Faux Amis
First published circa 2000
RATING: PG
CATEGORY: Vignette. Missing scene. CSM/Scully of sorts (unreciprocated! Stop wailing!) The title means 'false friends'.
SPOILERS: En Ami ('as a friend' in French.) Never Again. Tithonus.
SUMMARY: The missing scene everybody's been pondering about. CSM puts Scully to bed.
DISCLAIMERS: Keeping the X-Files alive and ass kicking since 1998. LONG LIVE FANFICTION.
***
Always smell your coffee, Agent Scully. You should know better.
You're not the only one who can do magic tricks. And I'm thirty years ahead of you.
But you were probably distracted.
Demanding the Truth.
You can't handle it, though, on the rare occasions I give it to you. I saw it in your eyes, the only part of you you still can't teach to lie. You know I'm right, about you and men. But it's far too simple an explanation for your pride, isn'it Miss Scully? Pop-psychologist stuff as you call it.
You like it complicated.
Which is probably why you've been hanging with him for so long.
A twenty first century martyr. Skinner, your mom, your brother, that's what they all think every time your battered body ends up in a hospital. How brave you are. How loyal. How selfless.
But the truth is, you like it rough.
Your life I mean.
I wouldn't know about the rest.
Not because I have qualms about spying on you in intimacy.
I haven't. I do.
Did you check that bible of yours lately?
I've heard every sound you've ever made in your bedroom.
I've heard you undress, I've heard you sleep, I've heard your nightmares. God knows you've got a lot of them - - maybe you should see someone about this, it can't be healthy -- I've heard you snore, I've heard you sob, I've heard you come.
Alone.
Does he know you haven't been laid in seven years?
No. Of course not. He probably thinks you collect one-night-stands over the weekend. Like he does.
Jackass.
Oh, let me reassure you, it doesn't happen often. Most of the time he's happy enough with his porn collection. But occasionally he needs something more, usually after a bad case, usually when something has happened to you. He goes to this bar, gets drunk and picks up a girl.
No.
Not small redheads.
Never.
They're usually the complete opposite of you. Tall, blonde, long legged creatures with no hips and silicon breasts.
But when you know how Mulder's mind works, this is actually quite telling.
You should have seen him, the day after he brought you back from New York. The man sure has stamina for his age. He and his 'date' christened nearly every household furniture that night, including the coat hanger.
Don't ask.
She was actually quite pretty.
And she was gone in the morning.
Just like all the others.
You might wonder why they never stay. It's probably because of what he tells them afterwards: "I've got someone."
And they despise him.
He doesn't give a damn.
Poor schmuck.
Oh, well. Let's go inside the house now, shall we?
Christ, your body weighs nothing, you know that?
This is ironic when you think how much you weigh on our souls.
Mulder's, Skinner's, mine... well what's left of it.
Ah. Bedroom. There. Comfy?
Are these your pajamas? You'll probably never get round to use them if I don't give you a hand.
Come here.
Don't worry, it's nothing I haven't seen before.
I saw you butt-naked three months in a row. Of course you can't remember.
I see... the past years have taken their toll, haven't they? You had lovely curves back then, which you probably didn't like.
Women.
You're one skinny bunny now.
And a wired one, I see.
Good, I wouldn't have expected any less of you.
You can keep it.
It's part of the game.
So many scars. You should be more careful, you're going to look like a pirate by the time you're fifty. If you ever reach fifty, that is.
Scoot over. That's it.
So this is your infamous tattoo, young lady? Photos of it have become hard currency among the FBI lab assistants. You should be more cautious with your files.
Way to ruin your Ice Queen reputation.
The boys down below would give their right hand for a date with you. Doctor Scully is a bit of a legend, don't you know?
Of course such considerations never enter your mind.
For years now they have catalogued, analyzed and referenced every samples you've sent their way, and Mulder and you did send them some weird shit, admit it. I'm sorry I sometimes couldn't let them keep it.
When you came back from Philadelphia they'd never been so glad the laser color printer had just been repaired.
I closed my eyes on it.
Boys will be boys and all that.
I think I'll stop at your underwear.
Despite what you think I'm a gentleman.
My, that is one ugly bra, Agent Scully.
But I guess sexy underwear hasn't been at the top of your shopping list for a long time now.
Since nobody ever sees what you're wearing under your prim and proper tailored suits.
Such a waste.
Even Krycek gets hard when your name is mentioned. And your kind is usually not his brand of choice.
I think your partner knows that.
The members of the consortium, may their soul rot in hell, never took notice of you. A sure sign they were living deads.
I did.
Ever since you walked in Blevin's office with your ugly suit and your cheap shoes.
I knew you were going to be trouble.
I tried to break you. I really did.
I tried to crush you when you became Mulder's backbone.
I abducted you, made you ill, created monsters with your eggs.
I could have killed you, but it wouldn't have been so much fun.
Killing you inside was.
It had style.
I was waiting for the day you'd put your gun between those lovely lips of yours and pull the trigger.
I wanted you insane. I wanted you rocking back and forth in a straitjacket. I wanted to crush the delicate white bones of your pride between my fingers like I did to that bird when I was six. I wanted to burn down every last kernel of anything beautiful inside you, your love, your faith, your trust - there is poignancy about the destruction of beauty, don't you think? I wanted to rob your soul of its irritating purity. I wanted you to fight dirty. I wanted you to express this rage you keep so well in control and ultimately, use it against yourself.
Any idea what a turn on this is to destroy someone's beliefs one by one; until they starts acting like what they hates the most, until they can't stand themselves anymore?
I've done it many times.
You could have been my ultimate masterpiece.
Mulder would have been crushed. A shell emptier than the husks he scatters everywhere.
Two birds. One stone.
But you surprised me. You resisted.
And you're still here. Damaged but tougher than ever.
And I think, along the way, I fell in love.
Who wouldn't have?
Even your self-centered nuisance of a partner did, in his own twisted way.
I'm an old man but I'm still a man.
And, God, let me look at you before I put these on, you're one gorgeous enemy.
I'm not stupid. I know perfectly well none of this is for me. Never will be.
Just indulge an old man's fantasy for a minute will you?
Not that you can really object at the moment.
You would probably bite my head off, if you were to wake up now.
And I would probably enjoy it.
Seeing you mad is more addictive than my Morleys.
Here. You're decent now. Let me tuck you in.
No. You'll never be mine.
Your heart is already taken. I know that. Had been for a while.
You're nothing if faithful.
So noble of you.
Too bad the poor bastard has got his head so far up his arse. He might want to do something about it.
Fat chance.
And I know you won't.
Abnegation makes you feel strong, doesn't it? And you need all the strength you can get these days, no matter where you draw it from.
Anyway, it's not your heart I'm interested in.
It's your mind.
Sounds like a bad pick-up line doesn't it?
No, really.
This sharp, inquisitive, scientific little mind of yours is going to get me exactly what I want. I'm tempted to add 'naive' to the list of adjectives, but it would be ungrateful of me.
And I'm not.
I even have a present for you.
It's a dress.
I can't wait to see you in it.
I'll take you to dinner.
In a very nice restaurant.
We can just pretend we're old friends.
I know I can.
Pretending is what I do best.
The End.