Title: Schisms
Author: Singing Violin (Pearl on Ephemeral/Gossamer)
Rating: G/K
Category: X-Files VRHA
Summary: What could possibly cause these two to break up? A series of short stories explaining the reported status of Mulder and Scully's relationship upon the revival miniseries.
Disclaimer: The X-Files characters and universe are not mine.
Archiving: Anywhere, as long as you let me know. I put stuff on AO3, ffnet, and Ephemeral/Gossamer.

Chapter 13: Violation
Chapter Summary: Mulder makes a devastating confession.
Chapter Spoilers: EBE, Redux II, Millenium

"I'm going to a New Year's Eve party," she told him offhand while getting dressed. "I don't suppose you'd like to come."

He paused his perusal of the internet long enough to look in her direction while answering. "Not really, no."

He looked back at his screen, but when he didn't hear her moving, he glanced back up. "What?"

She appeared hurt, but he couldn't imagine why.

She glared at him for a while before finally answering his innocent, puppy-dog face with a huff and an explanation. "Ten years, Mulder."

He squinted at her. "What?" he repeated, confused.

She sighed. "At midnight," she spoke softly, "it will be the ten year anniversary of our first kiss."

Suddenly he looked alarmed. "Oh." Then he looked down, but did not resume his activities online.

"So, are you coming?" she asked again.

Every fiber in his body screamed against the urge to go with her. You're sabotaging yourself again, the voice inside his head warned. He ignored it.

"It's not," he stated simply.

Now she squinted at him. "It's not...what?"

"It's not the ten year anniversary. Ten years ago...wasn't our first kiss."

Now you've really done it, the voice inside his head commented. She was never supposed to know.

She smiled enigmatically at him. "You're not counting the bee-interrupted attempt before I ended up in Antarctica with an alien growing in my belly, are you?"

He chuckled lightly, then his face grew dark. "No, but even if I did, that wouldn't have been our first either."

Her eyes grew wide. "I'd remember if I kissed you," she told him certainly. "So what gives? Alien memory erasure, lost time, what?"

He pursed his lips. "You didn't kiss me," he admitted carefully. "But I kissed you."

She cocked her head as she eyed him suspiciously. "What are you saying, Mulder?"

He sighed and looked down, then back up at her. "When you had cancer," he told her, "you were lying unconscious in that hospital bed. I came in to visit you, and I didn't have the heart to wake you. I sat on the floor next to your bed and I cried into your hand."

"I know that, Mulder," she told him. "Well, some of it anyway. You told me you'd visited while I was asleep. And I know you were upset. We all were."

He didn't acknowledge her interruption. "After I didn't have any more tears, and you still hadn't awakened, I got up and...I didn't know whether you were going to wake up, or if you were just going to...go, in your sleep. And I didn't want regrets...I pressed my lips to yours, Scully. They were so warm...feverish, even. But warm. You were still alive. But you didn't know. And I didn't expect you to recover. Not then. Especially after kissing you didn't wake you up. I guess you're not Snow White."

Her eyes were wide as she stared at him disbelievingly. Her face paled, and her hand went to her mouth as a tear trickled out of her eye and meandered down her cheek.

He thought for a moment that she would be sick, and rose to stand before her, but then he witnessed a terrifying transformation: her posture straightened, her hand dropped; her face hardened and her eyes grew dark. Et tu, Mulder? she seemed to accuse silently.

Finally, she acknowledged his confession by confirming his guilt, anger undertoning her every word. "You...violated me," she assessed. "You kissed me without my consent."

He nodded. "Yes. I'm sorry."

"And you didn't tell me for...twelve, thirteen years?" she asked incredulously.

"I was never planning to tell you at all," he admitted. "Not after your miraculous recovery. I would have waited if I'd known."

"But you told me now," she said. She raised an eyebrow, "Why? Why now?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. I guess I just couldn't hold it in anymore."

She shook her head back at him, and he thought he'd never seen her as disappointed as she was now. She'd once told him that he was the only one she trusted, and he'd violated that trust. She was probably questioning, now, how many other times he might have violated it, and he wished he could reassure her, but even if he told her as much, she probably wouldn't believe it. Not now. Not when he'd just admitted that he was as bad as every killer they'd ever caught, not to mention pretty much every man on the planet, who thought women were property to do with as they please.

How could he ever explain to her that what he did was out of love, not a sense of possession? Was it, really?

"I've gotta go," she finally said, and turned on her heel. She didn't ask him again whether he wanted to come, and he didn't go after her.

And she didn't come home that night. Or the next. Or the one after that.

You've got what you wanted, the voice in his head assessed. You're alone again.

"She deserves better," he spoke aloud, hoping to quiet the voice.

She won't find it, the voice replied. She's as plagued by guilt as you are.

"We'll see," he mumbled, tears trickling down his own cheeks now as loneliness and contrition threatened to overwhelm him completely.

Meanwhile, she also sat in solitude, mulling over what it all meant. Trust no one, said the voice inside her head. They will all betray you.

"Yeah," she sighed wistfully, speaking into the emptiness of the room. "Every single last one."