Title: We All Make Mistakes Author: DM E-mail: unruhe1121@hotmail.com Feedback: It keeps me writing, so if that’s what you want… Please! Rating: PG Category: V, R Key words: Mulder/Scully Romance Spoilers: Tithonus, Young at Heart Disclaimer: Not mine; they belong to 1013 Productions, FOX, and most importantly, David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson. Summary: “I’ve spent the last couple of days, lying here in this bed, trying to come to terms with what happened. With Fellig, with Agent Ritter, with the fact that I almost died.” Notes: This is the fourth vignette in a series that follows Mulder and Scully through the episodes in Season 6, beginning with Rain King. It’s safe to say that it may be read on its own, but the series goes as follows: ‘Kroner’ ‘Georgetown’ ‘One Simple Kiss’ ‘We All Make Mistakes’ They may all be found here: http://www.geocities.com/dmldr42/fanfiction.html And, thank you to Carol A for the beta! Without her, this thing would still be a mess! All of my other stories may be found at my website: http://www.geocities.com/dmldr42 We All Make Mistakes By DM He enters my room just after Agent Ritter leaves. I suspect that he’s been waiting for us to finish, and it’s not until I see the look in his eyes that I know I’m right. He’s angry. He’s trying to look calm. . . rational, but I know him far too well. I wonder if he realizes I can tell. I’ve spent the last couple of days, lying here in this bed, trying to come to terms with what happened. With Fellig, with Agent Ritter, with the fact that I almost died. Looking up at Mulder, I realize those same thoughts and feelings have been fresh on his mind as well. He looks tired, and he probably is. He’s been by my side more often than not the past several days. I want to tell him that I’m all right, that Agent Ritter made a stupid, rookie mistake and, yeah, it hurts a lot, and I’m frustrated that I have to be here, but at least I’m alive. Before I get the chance to talk, he takes my hand and gently toys with my fingers. Immediately I’m calmed with the simple, yet intimate contact. “Coroner’s report came back on Fellig,” he begins. “Says he died of a single gunshot wound. That’s all it said.” I’m not surprised; I never expected anything more from the report. He sits down carefully on the bed, his hip brushing my thigh. He continues, “well, I, uh. . . talked to your doctor and. . . he says you’re doing great. You’re making the fastest recovery he’s ever seen.” He’s trying to control his anger by changing the subject, so I reply as I know he’s hoping I will. We’re known for beating around the bush when it comes to sensitive subjects like this. “Yeah, Mulder, I don’t even know how I entertained the thought. People don’t live forever.” I’m speaking against what I’ve already concluded, and he knows it. It’s all part of the familiar game we play when it gets too hard to talk. “No, no, I. . . I think he would have. I just think that death only looks for you. . . once you seek its opposite.” Then he looks at me, his eyes begging for something more even though he doesn’t have the courage to begin. So, I give in. I need to tell him as much as he needs to hear it. “Mulder, I’m going to be okay.” I squeeze his hand, but don’t break contact. He bows his head, conceding to the new direction our conversation is headed. “Aren’t you upset? How can you not be angry, Scully?” He’s trying hard to keep his anger in check. “What good would it do?” I keep my own voice calm, I need to reassure him. I think he knows I’m right, but he can’t stand that I’m not full of the same contempt that keeps his brow wrinkled with something I would classify as pure, unadulterated hatred. I actually feel sorry for Ritter. If he keeps his job, he’ll have a record that will haunt him for the rest of his career. “Agent Ritter will be dealt with properly, Mulder. I trust the Bureau to handle this.” A sarcastic smile spreads across his lips as he lets out a humorless laugh that tugs at my stomach. My stitches burn from the sensation. He finally looks at me, so I continue, “Ritter made a mistake and he’ll be held accountable for that mistake.” I pause a moment, our eyes connected, “we all make mistakes, Mulder.” He takes a breath and I can tell he’s chewing on the concept before swallowing it whole. His eyes finally soften, although I know he hasn’t bought it completely. Before we’re completely off the subject, I take his other hand in mine. “Promise me, Mulder.” He knows what I’m talking about, but he remains silent, his eyes pleading that I refrain from asking this of him. It’s important to me, so I do my best to ignore the intensity of his gaze. “Promise me you’ll let the FBI deal with Ritter.” He hesitates a moment, trying his best to look halfway appalled that I would even suggest he were capable of such a thing before realizing that, as always, I can see right through his charade. “You drive a tough bargain.” “Good,” relief settles through my body. “Because I don’t need you in the hospital as well.” His eyes sparkle with amusement, “you don’t think I could take him?” I eye him up and down, then do it over again, partially to prove my point and partially because I enjoy what I see. He doesn’t sense my ulterior motive, but reacts just the way I suspected. He whines. “I work out, Scully.” His eyes lower and his lips form a pout that I’ve seen more times than I can count. My attempt to laugh comes out sounding more like a soft cough. I have to be careful, I’m still incredibly sore. He smiles back at my effort, and I can already see the anger dissipating. After six years, I ought to be able to know how to distract my partner. Suddenly he leans in closer and I begin to think perhaps I’ve learned how to distract him much better than I thought I could. “Mulder. . .” I don’t know that this is a good idea. This is new for us. Too new for me to know how to react at the moment. “I missed you,” he says letting one hand brush an errant strand of hair away from my face. My heart is pounding and it sounds so loud I’m afraid Mulder can hear it, as well. His eyes are staring right into mine and in them I see pure and utter truth behind his words. Oh, I’ve missed him, too. “Does this mean you’re feeling bet-“ The words fall short from my mouth when his eyes leave mine long enough to briefly glance at my lips. A breath hitches in the back of my throat and as quickly as my reservations came, they’re gone and all that matters is the man sitting here, the man leaning in to kiss me. When he finally does, it’s good. Really good. *** Kissing Scully was, well, a longstanding fantasy suddenly come true, for the second time in the past week, no less. In short, it was incredible. Truthfully, I was waiting for her palm to make direct contact across my face, but as usual, my partner keeps me guessing. I have an enormous amount of pent up frustration and I need to get it out. I promised Scully that I wouldn’t beat Agent Ritter within an inch of his miserable life, which is a shame, because it would be such an easy solution to ease the tension that has my shoulders and neck in one gigantic knot. Keeping true to the pledge I made myself about keeping the promises I make to Scully, I go directly to my hotel room to pick up some workout clothes and head to the hotel gym. Not two seconds after I enter the room, which is positively frigid compared to the comfortable temperature in the hallway, I catch sight of Agent Peyton Ritter running on one of the many treadmills. We’re the only two in the entire room and a part of me wonders if somehow this is a test. He glances up at the sound of the opening door just in time to see me enter. He begins to run harder, faster. “Agent Mulder,” he grunts, out of breath. I don’t reply; I do nothing for fear I won’t be able to control myself. I start to realize the workout I had planned isn’t going to help, not with Agent Ritter in the room. So, like a good little FBI agent, who keeps promises he makes to his partner, I leave and head for the pool. It’s been years since I’ve done laps. Sadly, I start to lose my breath after 10, but I keep on going. I might be older, more stubborn and possibly even more paranoid than I was 3 years ago, but my body is still in tip-top shape. Despite my mental pep-talk, I get out three laps later. I’m a pathetic 12 laps short of my goal. No one has to know, but it certainly isn’t helping to improve my mood. I’m afraid to admit that Scully’s probably right. Ritter *could* kick-- “Agent Mulder?” This guy doesn’t take a hint. I straighten my shoulders and do my best to appear as large and as mean as I can, but my tired panting isn’t helping me create the proper image. The piercing stare I’m projecting ought to make my mood perfectly clear, though. “Excuse me,” I say and head to the Jacuzzi. He falls into step behind me and keeps talking. “Agent Mulder, I. . .” he pauses, stuck for words and I sink into the bubbling hot water of the Jacuzzi, letting the warmth work its magic on my muscles. I lean back, close my eyes and rest my head on the hard tile. A large part of me hopes that Ritter’s magically disappeared. “Agent Mulder, please.” I realize I’m not going to be able to avoid speaking with him, so I turn to face him. “I promised my partner I wouldn’t hurt you, Agent Ritter. So far, so good. Don’t test my patience.” The fear that crosses his face is absolutely priceless and I have to suppress a satisfied smile. “I want to apologize,” Ritter begins anyway, “What I did. . . it was thoughtless. Irresponsible. I’ve made a mistake I’ll regret for the rest of my life, Agent Mulder. . .” he trails off, head bowed and from the way it sounds, on the verge of tears. Oh yeah. I could take him. I remain quiet, however, gloating over my realization. He takes just a moment before he continues, “I want you to know that I’ve spoken with Assistant Director Kersh. I’ve apologized.” He looks away, anywhere but my eyes. “I’m handing in my resignation when I return home.” I’m momentarily caught off guard. The cocky little twit Scully described on the phone is obviously broken now. He’s admitting his mistake and actually doing what he feels is appropriate. He waits, I’m guessing to see if I’ll say anything. When I don’t, he turns. “Anyway, I wanted you to know.” I just sit there, watching him walk away. I still have this unquenchable desire to kick the crap out of him. “You could have killed my partner.” It’s out of my mouth before I realize it. He turns back and suddenly the look in his eyes is enough to tell me I’ve broken my promise to Scully. The man is lower than low and I’ve finished the job by crushing him into nothing. I’m actually ashamed as I watch him leave, but too stubborn to apologize. I let his words mull around my conscious for several moments, then suddenly my mind flashes back to the night I made a similar mistake, costing an agent his life. Barnett didn’t just shoot him, he murdered him. It was my fault. At least Scully is still alive. I still have her. Agent Steve Wallenburg’s wife and kids are still living with their loss. The rising taste of bile in my throat reminds me of the bitterness of humility, and I realize I’ve been humbled yet again. Metaphorically brought to my knees in realization that Peyton Ritter isn’t the first person who’s made a mistake, and he certainly won’t be the last. The world isn’t always pretty, especially the one we work in. We all have demons to overcome. Welcome to the journey, Agent Ritter. *** “Are those for me?” I ask, knowing full well that they are. A dozen red roses, and the color hasn’t gone unnoticed. Red, symbolic of love. “Ready to spring this joint?” He asks, handing the bouquet to me. I don’t think I’ve ever told him how much I love roses, but it doesn’t surprise me that he knows. “I’ve been ready for the past week,” I assure him. I was ready to leave before I even got here. The nurse rolls in a wheel chair and I know it’s hospital policy to wheel me out, but I hate this part the most. “I got it,” Mulder addresses the nurse, who then leaves us alone as I finish gathering my belongings. “I’m not an invalid, Mulder,” I say half serious when we’re alone. “No,” he adds quickly, “you’ve just been shot.” And then, without missing a beat, he changes the subject, “It’ll be good to get home.” So, I follow suit, knowing there’s no arguing the matter, “thank you for the flowers, Mulder. They’re beautiful.” He squeezes my hand, giving me this sad smile that literally begins to break my heart. “What is it?” I can’t take my eyes away from his, for fear I’ll miss something he can’t say. He takes the slightest moment before pulling me gently into an embrace. His hand rests at the back of my head, holding me close. “We all make mistakes,” he whispers. “We all make mistakes.” End.