Title- Iris (1/1)
 Author- Chel Scully
 E-mail- chelscully@hotmail.com
 Classification- VA
 Rating- PG
 Keywords- 
 Summary- Scully is suffering from depression, and Mulder becomes 
frustrated when she won't tell him why.
 Disclaimer- I'm so tired of writing disclaimers to go with songs... 
*sigh* I'll just tell you in easy-to-understand text. Me author. You 
lawyer. Me not own show. All-powerful God Chris Carter own show. 
Almighty Ten-Thirteen own show. Me not own characters. All-seeing God 
Chris Carter own characters. Kontoor. Ungani. Zug-zug.
Author's note- Oh goody! More Scullyangst! After "Spark" turned out to 
be such a hit with my friends, I decided to write more of this 
delicious angst... and, no, although the title might suggest this, I 
was not listening to the Goo Goo Dolls' "Iris" while writing this... I 
was actually listening to Ben Folds Five's "Brick". I don't think you 
can tell, though... Oh, and the mentions I make about Scully's mom's 
methods of raising her... don't flame me on them! I have no clue how 
Scully was raised, so I made my own educated guess...

Thanks to *big breath* Caz Mark Liv Ris Jessica Ben Folds Five my mom 
my cat anti-depressants and character flaws! *gasps for breath*

_C A S T I N G_
T H E   P S Y C H I A T R I S T . . . . . . . . . . . M y   M o t h e r  
I N F O M E R C I A L   W O M A N . . . . . . M a r i s a   B a r k e r
T H E   F L O W E R  . . . . . .  . . . . . . B l u e   t h e   i r i s

X~~~~~~~~~~~~ Iris ~~~~~~~~~~~~X
It's 6 am, and the day after Christmas. I'm sill sitting on the 
couch, in the exact same position I was in 9 hours ago. I haven't 
slept at all.

If I wanted to devote any medical thought to my symptoms, I probably 
would have figured out what was wrong with me. But I already knew that 
what was wrong with me wasn't physical, so I just continued to think 
of nothing, look at nothing, and feel nothing.

I don't know how long I've been like this, I can’t remember anything. I 
don't even think it had a peal starting point. It just... built up.

My partner is coming to pick me up. When I think of seeing him, I'm 
despairing and hopeful all at once. I think he's a big reason for why 
I'm acting this way, but I'm not sure, and I don't blame him. It's not 
his fault. He doesn't know what he's doing to me.

Another infomercial comes on TV. I think about changing the channel, 
but then decide that I don't care anyways, and I settle down to watch 
a demonstration of knives that can cut through shoes.

Someone knocks on my door. I haven't used my voice in a while, and I'm 
afraid to use it now. But I say 'It's unlocked,' and I'm slightly glad 
to note my voice isn’t shattering like the rest of me.

My partner walks in. He's got that look on his face, the one that 
makes me want to cry or smile or both. 'Ready to go?' He asks quietly.

I manage a sick smile. I'm still wearing what I was wearing last 
night, and I'll never be more or less ready for anything than I am 
now.

And we drive.

I look over at him, he glanced over at me. He wants me to talk to him, 
but I can’t tell him this. He's the only person I trust, but I still 
can't tell him. I can tell him one thing, though...

'I'm scared,' I whisper.

He glances at me, and then switches his eyes to the road. 'It's okay,' 
he says, and covers my hand with his. Sometimes I wish he wouldn't do 
that, it gives my heart such a sad jolt, but this isn't one of those 
times. 'I'll be there with you,' he says.

I give him a half-smile that's only half real. I'm still not feeling 
up to giving real smiles.

He parks the car, we both get out without another word. I remember 
being filled with anxiety, just looking at the building. The thought 
of someone... anyone... being able to know how I think and how I work 
scares me.

I don't want to be here. I'd rather be *anywhere* else on the planet 
then be right here. Even if it means never getting better.

Because it's so early, the office is empty and cold. I'm feeling even 
more scared, but I remember what my mom had taught me: Toughen up. 
Stick it out. Don't cry. Mom had also taught me not to be sad, to try 
and squash it down as much as possible. I knew I was letting her down 
by acting this way, but I also knew I couldn't help it.

They called my name at 7:30. we both walk into the office. The doctor 
is a very nice-looking young blond woman, who smiles when she sees me, 
but smiles even brighter when she sees my partner. Suddenly I don't 
think she's so nice anymore.

She asks me a few questions about my symptoms. Mostly I know how to 
answer, but on a few of them I can't remember and my partner has to 
fill in for me. I'm even more worried for myself at this. It's 
happening to *me*, but I sill can't remember it?

Suddenly, her questions are less medical and more personal. I have a 
hard time answering a lot of them, and she sighs and asks my partner 
to please step out of the room. If I could have felt emotion, I would 
have been angry at her for sending away my only security. But I'm 
having an easier time answering her questions.

She stops probing my mind and writes something on a pad of paper. She 
hands it to me and says 'I want you to start taking Zoloft. Maybe two 
pills a day. Until you can express your emotions, you'll need these.'

I stare at the paper in shock. 'Zoloft is a powerful anti-depressant!' 
I protest.

'More people are on anti-depressants than you'd think,' she assures 
me.

I walk back out to the office. He's pacing impatiently with a purple 
iris in his hands. When he sees me, he stops, and takes the paper from 
me. 'Medication,' he says grimly. But he quickly gives me a sheepish 
grin and the flower. 'Late Christmas present,' he says.

I take it and give him another half-real smile. I think he's blaming 
himself for what's wrong with me. He blames himself for Samantha and 
his dad and for me.

Out of nowhere I'm angry at him. Maybe he's right to blame himself. If 
it hadn't been for him I wouldn't have trusted him so much and fallen 
in love with him and been afraid to tell him.

We're driving back to my apartment. He's got the radio on now. 
Aerosmith's 'Hole in My Soul' is playing, and he's mouthing the words. 
For a fleeting moment I wonder if he's trying to tell me something.

I twist the iris in my hands. They're not growing wild anymore, it's 
past season. He must have picked it up at a store. It's the most 
beautiful flower I've ever seen, and I resolve to put it in a vase the 
moment I get home.

He glances over at me for the eleventh time since we got in the car. 
I'm keeping track. 'You don't have to take the medication,' he says.

'But the doctor said I had to...'

'Depression is caused by repressed emotions... mostly anger. The only 
way to let go of the depression is to let go of your anger.'

'Depression is also caused by a hormonal imbalance in the brain,' I 
argue, falling back on the only true thing left in my life--Science. 
'I could just have a serious lack or seratonin...'

'Have you ever been through anything like this earlier in your life?' 
He asks.

I know he's winning, and I'm getting frustrated. 'No,' I admit through 
clenched teeth.

'You need to talk about what's bothering you.' He pauses for an 
agonizing second. I know what he's coming to.

He looks over at me. 'You can tell me, Scully.'

It's the first time he's used my name all morning. I look away from 
him so he won't see the tears threatening me. Don't cry, Dana, I think 
desperately. You've come this far, don't cry now...

'Scully?' He asks.

'I can't tell you,' I say hastily.

I'm not looking at him, but I can tell he’s hurt. 6th sense. 'Why 
not?' He asks after a torturing silence.

'I just can't,' I say so quickly I almost interrupt him.

The silence is more painful then anything I've ever felt. Even the 
radio station has dead air. He stops the car suddenly, and climbs out.

I look out the windows. We're by a rocky beach, only halfway to my 
apartment. I've made him angry.

I get out of the car and follow him to the rocks. 'I'm sorry,' I 
start.

'You're very sick,' he says flatly, his back to me. I'm surprised to 
hear the tremble in his voice.

I'm standing behind my partner, the one I trust and have stupidly 
fallen in love with, I've made him angry at me and himself. And I've 
finally reached the conclusion that everything is my fault.

'I'm sorry,' I choke out.

He turns around quickly, with an angry-exhausted-sad-worried look on 
his features. 'You've been this way for five weeks,' he says quietly. 
'I think that shows that you are _not_ fine.'

My tears are threatening me again. He's right, of course. I'm very 
sick.

'Why can't you tell me?' He asked again.

I don't answer this time.

'God dammit, Dana...' He turns his back to me again, rubbing his head 
in frustration. He faces me again, and all but yells 'I thought we 
trusted each other!'

'I _do_ trust you,' I insist.

His furious tone drops and he pleads 'Then why can't you tell me?' 
He's giving me that look again, the one that makes me want to cry. 
Only then I realize I _am_ crying. 

It's too late to stop myself, or to hide so he won't see me. My tears 
take complete control, and soon all I can do is stand in front of him 
and hug myself and cry like a little child.

Before I know it he's holding me tightly in his arms, and I do the 
same to him while trying not to crush the iris I realize I'm still 
clutching. I also realize this is as close as we're ever going to get, 
because I don't think he loves me and I'm too afraid to tell him 
myself.

Reluctantly, I start to feel better, and my crying dies down. He's 
rubbing my back slowly, and when I stop sobbing he says 'You don't 
have to be afraid of what I'd think. You can tell me anything when 
you're ready.'

I look up at him and smile sadly, but it's a whole real smile this 
time.

We get back in the car and drive to my apartment.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~ end ~~~~~~~~~~~~X

To send compliments, constructive criticism, cute Mulder pics...
On AOL Instant Messenger: ChelScully
On ICQ: 14580789, Chel Scully or Chel
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On WBS: Chel12562

Liv: "...He's taking files out of the cabinet... now he's talking to 
 Scully really fast, and now he's running out of the room!"
Ris: "I drool, and everyone makes fun of me..."
Kelly: "YOU ARE EVIL!! YOU MADE US HATE GORGEOUS MOVIE STARS SO THAT 
 YOU COULD WEAR SPANDEX!!"
Suzie: "This conversation has been brought to you by the Society for 
 Redundancy the society which has brought you this conversation."
Jess: "...Poor red speedo..."
Me: "Mine han ist ein berliner! Mine vatte ist Krebs Mensch! Davey ist 
 ein DANISCH!"