Motives Part 1/4: Title: Motives Author: abracadabra Email: abracadabra1754@hotmail.com Rating: PG-13 Archive: Yes! Please just let me know where. Category: Story Sub-category: M/S, Angst, Scully POV Spoilers: Up though S6, The End and The Beginning. Takes place right after the events in 'The Beginning'. Summary: Scully becomes suspicious about Mulder's behavior. Not intended to be a post-ep for The Beginning. Disclaimer: Say it ain't so...These characters belong to 1013 Productions, Fox and Chris Carter. I just get to take them out of their boxes and play with them. Occasionally. Thanks: Wellll....I consider myself very lucky to have the two singularly wonderful betas, Lovesfox and Denise. Maybe it's the fact that I pay them so well? Oh...I don't pay them...Must be that they're just wonderful friends. Also, thanks to Mortis for her insightful and often downright amusing comments. Websites: http://www.geocities.com/spookys_girl2000/index.html http://www.geocities.com/mesmerizememulder/ Author's Notes: Credits to Deep Background site for assistance in placing this story. Feedback: I'd love it! Date: April 2002 -*-*-*-*- Motives By abracadabra -*-*-*-*- Motive: 'An impulse, as an emotion, desire or physiological need, acting as incitement to action.' -*- X-Files Office Basement of the J. Edgar Hoover Building Thursday morning 30 September 1998 6:00 AM She couldn't sleep. She had lain awake for several hours and then arisen. Coffee had only succeeded in making her more alert. Tired and alert. Wired. Her normally comforting walls had grown oppressive, so she'd dressed and driven to the office; the slick pavement catching the filtered light of the street lamps in her neighborhood and then the mercury vapor beams of the Beltway lighting. They'd become a whir of blinding light as her speed had increased. She ended up in the parking garage with no recollection of leaving the highway. No matter. Slamming the door with purpose she made her way to the elevator and finally, the lobby. Michael smiled, waving her though the checkpoint. She was sure she caught his slight frown when she barely acknowledged his existence. She hoped. No, she prayed, that Mulder hadn't decided to come down to the office. They had both developed the habit of dropping by for files, especially when certain people were out of town on a case. It hurt to think about being out of town on a case. She'd almost thought, 'their' office, but it wasn't anymore. They were nestled upstairs in cubicles, performing meaningless tasks. Well, he joined her most of the time. When he wasn't being recruited for VCU or... Or what? She didn't know but it was happening. Frankly, she didn't want to know anymore. No one was in the basement, former home of their X-Files, the new occupants keeping semi-banker's hours. And they tended to keep them in the newly-created office just down the hall. A-fucking-mazing how quickly that office had been carved out now, now that the FBI's Most Unwanted were no longer in residence. She'd always loved this office. It had character; it had memories. It used to have the man she had thought she loved. Pushing the door open, shaking her head over the fact that it was always left unlocked nowadays, she walked past the desk with the new nameplate and shrugged out of her coat. Carrying it into the alcove off to the side, she set it in the new armchair and headed for the filing cabinet. The fact that she was here without authorization wasn't a concern for her. What could they do if they found her? Dismiss her? She allowed a small smug grin to turn up the corners of her mouth. They couldn't dismiss someone who no longer worked here. Taking the files back to the table, she hooked her heel into the rung of the stool and hoisted herself up. The two files were spread before her, but the words became just so much ink on the pages of information. -*- It hit her again; her belief that nothing would ever be the same again. Not in this lifetime. And if there were another, it would hold true in that lifetime too. Luckily, she only believed in the current time. Removing her glasses, she set them on the glossy black surface and rested her chin on her hand. Logic wasn't working, wasn't helping. She'd spent the last two hours alternating between reviewing the notes and photographs from a recent case, checking the med notes and trying to figure out what Mulder's reasons or motives might have been. Motive. A reason to explain behavior. Usually ascribed to suspects. Someone under suspicion. This train of thought was getting her nowhere, no closer to comprehending the reason her own partner would have left her behind. It made no difference that they weren't actually, technically partners at this point. The Powers That Be had tried to separate them before, but they'd always managed to work as partners, the team, *they* knew they were. Would always be. What had happened to the trust she'd placed in him? Five long years together through thick and thin, as the cliche went. Sharing what she would never have shared with any other. She had allowed herself the luxury of friendship along with partnership, had allowed some of those carefully constructed emotional barriers to waiver, some to even drop completely. And for what? To prove that she had been right in the first place? To prove that he wasn't to be trusted? To prove that she had been foolish in placing her trust? Therein lay that which hurt most. She tried to replay the events leading up to what she'd heard, but the only constant when she sifted through the course of recent events was one name. Diana Fowley. Special Agent Diana Fowley. Mulder's former partner. Mulder's former lover. As much as she wished she could place the blame squarely on the woman for whom she held no respect, the best she could do was hate the bitch. The truth that was out there was that her partner; soon to be former partner, was to blame. Having the office to herself was a slight consolation. The darkness suited her mood, enhanced her need to wallow. She could hear the torrential downpour, could see the final destination of the sheeting water as it battered the sole window where the wall joined the ceiling. 'Tears from Heaven' her catechism teacher used to call the rain. Tears that would match hers if she had granted herself permission to shed them. God only knew they'd threatened often enough lately. Little things. She'd thought she'd been too quick to judge. Too quick to reach conclusions. She hadn't wanted to believe. It had started in such an innocuous way, even she had to admit. -*- Two Weeks Earlier "Hey, Scully, hand me the next batch of files, will you? I'm hoping that some of the top brass will notice how well I handle background checks and sign me up for the next level, maybe bill collecting. Whaddaya think?" She had mused that he had the uncanny knack of appearing oblivious to the sidelong glances from the surrounding agents. Having cupped her hand over the mouthpiece, she'd whispered as she'd handed him the requested files, "Mulder, the only type of recognition you're going to get is a one-way ticket to the copy room." She'd settled back into her call, resisting the urge to smile in response to his lopsided grin and his feet on his desk. The afternoon had passed slowly, but she had felt as if she were back in high school playing 'look/don't look' with her latest crush. She'd tried to focus her attention on the calls, though she probably could have done them in her sleep. But whenever she'd glanced at the next phone number, she'd end up staring at him, watching him as he'd fidgeted with whatever he'd had in his hand. Pencil. Pen. Paperclip. It didn't matter, he was always moving. Their eyes had connected and she'd watched the slow pull of the corners of his mouth as his smile had grown, his eyes almost twinkling. He'd mouthed something to her, but she hadn't been able to make it out. It hadn't mattered; they'd shared a rare minute together alone in the midst of others. And then his phone had rung. She'd taken notice, more so than usual. Most likely because he'd immediately turned his back to her. He'd hunched over, drawing in on himself and she hadn't been able to hear a single word, although the tone had sounded rather upbeat and the cadence of his words had been lively, animated as he'd gestured with his free hand. A safe bet her partner had been engaged in the conversation. When the call had ended, he'd turned back to her, his eyes riveted to the papers on his desk as if they'd become the most interesting thing in the room. The sudden absence of his gaze had made her uneasy, but she'd said nothing, busying herself in her calls. -*-- She'd found herself wondering more about the call after they'd grabbed lunch at the local deli. It had seemed strange that he hadn't offered to share the content with her for she knew how much he loved to find just the right time to spring things on her. An ironic half grin had formed as she'd mused over how many times a similar scene had played out between them. Her partner bursting into the office, tie flying out behind him, jacket open, eyes gleaming. Only to stop where he stood and then veer for his desk. Trying to appear nonchalant, begging her to ask him what was up. She'd usually wait a beat or two or, if she were in a particularly stubborn mood, she'd watch him squirm and fidget, trying to find an outlet for his excess energy and need to tell her. Either way, the result would usually be the same, although the actual verbal delivery varied. As if he were tossing crumbs her way, he'd ask her in one of his more casual-sounding tones which was anything but, she thought, if she'd heard about this report or that. It didn't really matter. In the end he'd be sharing details, parceling them out in whatever order he thought might garner the best response from her, might hook her into joining him. She wondered why he'd never seemed to realize that she'd have been by his side if he'd just come right out and laid it on the table. While she'd always offer her opinion, it was more of an exercise in intellectual debate that allowed them to hone the facts, to determine the essence of the case. It was never really a question of whether they'd take said case. But more than that, it was part of them, part of their interaction, part of what she'd always enjoyed. As they'd had coffee and she'd sampled Mulder's cheesecake, she'd made overtures, asking him how his calls had gone that morning. He'd made the usual banal and sometimes flip comments. She'd pushed a bit harder, asking him directly about the one call that had come from outside, the one call he hadn't placed. He'd looked momentarily hesitant, but then tried to brush it off claiming it had been a wrong number. His outright lie had driven the first wedge between them. Had he really expected her to have missed his phone ringing? Or the fact that he'd turned away from her to answer it? But she'd pursued it out of anger and disappointment. Confronting him with the facts, she'd given him one more chance to come clean with her. At that point, the caller had assumed less importance than the possible reasons he'd tried to create excuses. She'd posited that maybe because he'd known he was caught, he'd started back-peddling, saying he hadn't been sure to which call she was referring. That he suddenly recollected a call coming through for him, that it was an old friend. The apologetic smile on his face never quite reached his darkened eyes. She'd felt her heart sink as she'd reached for the check, slapping a five on the table as she'd made her way to the cash register to pay for their lunch. -*- X-Files Office Basement of the J. Edgar Hoover Building Thursday morning 30 September 1998 6:40 AM The rain had slowed to a steady mist as a soft gray light suffused what little she could see of the outdoors beyond the too-small, too-high window. It was going to be one of those days. Had been threatening to become one of those months, entirely skipping the 'one of those weeks' marker. As if seeing herself from above, she wondered how long she'd been shuffling and reshuffling the case files and how one of the one of the photos had ended up face up on the floor next to her stool. Her mind had been wandering yet again. Something she was doing more these days. Losing her focus. Moving aimlessly through her days. He still hadn't returned although he'd tried calling her endlessly. She continued to delete his messages from home and didn't clear out her cellphone voicemail until it filled up. After having listened to his first few messages, some recorded, some as she screened the calls, she'd decided she couldn't handle hearing his voice. All thought about the papers strewn all over the desk completely banished, she replayed his very first message in her head. The message she'd almost allowed herself to cut in on so she could talk to him. '...will call you...will call you...will call you.' And he had. He'd called and called, but never said where he was, what he was consulting on. Who he was with. He had to have known that she'd heard his messages and not bothered returning his calls. He also had to know that she'd be suspicious. Hell, that she'd be angry. He'd have been right on both counts. -*- Two Weeks Earlier Two days had passed since the phone call and life had returned to something resembling 'normal'. Mulder and Scully without the X-Files normal, her mind amended. Although they'd been reporting to Kersh, she'd received a call from Skinner asking that she meet with him later that morning. Mulder had inquired as to whether he was also invited, as he'd put it, but she'd shaken her head from across their desks. The look on his face spoke volumes, although she'd known he probably would have asserted he hadn't even made a look. She'd understood; they were used to being summoned to meetings together, each one having a specific role to play. Expectations to fulfill. Mulder leapt, she grounded. Mulder conjectured, she countered. Mulder pushed protocol; she saved their butts. They were balanced, worked best playing off one another. Had accomplished more than the sum of their parts. Gave enhanced meaning to the term, 'synergy'. She'd smiled, her hand resting momentarily on his shoulder as she'd made her way to the elevator. When she'd returned barely twenty minutes later, he'd been away from his desk. Wanting to give him some good news, she'd inquired as to whether anyone knew his whereabouts. One of the women Agents had been on the phone but had mouthed, 'hallway', and pointed outside the glassed in workspace. She'd spotted him at the corner where the hall took a right-hand turn, his shoulder against the wall, his head bent forward as if he'd been listening or talking with someone. She hadn't wanted to intrude, so she'd hung back a few feet, giving him some space. Aside from the occasional passerby, the hall was empty, making it easy for her to hear occasional snatches of conversation. Her lanky partner had seemed to be either arguing or protesting-- she hadn't been sure at the time which--but she could tell by the intermittent raised voice and the clipped sentences that he had not been happy with either the messenger and/or the message. Then she'd heard her name. But he hadn't voiced it. And she hadn't been sure at first whether the other speaker was male or female. All she'd known was that her name had been snarled. That had been the only way she could think of to describe the sound. It had sent chills up her spine. Even more curious had been the fact that her supposed partner had continued the conversation, nodding and gesturing, his responses more animated. He'd seemed much more engaged. What had made her move closer was the way his head had begun to sweep side to side as if he'd been checking for others that might be listening. The two voices had been much clearer although she'd only taken a few steps toward Mulder. The emphasis on him alone had been abundantly clear, but that alone hadn't caused her as much concern as the fact that she didn't know the identity of the other person. It had sounded as if she'd walked in on the tail end of the conversation, their tones pausing and then moving forward with finality. She'd heard him ask for the location, presumably to somewhere he was being asked to go. Without her? She'd watched him nod as if he'd been committing the directions to memory. At that point two other agents had walked by slowly, most likely on a break or making the most of their time between meetings. Mulder and the other speaker had both halted their conversation. When they'd resumed, the exchange had been clear although the meaning had been fuzzy. Her partner had asked for clarification about the mention of her name. Whatever the response, it must have convinced him because she'd heard him say that he'd go alone without notifying her first. Another ditch. And here she'd been silly enough to think they'd dealt with this issue sufficiently. It wasn't exactly that she never expected him to follow a lead first on his own but she did expect to be included at the start of a case and to have him share all his information when he had it. She'd even felt that somehow, although they weren't officially partners, they were working just as closely together. Part of her had wanted to turn on her heel and walk away from the unfolding scene. It had been twice in so many days now that she'd found herself in a silent rage. If she'd been anyone else she'd mused, she'd also be feeling as if she'd just been dropped from the partnership. All to quickly, yet not soon enough, she'd heard him thanking the other person for the tip. Before he'd had a chance to turn toward Scully, she'd caught a glimpse of the other agent's back ...as the female agent walked briskly toward the elevator. Blonde hair that bounced just above the jacket collar of her navy-skirted suit was what she'd seen. The woman was almost as tall as Mulder and built as if she lifted weights regularly. Who was this, she'd wondered. And knew that the best person to ask had been turning toward her looking like a man on a mission. Driven. She'd stepped directly into his path. Yet he still had not spotted her. Nothing new. She knew that when he had a purpose, a goal, his vision narrowed, excluding all but what he needed to focus on. But that hadn't cut it with her that day. She liked her facts to fall neatly in a row, supported by plenty of evidence. Fact: he'd taken a call yesterday from someone unknown to her. Fact: when she'd inquired, he'd claimed it had been a wrong number, yet had gone out of his way to turn from her and continue talking. Fact: he had just met with an unidentified agent for an as yet unknown reason. At the last minute, something had made her decide to duck out of sight into the alcove of a nearby office. Trying to formulate how she'd ask him about what she'd just witnessed, she'd watched from the shelter of the doorframe as he hurried by, his suit jacket flapping behind him, his long legs striding down the hallway. Inhaling deeply to steady herself, she'd followed him back toward the suite of cubicles. She'd been right behind him as he'd made his way to his desk. She'd watched with frustration as he'd immediately reached for his phone with his left hand, his right opening the call list. Quickening her pace, she'd stopped next to his desk, leaned down, her palms on its surface. She'd called his name prompting him to pause with his finger over the keypad. The look on his face had first appeared to be one of surprise; he hadn't seen her standing there. But her own eyebrows had risen in question and doubt when she next saw what appeared to be mild irritation flicker in his eyes. *He* was irritated? At what? That she'd interrupted him? Again, she'd had the feeling that something more was going on. She usually needed much more, she'd thought ruefully, before she became suspicious. Especially of Mulder. "Did you want something, Scully?" She'd noticed that his finger remained poised over the phone, his other hand now cradling the receiver in his palm. Although his tone had sounded neutral, his look spoke of impatience. As if she had been in the way somehow. Treading where she didn't belong. Her mouth had opened in reply, but no words had followed at first. Instead, she'd drawn back, coming to her full height. One of the only times she towered over him. Her hands on her hips, she'd come close to glaring, wanting to make him take notice. Not addressing his question directly she'd asked, "Where have you been, Mulder?" Her tone matched his. "I could ask you the same." Evasion. But he had smiled. "You could indeed. But you wouldn't have to since you knew I went to meet with Skinner." She'd matched the smile, but hadn't been ready to back off. She'd turned to sit on the edge of his desk, knowing full well and not giving a damn that roaming eyes in the bullpen had been focused on them. Let them have their show she'd thought. Mildly shocked at his response, she'd crossed her legs at the knee, her short skirt having hiked up to reveal an expanse of her thigh. It had almost appeared that he was about to come clean. Almost. "I had to meet with someone about some important information." He'd seemed satisfied with his answer although it sounded to her as if he'd just glossed over the matter; she'd felt as if he'd had just closed the discussion. She'd watched as he'd put the phone to his ear and begun to dial. -*- end part 1/4