All right, take it as given that Gardener had *done* something to 
him. He ate a spoonful of cereal, thoughtful, spinning the spoon 
around his fingers. Something. Something that made the air taste 
like her...

Smell? Pheromones? He mulled it over. Something that had smashed 
him between the eyes... that could have done it. It had to be. It 
had been something outside his control.

Nodding in satisfaction, he attempted to spoon up more cereal and 
smacked the bowl with his hand instead, slopping milk and 
dissolved cornflakes all over the table. Cursing, he pushed the 
bowl back and grabbed a rag, managing to contain the flood before 
he got *too* drenched. Once he finished cleaning the table, he 
headed back to the bathroom to rinse off.

He laughed at himself. Klutz. What would Scully think of--

Scully. Of course. It all comes back to Scully. Damn it!

He stopped at the mirror and stared at himself again, teeth 
gritted together hard enough to hurt. If it had just been him, 
fine, he'd be able to put this behind him. It wasn't *his* fault. 
It wasn't *all* his fault. But Scully...

That was his fault, all right. Damn.

It was bad enough that he'd hurt her, bad enough that he'd 
destroyed her trust, bad enough that he didn't know if she'd ever 
forgive him. But he didn't know how to talk to her, didn't know 
how to make it better, didn't know how to heal the breach that 
had formed between them. He didn't know if he'd ever be able to 
reach out and touch her again, didn't know if he could ever bring 
himself to reach out and try for her again, didn't know if she'd 
ever let him reach out for her again--

He was reaching out, fist pressed against the silvered glass of 
the mirror. Suddenly angry, he slammed his hand into it, again 
and again and--

(because no matter how many mirrors I can smash with my fists I'm 
still through the looking glass with only me)

He stared at the shattered pieces of mirror littering the sink, 
stared at the blood dripping down his knuckles, at the stinging 
across his hand. "Shit," he said, then shook off the shock and 
reached over for the antiseptic.

This might sound crass, Spooky, but you're getting really good at 
this.

He gritted his teeth and dabbed the blood off his hand, then 
reached down to clear the bigger pieces of glass out of the sink. 
Stupid, Mulder. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid...

His hand clenched around the shard involuntarily, and the sharp 
shock of pain cut off his spiral of self-loathing, hitting him 
like a blast of cold water. Slowly, his fingers uncurled, and he 
looked down into a smeared and bloody image of himself.

Dammit, Mulder, bleeding all over again? Haven't seen enough of 
your own blood, recently? Or maybe you just want to bawl on the 
floor so you can get Scully to rescue you--

He brought the glass down with a vicious swipe and cut a clean 
line on the back of his wrist. He stared at the bleeding line, 
the pain spreading as soon as the redness smeared over his skin. 
He felt the pain, and the nagging voice in the back of his head 
disappeared in a gasp of shock.

Trembling, he reached out and touched the cut with his fingers. 
Shame built again in the back of his mind, spreading through his 
body and making him feel--

The glass came down again, cutting off the shame with silence. 
The silence lasted until the pain started fading, and he brought 
it down again and again--

(because no one can ignore their own pain for very long--)

And it didn't matter that he was bleeding all over, blood running 
like sweat down his arms, because every second that he didn't 
have to listen to that voice in his head was another second he 
could stay sane--

(and if I TOLD YOU I stick 20 cigarettes in my mouth every day 
you'd call me unhealthy but if I go and stick one in my arm then 
I must be CRAZY--)

And it *hurt*, it hurt *bad* as he bled, making careful incisions 
to prolong the pain, gritting his teeth to keep from crying out 
and fingers spasming around that slippery piece of mirror--

(I CUT MYSELF to clot my wounds I MARK MYSELF so that I can never 
be marked again--)

And he traded hands to reach his other arm because he couldn't 
see any unmarked skin under the redness pouring over his left 
arm--

(because purity never existed in me--)

And oh [GOD] it hurt--

(because the only way I can ever be more than the sum of what has 
been done to me is to do it all again to MYSELF)

He finally looked up and stared at himself in the mirror, his 
arms covered in blood, stinging burning [hell] covering him in 
dripping burning [passion] and he stared and stared and didn't 
recognize himself in the broken mirror.

(one or two brief moments of silence...)

And then with a shock he jerked awake, dropping the glass and 
clapping a bloody hand to the network of stinging-burning cuts 
covering his arm. He looked down, feeling vertigo and dizziness 
as he staggered backward into the wall. He nearly slipped, and he 
looked down onto a floor liberally spattered with red and black.

He leaned his head back until it touched the wall, and felt his 
legs giving out under him. As he slid to the floor, he closed his 
eyes and groaned.

"I think I'm going to be sick," he muttered, trying to block out 
the images and the smell of blood.

The smell of blood...

You're going to bleed to death if you don't do something quick.

Shaking, shivering, vision narrowing and fading, he reached out 
and started crawling forward. He pulled himself to his feet on 
the door somehow, stumbled bleeding into the next room, fell onto 
the couch and scrambled for the phone, feeling the plastic slide 
under his fingers and the buttons stab his fingers as he stabbed 
them.

Ring. Ring. "Scully."

"Scully, I-" he gritted his teeth as a wave of greyness swept 
over him. "I need your help."

"Mulder?" She was startled, concerned, and he was rapidly losing 
his ability to hear. "What's wrong?"

"Just... can you make it to my place?" Another spasm, and he 
could barely keep his hands on the phone. "I... I'm sorry..."

The phone slipped from his fingers as he collapsed, curling 
around his arms. After timeless minutes, he tried to push himself 
up, to get the blood on anything but the carpet, ended up back on 
the floor, cursing as the rough carpet bit into the slashes on 
his arms and not being able to do anything about it. Stupid, 
Mulder. Just out of the hospital, do you want to go back again so 
badly? Giving up so soon?

... yes...

It was two stupors and a blackout before Scully opened the door 
to his apartment, and his vision went grey before she found him 
on the floor. He blinked up at her from his fetal position, 
everything going blurry. "...hi?" he croaked.

She was staring at him. Her eyes were wide, a beautiful blue-
green. Why had he never noticed that color before? "I... I 
couldn't get up..." he tried to explain.

"Oh my God, Mulder," she said.

"It's all right," he said, and even to his ears his voice was 
fading. "It doesn't really hurt..."

Everything was black for a long time.