Title - A Matter of Trust
Author - Aris "TGD" Merquoni
E-Mail - aris@sandwich.net
Rating - R
Category - SA
Spoilers - 'Pusher', but nothing worth mentioning.
Keywords - None
Summary - A Four-scene look at the dark side of life, as a case 
Mulder and Scully are working on takes a drastic turn. Mulder ends 
up shirtless and in pain twice.
Archive - Heh, if you want to, go ahead.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Mulder, Scully, etc == 1013, CC's. Gardener 
is based on Pittsburg's poem "Megan Ann Gardner" for no better 
reason than I hate making up names. Geoff Trenchard and his
poetry belong to him.

Author's Note:

This story is a travesty. I'm calling it that now so you won't have 
to do it later, and you can just sit back and enjoy it without 
worrying about what names to come up with. It was written in self 
defense of my sanity, i.e. because my Muse wanted me to.

This is not the first piece of X-Files fanfic that I've written, 
but it's the first I've *published.*

This story is coded as indicated in that block up there for you 
actual X-Philes, and [F/M/F s/m b/d nc reluc] for those of you who 
know what I'm talking about. If you don't, that's probably a good 
indicator that you're going to be shocked by this story. Or at 
least worried about *me*.

This story *is*, despite all outward appearances, probably 
acceptable to people under the age of 18(Physically, not mentally.) 
However, I'm issuing a blanket warning in order to CMA: this is not 
kiddie stuff. Hell, it's not like warnings'll keep you out, anyway, 
so don't blame me if this scars your childhood forever. Other than 
that? It's psychological. I'm really into the shrink thing. I'm 
*not*, however, into the angst thing. This isn't your normal 
muldertorture.com story.

If you still enjoy it after all of that(or want to rip me to 
shreds; that's good too,) my e-mail is aris@sandwich.net.

-- =* A Matter of Trust *= --

"I just don't think you should go there by yourself, that's all," 
Scully said from the other side of the room.

Mulder looked up and smiled reprovingly at her. "This is the first 
break we've had on this case, and we need to take it."

"But alone? Mulder, you don't know what this person could be 
hiding. They might not have anything on Gardener at all."

"And they very well *might*," he said, checking his gun and 
then the clock for the fifteenth time this minute. "You remember 
what that girl looked like when Gardener got done with her. Not 
to mention the two that weren't so lucky."

Scully shuddered, and he had to fight down the shakes himself. 
Kids *shouldn't* be treated like that, come out of an adult's 
hands covered in slashes from kitchen knives, broken beer 
bottles, whatever. And the two that hadn't survived...

"I *do* remember," Scully finally said, jerking him out of his 
reverie. "And that's why I don't want you going."

He pulled himself up and gave her a look. "Scully. I'm hardly a 
twelve-year-old kid."

"Yeah?" She leaned back in her chair and glared. "I'll give you 
that. But what was that I heard about 'testing a theory about 
telepathy'?"

Mulder grimaced. Caught. "Well..."

"Come on. I heard you muttering that she must have been 
'controlling' them in some way." She crossed one leg over the other 
and drew tiny circles in the air with her toe.

He frowned. "Well, think about it. You heard that girl... Gardener 
made her want to go back. That's not just psychological twisting. 
If Gardener really has the kind of telepathy that Modell-"

"Don't-" Scully said, putting up a hand, "Don't mention Modell."

"I have to, Scully. You *saw* how Modell could control people. If 
Gardener can do the same thing, she's more of a threat than we 
thought. And if I can learn *anything* from this meeting," he 
glanced at the clock, "To which I will be late if I don't get 
going-"

"Mulder..."

"Then maybe we can figure out how to stop her."

"But why do you have to go in *alone?*"

He stopped pacing, then crossed the room and rested a hand on her 
shoulder. "Because the invitation was for me, alone. I want you 
there to back me up, not to scare whoever this is away."

"Now you're making sense."

"Yeah, and you're going to hate me for the next bit. I want you to 
drop me off at this hotel, and then leave for at least ten minutes. 
I need to talk to this person alone."

Scully glowered, but finally nodded. "All right. I still think I 
should come in with you."

"It should be fine." He held up the room key that'd been in the 
envelope with the note. "I know what I'm doing."

She followed him to the car, shaking her head as he pocketed the 
room key for his own room. "I trust you, Mulder, but... I still 
think you're making a mistake here."

"Well, you can tell me 'I told you so' if you save my ass again, 
okay?" He grinned as he opened the car door. "Trust me, Scully. 
This will go fine. Then we can finish this case and get back to 
spooky patrol stuff, right?"

"Sure, Mulder," she said, climbing in beside him. "Whatever you 
say."

--

"Ten minutes are up," Scully said under her breath as she pulled 
the car into a parking space. "Here I come, ready or not."

The night air was the temperature normally called 'crisp', but 
there was nothing crisp in the murky clouds sliding over the 
moon. She glanced up, shuddered, then headed for the stairway 
that Mulder had dissapeared into just ten minutes before. It 
was an outside-leading-inside deal, something to keep the lower 
level from being disturbed. Or something. The door outside 
closed behind her as she felt her way up the flight.

Scully could smell blood as soon as she got up the stairs. The 
fact that she could worried her. Being able to actually smell 
the rusty tang meant a lot of blood had been spilled, close by, 
and she wasn't yet sure if it was her partner's or not.

The hallway leading off from the stairway was dingy, the kind 
of carpeting and lighting she'd expect in a cheap hotel during 
a power outage. There was a cracked window at the end of the 
row of doors, letting in enough light that she didn't need to 
use the flashlight. Yet.

Someone cried out. Scully froze in place, one more shadow in 
the dark hallway, then moved forward. Was it her, or did that 
sound like... Mulder?

Then there was another voice, female, but she couldn't make 
out the words. Following the voice, Scully made her way down 
the hallway. Not this door... not this one... it was nearly 
to the end of the row by the time she heard the second cry, 
and found the door.

She hesitated only a moment before putting her gun to the 
wood and trying the handle. To her surprise, the door opened 
smoothly, widening to reveal a room that was lit only 
slightly better than the hallway by a single lamp in the far 
corner.

A woman was standing across the room from the door, and as 
Scully stepped inside she turned around and smiled. Black, 
thick, curly hair framed exotic eyes, a perfect complexion, 
and rich red lips, spilling over the shoulders of the woman 
who Scully recognized at once.

"Annette Gardener," she said in an even voice, "You are 
under arrest for three counts of kidnapping and two counts 
of first-degree murder, plus whatever else we can find to 
stick on you."

The smile widened into a shark's grin. "I don't think you 
want to do that, Agent Scully," she said slowly, then tilted 
her head at the bed behind her.

Scully looked past the woman and froze, her heart suddenly 
a lot closer to her throat than she wanted. Mulder was 
sprawled face-up on the bed, and after a moment her eyes 
picked out the ropes attaching his wrists and ankles to 
the metal posts at the four corners of the matress. His 
jacket and shirt had been lost somewhere, and at the moment 
he was staring at his partner with a wild, almost frightened 
gaze.

It was then that Scully saw the shard of glass that Gardener 
was holding at his throat, and with a jolt she realized where 
the smell of blood was coming from. There had to be at least 
a hundred tiny slashes covering Mulder's chest, stomach, and 
arms, and as she watched the woman changed her grip ever so 
slightly and drew a thin line in blood on Mulder's collarbone.

"Stop," Scully said, as Mulder grimaced in pain and leaned 
his head back to the matress. Her hands were shaking, so she 
took a tighter grip on her pistol. "Stop, now."

The smile was back. "All good things must end, I guess," 
Gardener said with an affected sigh. "But I really think we 
should ask *his* opinion, shouldn't we?"

Scully involuntarily looked back at her partner. Mulder's 
eyes were open again, and he looked... worried? Frightened?

"What do you think, hmm?" the woman said, pulling the shard 
of glass further down his chest. Mulder's hands clenched 
around the ropes holding him down, and his breath hissed 
through his teeth. "I don't think you mind this at all. I 
think you kind of... like it."

"Mulder, what's going on?" Scully said, feeling more and 
more out of synch with every passing moment.

"Tell me to stop and I will," Gardener said, reaching up to 
hold the shard of glass above Mulder's right arm. She looked 
up and smiled at Scully. "What do you think, Fox? Do you want 
me to stop?"

Scully waited for a timeless instant, trapped in Gardener's 
eyes. A second passed. Another. The silence stretched on, 
thick with the smell of Mulder's blood hanging in the air.

"Mulder?" Scully finally whispered. "Mulder, say something... 
please, say something..."

Gardener chuckled, and brought the shard of glass down on 
Mulder's arm. A moan escaped his throat as she traced the 
inside of his elbow, then pulled the glass away. Then she 
looked up to meet Scully's gaze, and smiled wider. "Is it 
so hard to understand?" she said. "Sometimes, it's good to 
feel... helpless. Hurt." She reached back and negligently 
opened another cut on Mulder's side. "Or both. What do you 
think, Fox?"

"Mulder, no..." Scully said.

"Oh, yes. Come on, Foxy, tell us what you think. Do you 
like what I'm doing to you?"

Mulder met Scully's eyes again, and she could read fear, 
easy enough, and something else, too, that worried her 
more. Gardener gave him another slice, then purred, "Tell 
me, Fox. Tell me... or I'll stop."

Scully felt something inside her clench in fear. Mulder's 
gaze was panicked, now. As if he wanted to say something, 
but couldn't. Or if he didn't want to say something, but 
knew he was going to.

No. She couldn't admit that.

"Tell me, Fox Mulder," Gardener said, holding the bloody 
glass over his stomach. "You can say yes, can't you? Or 
I'll stop."

His mouth moved, but no sound came out. Gardener wasn't 
satisfied. "Louder. Louder, Fox, I can't hear you."

"Yes," he said, voice choked, then closed his eyes in pain 
and leaned his head back. "Yes, dammit!"

Scully staggered as if she'd been punched. Gardener's eyes 
gleamed in triumph, and she brought the shard of glass down 
again and again-

And then stopped. Straightening, she crossed the room 
and pulled the gun from Scully's unresisting fingers. "No, 
no," she said quietly. "This isn't quite right."

Scully found herself pushed forward, stumbling to a halt 
next to the bed. Looking down to where her partner was 
bound hand and foot, blood welling from a hundred wounds, 
she felt a wave of vertigo sweep over her. "What do you 
think, Fox?" Gardener said from two inches and a million 
miles away, "Don't you think *she* should be doing this, 
and not me?"

Mulder lifted his head as if in a daze, and Scully 
shuddered. She was *not* seeing ... not just fear, but... 
No. She refused to consider it. He stared at her, eyes 
barely focusing, and Scully felt the shard of glass being 
pressed into her hand.

"Come on, Fox. You want it. Tell her."

He swallowed, but said nothing. Scully shuddered, fingers 
clenching around the smooth piece of glass. "Come *on,* 
Fox," Gardener said again. "Don't you know how to ask?" 
After a pause, she said, "You have to be polite. You have 
to say please."

He flinched. Scully reached out a hand--the other hand--
not the one with the shard. "Mulder..."

"Oh, God," he said.

"Mulder, you don't-" Scully said, desperate.

"Please," he whispered.

Scully stared at him, then let her eyes drop to the 
alien thing in her hand. Slowly, shaking, she raised 
it to the light. He watched, then caught her eye again. 
"Please," he said, clearer, desperation edging out the 
fear. "Oh, God, Dana, please..."

She stared at him, stared as if she didn't know him, 
as if she didn't know herself. And just as if she 
didn't know herself, her own hand, she watched as she 
lowered the sharp and bloody piece of glass to his 
stomach and drew a clear line across his skin in red.

Mulder moaned, his head rolling back, and Scully 
pulled away, then as though she had no choice reached 
forward again and drew another line across his chest. 
Just like drawing lines, she told herself, just drawing 
lines in red, with red ink, only her pen was pain and 
the ink was blood and the words she wrote she refused 
to read.

She didn't even notice Annette Gardener leaving as she 
reached out again and again to carve divine instructions 
in her partner's flesh. She was too busy trying to ignore 
the look on Mulder's face every time she sank the shard 
of glass into his skin, just deep enough to cause him to 
bleed. She told herself that it wasn't real, that it 
wasn't really *Mulder*, or that he hadn't really said 
anything, just to keep herself together. She told herself 
it was all pain that was causing him to grab the ropes 
that bound him so hard that they creaked, that they'd been 
brainwashed somehow, that it was all Gardener's fault and 
nothing else.

And she told herself it was just with pain that he finally 
cried out, causing her to drop the piece of glass and 
watch it skitter across the floor, leaving bloodstains on 
the dirty wooden slats. She told herself that it was just 
pain over and over again as she stood there shaking, eyes 
shut tight and hands clenched into fists at her sides.

"Scully?"

Very slowly, she opened her eyes. Mulder was looking at 
her, eyes clear again and expression slightly embarassed, 
slightly chagrined, but mostly completely lost. "I... I... 
can you help me out of this?" he said, pulling at the ropes.

She nodded, then reached forward and started untying his 
closest hand. He nodded thanks when she'd got the knot 
loosened, and reached over to get the other side while she 
worked on his ankles. He sat there rubbing his wrists to 
get the circulation back while she freed both his legs, 
and then they both stayed still, staring at each other and 
unsure how to proceed.

"I..." he said, then nodded past her. "There's a bathroom 
over there. I'm going to clean off."

He said it perfectly normally, as if it was just dirt and 
not blood he was covered in. Blood, and... Scully sat down 
on the bed as he passed her, arms wrapped around herself 
to keep from shaking. God. No. It just wasn't... no.

There was the sound of a tap running, and the door closed. 
Scully sat, rocking slowly, until the water shut off. 
Mulder opened the door and stood there, the same lost look 
on his face. "Ah... have you seen my shirt anywhere?" he 
said.

Scully looked down and saw it by her feet. She picked it 
up and crossed the short distance to hand it to him. He 
took it, then looked up to meet her eyes. "I... I owe you 
an apology," he said.

She shook her head. "Look... it doesn't matter, now."

"It does. I didn't know what was going to happen. I just 
thought... I thought I could bring this file to a close. 
I didn't know she was going to-"

"Let's just forget it," Scully said, the panic and the 
shock of the whole situation pressing into her voice. 
"Let's just go back home and forget this ever happened."

"No, Dana, we can't," he said quietly, hands curled up in 
his shirt.

"Mulder-"

"We can't, because even if we don't say anything, this is 
going to be between us."

"We can just-"

"Because *you'll* still have to face up to the fact that 
you sat there cutting me up, and I *liked* it."

Scully flinched as if he'd struck her, and curled up 
against the doorframe. After a moment of silence she 
felt a tenative touch on her shoulder. "Dana?" he said 
quietly. "I'm... I'm sorry."

"God, Fox," she managed to say, "Why?"

He took a deep breath. "If I knew that," he said, "I'd 
open a psychiatric institution, solve all the world's 
problems, become a trillionaire, and then solve all the 
*rest* of the world's problems, starting with my own."

She turned around, pressing her spine hard against the 
doorjam. Mulder was staring at her, his deep, soulful 
eyes wide with pain. Scully realized with a shock that 
she'd hurt him somehow. And not by... by...

God. If she couldn't even think about it...

"Scully, I didn't know," he said. "Please believe me, I 
didn't *know*."

"Didn't know what?" she said, her voice sounding choked 
even to her ears.

Mulder didn't answer. He looked down and saw he was 
still clenching his fist around the fabric, and loosened 
his fingers to pull the shirt on over the network of cuts 
covering his chest. As he buttoned the front of the shirt 
with his typical methodical precision, Scully realized 
that he didn't know the answer himself.

When he'd finished, he wouldn't look up to meet her eyes. 
She hesitated a long moment, perhaps longer than she 
should have, before she reached out to put a hand on his 
arm. "Mulder, I..."

He looked up again, and this time there was real fear in 
his eyes. She held his gaze for half an eternity, then 
stepped forward and pulled him close, feeling his arms 
wrap around her, holding onto her for dear life. He was 
tall enough to rest his head on hers, and she was 
completely enveloped by his embrace, close enough to 
still smell the blood.

--

"Are you sure you'll be all right?"

Mulder nodded, mustered up enough courage to look his 
partner in the eye. "Yeah, I'll be fine," he said, but 
he was sure she'd see it for the lie it was.

She nodded hesitantly at his halfhearted smile, but 
then, everything about her had seemed hesitant tonight. 
He'd managed to scare her, somehow. No, not 'somehow,' 
he knew damn well 'how.' It was the same way he'd 
managed to scare himself.

"All right. I'll see you tomorrow," she finally said. 
He nodded and closed the door, then leaned on it. 
Dingy hotels, quiet and dark rooms--the images floated 
past his eyes until he reached out and, groping 
blindly in the half-darkness of the room, hit the 
light switch. Click, and he was back in reality, 
standing in a hotel room holding a bag full of bactine 
and gauze padding.

Right. Bactine and gauze. His chest still hurt like 
hell from--don't think about it. Toss the jacket on the 
chair, right, one less thing to worry about. He went 
into the bathroom, hit the light there, didn't look at 
his reflection as he unbuttoned his shirt. Finally had 
to look up when he'd got the antiseptic on the pad.

No, he didn't need a doctor to dab the stinging solution 
on the cuts. *But you'd like one,* his subconscious 
whispered as he swabbed his collarbone and moved on to 
his shoulders, *You'd like it to be Dana, here, tending 
to your wounds, making everything hurt just a little-*

"Dammit," he swore, pushing down too hard on one of the 
cuts and rubbing the antiseptic in. It hurt like hell. 
Not enough, though. Not enough to erase the shame. Not 
enough to bring it back. God, what had he *done* to 
her?

Not what had he done to himself. That was messed up 
enough that he didn't want to think about it. *He* was 
messed up enough that he didn't want to think about it. 
But Scully... Scully was normal. Scully was composed, 
controlled... focused. Capable. And God damn it if 
every time he thought about her he envisioned her 
running a scalpel down his side, just enough to-

He hissed again as he scratched too deeply on a cut on 
his stomach, starting it bleeding again. The bactine 
leaked into the cut, making it sting enough to bring 
him around, back to staring at his own muddy hazel eyes 
in the halfway-decent light. Damn it. Damn. It. What 
was it about her that was making him think--what was 
it about *him* that was making him think--Dammit. He'd 
scared her. He'd screwed up, listened to Gardener for 
one fatal instant and then betrayed any trust Scully 
had for him.

He finished swabbing the last few cuts, then gave up 
and leaned on the sink, resting his forehead agaisnt 
the mirror. God. He wished he could just crawl down 
into a dark, festering hole and-

At first he thought the pain was from his breath 
catching, or his breath catching from some psychosomatic 
illness brought on by self-loathing. He was surprised, 
but hardly worried, when he saw the blood trickling 
from just blow his ribs into the sink. It wasn't until 
he tried to breathe again and felt the pain hit him 
that he registered the knife point sticking out of his 
front.

He looked up. Someone met his eyes in the mirror. 
He labored to say her name, but he couldn't breathe, 
couldn't get air, it hurt, it hurt...

"Can you feel your life slipping away, Fox?" Gardener 
whispered as his mind raced, wondering how the hell 
did she get in the key was in your pocket you idiot 
Scully let you in Scully doesn't know Gardener has 
the key would Scully even save him now if she knew 
he could trust her would she trust him too? "Can 
you feel it? Everything soon fading... to black?"

She leaned forward and the knife--knife, hell, half 
a sword it felt like--slid farther through him, the 
steel coming out coated in blood. His blood. His 
fingers curled around the point of the blade as 
crazy thoughts--*Where did Gardener get a hold of 
a wakizashi?*--flitted through his head.

Gardener stepped forward, pressing against his back.
He could feel her breasts through the thin, filmy 
fabric of her shirt, and he gritted his teeth to 
keep from lashing out in anger. It was bad enough 
with her voice playing tricks with his mind, but 
this... it was almost enough to make him cry out, 
'Yes, yes, dammit, I *do* want to die...'

"Your vision will go grey, then black," she murmured 
sweetly into his ear. "You'll slide down that mortal 
coil, back into the welcoming arms of nothingness... 
you will never hurt again... feel how lovely it is 
for your life to slip through your fingers... drop... 
by... drop."

Every 'drop' was another push on the knife. By the 
time she was through, the cold metal handle was 
pressed fully against his back, her hand caressing 
the torn flesh around the steel. She reached around 
him with both arms and smeared blood across his 
chest, over the hundreds of tiny red lines already 
on his skin. "Give in," she said. "You want this, 
don't you? You want me," she paused, voice dropping 
to a whisper as she leaned forward to blow in his 
ear, "to bring you death."

Oh, but it felt so good to just give in... It would 
feel so good to just let her have total control, 
let go and listen to her sensual voice as she guided 
him down the dark, dark tunnel into the eternal 
silence... yes, yes, you bitch, please, make me 
bleed, it feels so good...

The outer door opened. Gardener blinked, then pulled 
back and looked out into the main room. Mulder took 
as deep a breath as he could manage, and forced his 
voice to work. "Scully?"

Gardener's head was jerked back around. "You're not 
*supposed* to," she hissed in shock, "You're not 
supposed to want-"

*=- "And it didn't sound... that hard... it just 
sounded loud. Like knuckles popping underwater 
kind of loud. Like people breaking bones you've 
broken kind of loud. Like a real gunshot... real 
close by kind of loud." -- Geoff Trenchard, 
_Hundred Line Stare_ -=*

Gardener staggered, no longer perfectly calm and 
collected, and collapsed face-down onto the bathroom 
floor. Mulder held onto the knifepoint with one hand 
and the sink in the other and prayed his legs wouldn't 
give out.

They did, eventually, but Dana was there, holding 
onto him, strong for all she looked so small, easing 
him down onto the floor and some towels she'd swiped 
to make padding. Dana was there to hold onto him, 
elevate his legs to treat his shock, to call 911 on 
her cellphone so she wouldn't have to leave his side. 
Dana was there to hold onto him and call his name so 
he wouldn't pass out. And she was there when he did 
finally pass out, strapped sideways to the gurney 
with the oxygen mask over his face obscuring his view 
of the dark night outside.

--

Mulder's eyes finally opened again three days later. 
Scully thought it was just a trick of the light, but 
as she watched his eyelids fluttered again, then with 
a heartbreaking slowness opened to reveal muddy, 
confuzed hazel eyes.

"Mulder?" she whispered, not wanting to balance too 
much hope on that one word.

He focused on her unsteadily, then his eyes flickered 
around the room. "Scully..." he wheezed, then made a 
face as he held back a cough. "Tubes," he finally said.

"Yeah." Scully reached out and rested a hand on his 
arm. "I figured you'd notice that."

"Hate tubes," he muttered, then twitched his mouth 
in a wry smile. "But... guess it's necessary. How 
bad?"

"Bad enough," she said. "That knife punctured your lung. 
Not to mention some other internal organs of slightly 
lesser importance."

Mulder winced and let his head lie back on the pillow 
again. He'd been silent for so long Scully thought he'd 
gone to sleep when he said, "Scully? Can... can you 
ever forgive me?"

"Oh, Mulder..." she leaned forward to meet his eyes, 
then reached out and brushed a few errant strands of 
hair off his forehead. "I *trust* you. With my life. 
I don't know..." she took a deep breath. "Give me 
some time, all right? I forgive you. I just..." The 
full force of all the confusion and pain she'd felt 
over the last few days hit her, and she was sure he 
could see it. "Give me some time," she said again. 
"I'll try... and understand, okay?"

He smiled at her sadly, then closed his eyes and 
leaned back into the pillow. "That's all right, then," 
he said.

Scully fought with herself to keep from straightening 
his hair again--it'd turn into an obsessive-compulsive 
disorder if she wasn't careful. After a few more 
moments of silence, she was sure he was asleep again. 
Making sure to keep quiet she stood, then turned to go.

"She was right, you know," Mulder said, voice suddenly 
strong.

Scully turned back to him. "What?"

"Gardener. She was right." His voice trailed off, 
became more dreamlike. "Sometimes it is good to feel... 
helpless... lose control... let someone do things for 
you..." There was a long pause. "But even then... I 
didn't want to die... No matter how good she made it 
feel."

Scully couldn't keep herself from shuddering as she 
closed the door behind her.

-- =* Finis *= --

A-one, Two, A-one two three Four...

Some love is just a lie of the heart
The cold remains of what began with a passionate start
And they may not want it to end
But it will it's just a question of when

I've lived long enough to have learned
The closer you get to the fire the more you get burned
But that won't happen to us
Because it's always been a matter of trust

I know you're an emotional girl
It took a lot for you to not lose your faith in this world
And I can't offer you proof
But you're going to face a moment of truth

It's hard when you're always afraid
You'll just recover when another belief is betrayed
So break my heart if you must
It's a matter of trust

You can't go the distance with too much resistance
I know you'll have doubts - But for God's sake, don't shut me out!

This time you've got nothing to lose
You can take it you can leave it's whatever you choose
I won't hold back anything
And I'll walk away a fool or a king

Some love is just a lie of the mind
It's make believe until it's only a matter of time
And some might have learned to adjust
But then, it never was a matter of trust...

I'm sure you're aware, love, we've both had our share of
Believing too long, when the whole situation was wrong

Some love is just a lie of the soul
A constant battle for the ultimate state of control
After you've heard lie upon lie
There can hardly be a question of 'why'

Some love is just a lie of the heart
The cold remains of what began with a passionate start
But that won't happen to us
Because it's always been a matter of trust

It's a matter of trust...

-- _A Matter of Trust_, Billy Joel