The Totality of the Burden 
By KatyBlue 
katy2blue@aol.com 
  
RATING: PG-13 
CLASSIFICATION: MSR, SA 
SPOILERS: Full of 'em, I'm sure. 
DISCLAIMER: Not mine.  Never will be. 
E-MAIL: katy2blue@aol.com 
WEBSITE: Please visit!!! http://members.nbci.com/KatyBlue 
ARCHIVE: Yes you may, just let me know where. 
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Don't ask me where this one came from. The 
muse said write it, so I did. No complaints from me. I'm 
just glad she's back, however briefly. This one's dark - 
Don't read it if you don't like angst. I'm just trying 
to fill in the interim with some Scully musings. 
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: To all those scullyficcers who got to go 
on that awesome weekend -- I wish I could have too. Hope 
you guys had fun! Especially to Meredith, my ever faithful 
beta, and to all my readers, who've been sorely neglected 
during my long dry spell. Anything in error on this one is 
mine, all mine. 
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Greater love hath no man than this, 
that a man lay down his life for his friends. 
~John 15:13~ 
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She knew he'd been keeping something from her. 
For those last few months, when they should have been 
growing closer, she'd felt a distance. A guardedness that 
hung around him and held her back. 
Now she knew why. 
Mulder's doctor had been kind, if brief. He'd accepted her 
excuse of taking over the role that she'd always believed 
hers. Under a premise of trust in a fellow Hippocratic 
oath-taker, he'd handed Mulder's medical files over to her. 
She opened the door to her apartment and entered wearily, 
tossing the manila folder onto the table. Unable to bear 
looking at it any further right now. One perusal was 
enough. 
Mulder had suffered blinding headaches for the past year. 
His excuses made sense now -- well, more sense anyway. The 
way he pulled her closer and then, unexpectedly pushed her 
away. The rejections blindsiding her, like an unseen enemy 
coming out of nowhere. 
Mixed messages. 
One evening, they would be sharing popcorn and a movie, 
propped together on the couch as if one couldn't have held 
up without the support of the other, giggling like two high 
school kids during the humorous scenes. Mulder had an 
incredible ability to make her laugh, movie aside. She'd 
never taken enough advantage of it. She'd been starting to, 
though -- she'd been learning. He'd always been a patient 
teacher. 
The next evening, there would be an excuse. And a flimsy 
one at that. An abruptness to a phone conversation that 
would leave her baffled, staring at the dead receiver in 
her hand and shaking her head. She'd hated herself for the 
thoughts that had flashed through her mind -- irrational 
fears that there was someone else. After such a thought, 
she'd scold herself. Remind herself how ridiculous that 
was. She knew better. But there was something -- something 
that he wasn't sharing. 
It had hurt. 
Now she knew. 
To say that knowing made it better would be a lie. To know 
that her partner had sat alone, suffering blinding 
headaches and popping narcotics while sparing her the trial 
of sharing his pain only served to make her angry. 
Damn him, anyway. 
Scully knew that her fight with cancer had wounded Mulder 
deeply. Obviously the cut had gone deeper than she'd 
realized. To the point where he'd wanted to protect her 
from a similar manner of anguish. To the point where he'd 
spared her by shouldering the totality of the burden. As if 
she were some sort of fragile china that would shatter into 
slivering shards over the news. 
It gave her insight into Mulder. 
But she'd always known she was the strong one. 
------------------------------- 
She could piece it all together now. In particular, there 
had been one day in the office when Mulder, sitting at his 
desk, had paled to a distinct shade of gray. Clutching at 
his blotter as he leaned forward. 
"What's wrong?" she'd asked, alarmed. 
"Must have been that tuna sub," he'd said quickly. But his 
voice was thin. Brittle. He'd gotten unsteadily to his feet 
and excused himself, walking gingerly out of the office 
without another word. She gave him enough time to visit the 
restroom. And when he didn't return, she'd walked the halls 
in search of him but had not succeeded in a find. 
Two hours later, she'd gotten a sheepish call -- Mulder, 
telling her he took the rest of the day off. At first, she 
was merely annoyed, listening to his recorded voice on the 
message service after her long and fruitless hunt of the 
corridors. Later, she'd grown worried when he didn't answer 
his phone upon trying to call back, irritation cooling its 
heels in light of her concern. 
-------------------- 
Sitting alone in her apartment, staring at a manila folder 
of truths, she scolded herself yet again -- she was a 
doctor but she'd swallowed his excuses, hook, line and 
sinker. 
It was all she could do to keep from drowning on the 
deception.  Her own failure, however, was inexcusable. 
------------------- 
When she'd stopped by after work that night she'd found him 
on his couch, resting. He'd shot her an annoyed look for 
the spontaneous check-up and thrown his arm up over his 
eyes. 
"I just wanted to make sure you were okay." 
He sighed behind his sleeve. "I'm fine, Scully." 
She'd moved to the couch. Sat down beside him and noticed 
him wince as she placed her hand gently on his arm. "Did 
you at least go see a doctor?" she pried. 
"Yup." He barely moved his lips to say the word. 
"You didn't need to, Mulder. I could have written you a 
prescription for some compazine. There are some benefits to 
having a doctor for a partner, you know." She had rubbed 
his stomach, imaging it hurt. 
"--got something--" he murmured from behind his arm. 
"What?" 
"Scully..." his voice was a whine. He'd wanted to be left 
alone. Even after all this time, despite how effortless it 
seemed meshing their two personalities, there were days 
when one or the other just needed their space. And Mulder 
had been giving her some serious space vibes that night. 
It had gotten her back up, so that when she should have 
stepped back and asked herself why he was acting so 
peculiar, instead she'd inquired almost peevishly, "Would 
you like me to stay?", knowing that his answer would be no. 
He'd moved his arm out from over his eyes at that point. 
"I'd rather you didn't Scully. I'm not very good company 
right now." His lips were almost white, the wince now 
staying in permanent place. 
In a relationship based on mutual respect, what else could 
she do but respect his wishes? 
"Where's your cell phone?" 
He sighed, put his arm back over his eyes and didn't answer 
her, so she'd searched until she found it in the pocket of 
his overcoat. Carefully, she'd set it beside him. "If you 
feel worse, Mulder, call me." 
No answer. 
"I mean it, Mulder. Promise me..." she ordered. 
A barely perceptible nod was her answer. 
She'd left then, her mind circling into lamentations over 
their foray into intimacy. Wondering if either one of them 
really had it in them to be in a relationship at all. If 
either one would ever find the courage to let down their 
guard enough to make it stronger -- to make it last. 
Worrying about the length of their relationship while 
Mulder lay, his mind no doubt worrying something else. 
Suffering alone the introspection of a shortened mortal 
coil. 
He'd called her later, whispering an apology for his rude 
brevity. Then changing the subject by asking nonchalantly 
about any developments she'd moved toward that day on 
their latest case. 
She'd wanted to believe. 
----------------------- 
After Mulder's disappearance, Scully had moved through his 
apartment, gathering evidence on odds and ends he'd kept 
from her. Tallying it in her mind to some sort of summation 
on their success. Had she truly not felt intimate enough to 
look into his medicine cabinet? This shocked her. She was 
more shocked though, when she actually opened it. When she 
observed the neat array of prescription vials, none of them 
listing her as the doctor. Strong narcotic relief for his 
pain. 
Her eyes watered at the labels. Damn him for keeping this 
from her. 
---------------------------- 
They'd planned a celebratory dinner one night. Formal 
dress, complete with all the fixings. Getting ready for 
Mulder's imminent arrival, she'd found herself cursing him. 
Deciding what to wear for what was undoubtedly a date was 
not something she'd missed in her long abstinence from a 
normal life. Workday suits were an androgynous comfort. 
They didn't force pretenses. A uniform is a uniform is a 
uniform. That night, she knew she had to don the trappings 
of a woman and it irked her. 
She'd taken it out on Mulder when he wolf-whistled at her 
appearance. A scowl that glowered in place until he'd wiped 
the smirk off his face and moved forward to hug her. Arms 
wrapped tightly around her in capture, he'd whispered in 
her ear that she looked beautiful, rendering the anger 
impotent. 
Dinner had been a quiet affair. Funny how the details fade. 
Red velvet drapes and a tipped glass of wine were all she 
could recall. That, and the way Mulder had run his 
stockinged foot up her leg behind the veil of the 
tablecloth, sending them both into quiet laughter. 
Their budding relationship had, on rare occasions, seemed 
almost too light a fare. 
After dinner, she should have noticed. Should have seen the 
way his step dragged. She had seen it, actually, but had 
listened and believed again when he professed tiredness. 
When he excused it with the fact that he'd supposedly run 
ten miles the day before, in preparation for the annual FBI 
triathlon. As a doctor, surely she should have noted a 
neurological deficit. The fact that his foot had dragged, 
not with weariness, but with a sudden inability to move 
correctly. Muscle pull, my ass, Mulder, she thought in 
retrospect. 
The gradual erosion of a life. 
------------------------------------ 
She'd had a game as a child. A plastic camel, two halves 
held together by a rubber band. Smooth wooden toothpick- 
straws she and Melissa had piled into fake straw baskets, 
one by one. Each in their turn. When enough toothpicks had 
been piled into the baskets, the camel's back would sway 
and stretch, wheels instead of cloven feet making its 
anatomy weak in the right place. The one who finally broke 
the camel's back was the loser. 
One day, the rubber band had snapped, ending the game. 
That's me, she thought. The rubber band is broken. 
Game over. 
This time there was no winner. 
Looking back, Scully was wearied. Dismayed. There was one 
last memory that haunted her. One last straw on the 
proverbial camel's back. 
------------------------------------ 
His arms, around her. His breath warm on her neck. Scully 
moved in his embrace, uncomfortable with the phrasing of 
his latest statement -- that there had to be an end for her 
implied that the same end did not necessarily apply to him. 
And although rationally, she could accept this, something 
else had pulled at her about the prediction. 
In fact, everything about him had been pushing her away, 
even as he held her close. 
She'd felt hot tears at first and fought them back. She'd 
felt anger follow as his lips pressed, soft against her 
cheek. 
---------------------- 
The kiss of Judas was good for thirty pieces of silver. 
When Scully had first begun to understand the story, 
sitting in place on a cold, hard pew, she was puzzled. 
According to the story, Judas had also loved Jesus 
enough to bestow a kiss upon his cheek. 
She'd always believed there was much more to the story of 
Judas than the consumption of pure evil devouring his 
heart.  Overshadowing their friendship was loneliness and 
isolation. One man's ultimate inability to reach out to 
another. Something rang of a deeper truth inside this 
story of betrayal. 
Judas' was the story of solitude. 
----------------------- 
Mulder had wrapped himself around her, promising protection 
for her, but none for himself. 
What good is the protected without the protector? 
----------------------------- 
This last memory undid her and she picked up the manila 
folder and clutched it to her chest. The cold hard facts of 
the science held inside it brought her no solace. The 
diagnoses of a doctor would not heal her and had not saved 
Mulder. 
Twice, Mulder had confessed, he'd held out his hands in 
supplication, palms up for leniency from a God he didn't 
believe in. For her -- to save her. 
His pleas for her continued existence were not once, but 
twice, answered. 
Her own solitary request, despite the earnest and guilt- 
riddled prayers of a lifelong Catholic, remained unanswered. 
What was it about her, she wondered? What act had damned her 
soul? 
Or had Mulder just been purer in his passions? 
She cursed a God who was not listening, and felt as if this 
alone made her deserve her fate. 
----------------------- 
Judas kissed Jesus to reveal him to those who would judge 
and condemn an innocent man. But the fact that Judas kissed 
him also revealed that he had been close enough to do so. 
It showed that he had, deep within him, the capability of 
love. Or at least an understanding of the actions that 
accompany it. 
But what had he felt in his heart? 
-------------------- 
What had Mulder felt? 
Blinding headaches. Neurological deficits. A pain so deep 
that morphine only tickled at it. A night so dark, it 
had the power to snuff out light in its infancy. 
Cradling the manila envelope as if she were holding an 
infant, Scully crossed her living room and turned out her 
own lights, plunging herself into darkness. Still clutching 
the folder to her chest, she returned to her sofa and lowered 
herself into it, leaning back against the headrest, staring 
up at the ceiling. And then, beyond the ceiling, trying to 
imagine a heaven that held Mulder. 
There was no help for her in the structure of her home -- 
no help beyond that, in imaging the clouds or the stars. 
And she was, oh, so very weary. 
Her kisses with Mulder had been pure of heart and 
accompanied by the wholesome desires of the physical 
body. 
The last one however had been a horse of a different 
color -- all too brief. Accompanied by a perfunctory 
hug under the watchful eye of Skinner, her lips pressed 
chastely to his cheek. 
If Mulder were here now, standing to be judged, she knew 
that she would not hold love back, as Judas had. She would 
reach out. She would return his passion. 
She would pull him deep into her solitary heart and never 
betray him. 
But she suspects he knew that all along. 
Would he do the same? Of course, yes. There was no question 
in her mind. She knew he would never have betrayed her -- 
that wasn't the gist of her disquiet. She knew, too, that 
he had an ability to return love, probably far greater than 
she herself did. Deeply. Unerring and true. 
But in his final act, he'd taken that love from her. An 
inevitability of the most unavoidable betrayal -- the 
promise of forever. 
The totality of the burden -- solitude. 
As she stared upward, she wondered if they would earn 
another chance. She let herself imagine they would as 
she curled into the sofa -- sinking into the fragile hope of 
rebirth, the uncomfortable abstraction of reincarnation, and 
the simplicity of second chances. 
As her final act of the night, she forgave Mulder. 
And then, decided to forgive herself too. 
  
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THE END 
  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Sorry...it's grim.  But just think -- 
Mulder may be back by tomorrow (in some form or other)! 
A very special hello to JLB <waving wildly>  I'm reading 
those stories and loving them too! 
...a little poetry, if you'd like to see the source of 
that strange muse's inspiration -- I know it's twisted 
but there's something meaningful there too... 
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When Judas writes the history of SOLITUDE,- 
...let him celebrate 
Miss Mary Kenwood; who, without 
help, placed her head in a plastic bag, 
then locked herself 
in a refrigerator. 
When Judas writes the history of solitude, 
let him record 
that to the friend who opened 
the refrigerator, it seemed 
death fought; before giving in. 
~Frank Bidart~ 
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