jerk who was moments away from subscribing to the Morley's Fan Club. Thanks to a chimneystack that could not stop downing cigarettes long enough to ask the time of day, Mulder had spent the last two weeks on a paid vacation. Having the words "paid" and "vacation" in the same sentence was always a perk, but for Mulder, there was nothing relaxing about a break from work. A break from work meant a break from her. A break from her might break his heart. She called him every evening of his forsaken "vacation", she even stopped by a couple of times to make sure that he was okay. There were still those long, plodding nine-to-five hours, though, when she was confined to their office, and he was confined to his loneliness. He knew that he was supposed to be resting, but no one could expect a man who had kissed death so many times to stay still just because of a few little bugs. He drove to a nearby shopping center, and pulled up to the little jewelry shop that he had eyed so many times in passing, yet never took the time to peruse. A tall, older man stood next to his slender, petite wife, who looked only a few years younger. "What can I do for you, son?" The man asked smiling, pausing briefly to kiss his wife good-bye. "A ring for your bride?" Mulder attempted to speak, but the burning sensation in his throat instructed him not to. He shook his head, and wandered over to a case of pretty, yet less engaging jewelry. He looked in all the cases, but when he set his eyes upon it, he knew it was the one he had to get for her - a fourteen-karat gold bracelet with amethyst gems surrounding it. It was quiet and mystical, a luscious enigma that screamed her name. It would cost him the "paid" part of his "paid vacation", but money meant nothing to him; she meant everything. When he returned to work, he nestled the bracelt in the top drawer of his desk, alongside the pack of Morley's that he had always kept in there. The craving for nicotine was intense, since his doctor had prescribed it as the cure. Yet, he simply had them as a symbol of what was out there - he would never dare to smoke them. The pack was the same box that he had found in the vending machine at the hospital five years ago, and he kept them among his vast piles of possessions as if it were a trophy he had stolen from his arch enemy. He told himself that he would give Scully the bracelet as soon as she came in, and he sat down at the computer. No work would actually be completely until he could see her face, though, and he was overjoyed when she walked in the room a moment later, her presence lighting up his face. She asked him how he was feeling; he said he was fine. He thanked her for saving his life again; she said it was nothing. It was all a blur to him, so hackneyed that he did not bother to pay attention. He simply walked over to his desk, and pulled out the detestable box of Morley's. Her eyes grew wide as she caught sight of the cigarette pack, nausea washing over her. As he watched her, it seemed as if every ounce of respect she had for him had been drained from her, burned at the core by a brand-name cigarette. Morley's were their evil; the antithesis of their mission statement. They were a syndicate in a box; a consitorium that would kill both of them without a second thought. She turned on her heel left the room without a word, and he knew that she would not be back, at least not for today. He had waited two weeks to be with her, and he had waited an eternity to tell her how much she meant to him; to remind her how special she was. He could wait another eight hours. He sat there all day, his feet on his desk, the Morley's box in one hand, the jewelry box in the other. His mind drifted, and Mulder began to wonder if perhaps she was upstairs in forensics or pathology, flirting with the handsome scientists and doctors and people whom he was not. Why shouldn't she flirt? He asked himself. It's not like I have dibs on her. He attempted to push the notion aside, but he felt a sense of jealousy rising in his chest. He was jealous of a hypothetical situation, but jealous none the less. When five o'clock rolled around, he tossed one box in the waste basket, and put the other box safely into his pocket. He needed to clear his head before he attempted to pick up the pieces of his life. He wanted to apologize, but he realized that he had never apologized to Scully before. After all of the times that he had almost gotten her killed, he had never taken the time for a simple, "I'm sorry." He took a walk to the nearby park, where he often went when things got too confusing. He sat down on the fountain ledge, burying his head in his hands. He could not concentrate on not concentrating, though. He felt the presence of someone else; a strong, gut instinct that he got every now and then. Reluctantly, he pulled himself to his feet so that he could survey the area, and he caught a glimpse of red out of the corner of one eye. He had not been given a fair chance to clear his head, albeit he knew that fate was not going to wait for him to prepare himself. It was time to take advantage of the fortuitous situation. His mind seemed to have momentarily disappeared, and his heart took over, leading him towards her. She sat limply on the other side of the fountain, a cigarette in one hand; a lighter in the other. "Scully?" He countered. She looked up at him, then down at her hands, deeply ashamed. "I quit for you, Mulder," she whispered hoarsely. "What?" "I quit for you," she repeated, more forcefully this time. "Seven years ago. After that night at the motel in Oregon, I quit for you. I didn't even know why I was quitting at the time, I was just sort of compelled to. And when I saw you today, with a pack of cigarettes in your hand, I couldn't help but wonder if you would really do for me what I would do for you." "Oh, Scully -" "'Oh, Scully' what, Mulder?" She spat. "Even I can't come up with a plausible explanation for this one!" Silence permeated their conversation. They tuned into the sounds of the city, to the children running down the streets with their mothers and fathers close behind them, to the cars rushing by, birds chirping, and the water splashing down into the fountain. Anything but words. Anything at all. Silence is golden, but not with so much anger present, floating over their heads like a cloud of doom. When he could stand it no longer, he resumed the conversation as he reached slowly into his pocket, removing the tiny box. "Scully," he gently began. "I haven't smoked since I was a kid. I found a cigarette lying on the floor, and I bet you can guess who left it there. I felt like I was sucking exhaust from a carburetor, and I never did it again - ever. I only kept that box in there as, I don't know, I guess, symbolism of lies." "But, Mulder, you told me this morning that you were smoking!" Scully whined, both emotionally and physically drained. "I was hedging. I - I wanted to give you something else, but I wasn't sure if you'd want it. I was afraid that if I gave it to you, I would just screw things up like I always do." "Well cigarettes didn't exactly have a positive eff-" She was silenced as he opened his palm and took out the bracelet. Her eyes stared in disbelief for a moment, a lump developing in her throat as water collected in the brims of her eyes. "For me?" She asked shakily, choking back tears. He nodded. "But, Mulder, why?" She let the gleaming band drape off of her index finger. She put her other hand on his cheek, allowing her fingers to linger there for a moment. Her touch was silken against his skin, and the scent of her perfume washed over him. "It's not my birthday. Bill didn't beat you up, did he?" "No, no, no, nothing like that," Mulder chuckled. "Although I am sure he'd like to. I know that the time I spent in the hospital was really no different from all the other times: I get a fatal illness, you cure it, and we all live happily ever after. But they made me take time off of work; time away from you. I sat at home for days, Scully, just thinking about how much I missed you. Even though you stopped by at night, just knowing that there were those eight hours of the day when I wasn't by your side was enough to drive me crazy. And I realized, Scully, how much you mean to me. I've always known, but it really hit me recently. I am so sorry, so sorry for everything that I have ever done to hurt you. All the times that I left you, all the times that I endangered your life, and, and this. I'm sorry, Scully. And I want you to know that you are my truth, a truth more powerful than a thousand lies." A monumental smile spread across her face as rich contentment filled her sparkling eyes. "I know, Mulder, I know," she whispered. "I feel the same way. You are the answer to every question that I have ever had; every question that I will ever have." He returned her grin, and she snuggled against him, lying her head on his shoulder. His arm fell into place around her, and he took her hand in his, fastening the bracelet around her wrist. Together they sat on the edge of the fountain in solstice, watching peacefully as the flame that is the sun burned out for the day, lowering its facade to give the moon a chance to thrive. The night was young, and now, there was nothing left to hide behind. THE END (1/1) Thank you for taking the time to read "Burning the Facade". I hope you enjoyed it! Please send any comments - kisses and flames are both greatly appreciated - to heathabear@hotmail.com. Thanks a billion! You can find all of my fan fiction at my website, Mulder + Scully = True Love http://mstruelove.tripod.com "True love is friendship set on fire."