In the dark hours before the early morning, the greatest truths out there may well be the unspoken ones.
Original Author Notes
This is the beginning of my season seven writing project. I'm anticipating The Healing Waters to be a series of stories that will culminate with Mulder and Scully finally coming together in the fall of 2000. The events here take place in the same universe that I created back in Crossing Lines. Timeline for this one is a few days after the closing scene in Sixth Extinction: Amor Fati. I watched the season openers with great interest, as everything had pointed to awesome fanfic potential, but it was somewhat difficult to get a consistent focus on what I wanted Mulder and Scully to get out of their latest experience. What finally resulted from this story was a bit different from what I had originally intended, but I hope it worked.
Back Story
Alec — one of my steady readers — is obviously a committed "shipper". She's been pushing since day one for me to bring our two favourite agents together, and may have finally convinced me with her last correspondence after Two Steps Back. She wanted me to take the story forward and have "Mulder and Scully set off for a real vacation and go to the healing waters of wherever the healing waters are!" Something about those words instantly appealed to me, and combined with a nasty little story idea that had been in the back of my head since I wrote the Scully line regarding that "resort with blue-green lakes", I thought that maybe the end of the series would be a good time for me to bring M&S "together". Before they do that, however, I suspect that the events of this year will necessitate taking them through a lot of healing! So therein lies the history behind the title of my season seven series of stories. Thanks Alec — sometime next fall you'll get your story. In the meantime, accept my sincere appreciation for the fascinating title that you've provided me.
Truths Untold was a bit of a challenging project. It officially began a few days after the airing of part one of The Sixth Extinction and didn't get finished until over six weeks later. Real life obligations and holiday planning entered into the equation, but I took many cracks at this one during an extended editing phase. I'm not a fan of the Diana Fowley character, but I felt that she was around long enough for her to have significance and have a real impact on where the Mulder/Scully relationship will ultimately go. I'm not quite sure how this particular history that I've written will eventually play out — gotta wait for February sweeps of course — but I'm prepared one way or the other.
This one takes place a few days after the final scenes in The Sixth Extinction: Amor Fati, which — I believe by the New York Yankees reference — is sometime in late October 1999.
Postscript: I recently watched The Sixth Extinction again and discovered that I had placed the activities of that ep in South Africa instead of West Africa. Oh well...
ATXC Original Posting: January 2000
* * * * *
The Healing Waters: Prologue
September 2000
Jasper, Alberta
Fox Mulder closed his eyes and lifted his face to the early morning sun, feeling the warm rays caress his skin with a skillful lover's touch. At the same time, the light breeze that ruffled through the leaves on the tree branches overhead made the hairs on his arms stand on end. The opposing sensations were decidedly appropriate for his mission of the day. In his fingers he held a small box, inside which was a gold band that he had neither seen nor touched in over ten years. It was time to perform a simple ceremony with it.
He opened his eyes to the unbounded majesty of the Rockies in the not too far off distance, set against a solid blue sky with nary a wisp of cloud. The mountains reflected off the clear emerald water that lapped rhythmically in front of him, the magnificence that was the aptly named Lac Beauvert. Literally beautiful and green. His eyes traversed the edge of the lake to the large cabins standing adjacent to the golf course. He settled on a specific ground level, end unit suite. He closed his eyes once more, searching his memory for that idyllic image of the woman he had left sleeping on the king size bed over an hour ago.
Just as he finished recreating in his mind the picture of the familiar pale face settled comfortably against the white pillows, he felt his world begin a slow spin backwards in time. Back to a time when the gold band had been around his finger.
"I don't want it back. Keep it."
"Why? What would be the point?"
"Consider it a talisman, a symbol of sorts. That's what it really is, anyway, isn't it?"
"Well, right now, it's a symbol of something that's not true."
"That can always change."
"We've been all over that -"
"Hear me out. I'm asking you to keep it as a symbol of what you deserve. I've known a side of you that thinks you have to keep paying the price, from here to eternity, and it's just not true."
"What do you mean?"
"Let this be a reminder to you that there's someone out there who loves you the way you deserve to be loved. Keep it until you find her. Will you do that? On the day that this lucky woman realizes what she's got, maybe you can have a ceremony with it. Toss it into the river, bury it in the park... burn it in a bonfire. It'll be a sign that you've found what you want. Let me leave you with that, at least."
"Talk about dramatic endings..."
"There are no endings, Fox. Just beginnings. And you and I, we'll have another beginning someday."
"And what makes you say that?"
"Life is all about love and fate. I love you; I know you don't believe me, but that hasn't changed. And maybe, just maybe, you're fated to be with me."
"Well, I think I'm fated to something, but I'm not sure if that's it. I know what you mean, though... I have this feeling that we'll cross paths again. Who knows - maybe even as adversaries."
"We could never be that."
The sound of a distant splash broke through the quiet stillness of the morning, bringing his world spinning back to the present. Birds chirped noisily above him. He heard voices from someone making a room service delivery to a nearby cabin.
Mulder opened his eyes and looked down into his hands in puzzlement. The box was gone.
* * * * *
Truths Untold
October 1999
Washington, DC
"Dana?"
Someone was calling her. It was a very familiar voice, but where was she?
"Honey, are you sure you should be driving around?" It was her mother. She was at her mother's house. In the front foyer.
"I'm all right, Mom, just a little preoccupied. I'm sorry, I'm in a bit of a rush."
"What were you saying about Fox being in the hospital?"
"I have to go to West Africa, Mom -" Ignoring the question, it was like she was on a mission and had no time for details.
"West Africa? Why? Dana, what's going on? You're not making sense." Not only that, Margaret Scully was having a difficult time even establishing eye contact with her daughter.
"It's a long story and I have no time. I - I just need you to be there in case something bad happens and I'm not back yet."
"What do you mean? Come inside -" She tried unsuccessfully to lead her daughter into the living room.
"I don't have time, Mom, he's in the psych ward and they don't know what's wrong with him... he can't speak and he's uncontrollably violent."
"What? How - how did this happen?"
"I don't know. I was in New Mexico... I'd only left him for the day -" And he called that Fowley woman instead...
"But Dana, I don't understand - what's in South Africa?"
"Maybe my only lead. He first showed signs of strange brain activity when he came into contact with something that was brought over from there. I have nothing else to go on. I have to find out where this thing came from and why it's doing this to him. The doctors say if something isn't done soon, what's happening inside his brain is going to kill him."
"And you're leaving?" Experiencing a momentary sense of detachment, Scully realized that she had never seen her mother quite so dumbfounded.
"Mom, I can't help him here."
"But you can be there for him."
"That's not going to make him better."
"Is that your responsibility to him, Dana? To make him better? What if you can't?"
That simply wasn't an option.
"I don't know what else to do..."
"What would he want you to do? Honey, if I understand you correctly, you're saying that he may not be here for you to come back to -"
"No! I mean, that's not my plan...that's why I need your help."
"What do you mean?"
"I need you to call this person tomorrow morning and tell her who you are." She pressed a folded piece of paper into her mother's hand. "I've left her messages in every way possible but she's on shift right now; I can't get ahold of her. She'll be able to keep you posted as to Mulder's condition. If she tells you it's time - and you know what I mean, Mom - you have to call his mother for me."
"Good Lord - why hasn't she been called already?"
"He doesn't want her to know."
"Dana, how can you possibly know this if he can't speak?"
"I'm saying his FBI file has strict instructions not to call his mother. Ever since her stroke, he's... I'm his emergency contact. And I'm not supposed to call her unless his life is in immediate danger."
"And you don't think this qualifies? We're talking about his mother."
"I know, Mom, I know. It's not time yet. But I know that can change tomorrow or the next hour. I don't plan on being gone long, but it's going to take two days just to get there and back. I could be gone a week and I don't know at this point if I'm going to have any way of contacting you. I need you to do this for me, Mom. Mulder needs you to do this."
It was never Margaret Scully's intention to deny what her daughter implored her to do, whatever the request. And doing anything she could to help out her partner was also a given. But somehow she couldn't help but think that Dana was going about it in all the wrong ways at this most critical of times. She would never forgive herself if something were to happen while she was gone.
"You know I'll do anything for you, honey. But please remember - there are times in your life when it's right to do what your heart says, not what you feel obligated to do."
Scully's resolve not to cry in front of her mother - because she knew it would reduce her to that elemental child inside of her - gave way as soon as she fell into her mother's arms.
* * * * *
She started at the sound of something clattering in the next room.
She was no longer feeling her mother's warmth. She opened her eyes and found herself in what seemed like unfamiliar surroundings. In the darkness, Dana Scully blinked away tears, feeling the well-worn surface of soft leather beneath her cheek. She could smell its signature scent, intermingled with a comforting masculine fragrance that she did find familiar - she was stretched out on Mulder's couch.
In a second, she was able to collect herself and remember that she had heard a noise in the next room. She threw off the jacket that she had been using as a cover and quietly made her way to the doorway of Mulder's bedroom. The nightlight that was plugged into the outlet near where she stood bathed the room in a soft warm glow reminiscent of candlelight. She wondered briefly when Mulder had started sleeping with a nightlight on. As she looked in, she could tell that he hadn't much changed from the last time she had checked on him. His left arm was dangling over the edge of the bed, however, and Scully could see that he had flailed about somewhat in his sleep. The sound that she had heard had obviously been that of the plastic pitcher and cup crashing down from his nightstand. Luckily there hadn't been much water left in either of them.
Standing there in the darkness of his apartment, she was reminded of her last conversation with him just before all proverbial hell broke loose. When she called here and a familiar-sounding woman had answered his phone. How many agonizing hours had she spent since then, trying not to dwell on whatever it was that had possessed him to call Diana Fowley that day? She still didn't know what had happened here that night before he was taken to the hospital and ultimately sent into the psych ward. Had Diana helped him like she said she did or did she somehow initiate the whole chain of events? Scully supposed that she would never really know. Maybe Mulder remembered, but it wasn't like she was going to ask him any time soon.
She heard him muttering and ventured into the room, approaching his bedside quietly. She wondered if his temperature had gone up and moved her hand forward to touch his forehead. She was totally unprepared for and surprised by the way he suddenly latched onto her wrist.
"What are you doing?" he said harshly, gritting his teeth and applying even more strength to his hold on her.
Scully took a deep breath and was about to answer until she realized that he was actually asleep. She willed herself not to struggle, not to make any sudden attempts at yanking her arm away. After a brief moment of silence, she leaned in close and whispered into his ear.
"Mulder, it's me. I'm not going to hurt you. You're having a dream."
It took some time for the vise grip on her wrist to relax. When it did, Mulder opened his eyes and stared up at her listlessly. For a second, Scully thought he had returned to some semi-catatonic state. A few moments later, however, he dropped his hold on her and turned his head away.
Scully knew about the emotional swings that sometimes plagued patients after brain trauma. If this was the extent of it, then it was an encouraging sign. Nothing violent, at least. That part of it was gone and hopefully gone for good. Not that she had ever really thought that Mulder could be violent towards her, but after what she had witnessed in the psych ward, it was a frightening possibility that she was glad she wouldn't have to consider any further.
"Sorry."
"Don't be." She sat down on the side of the bed and turned slightly to place her hand over his chest on top of the covers.
"I didn't know it was you."
"Mistook me for one of those other women who come wandering through your bedroom?"
He turned back towards her and managed a half smile, a heartwarming sight for Scully despite the incredibly haunted face it occupied. There was definitely some real emotion behind those dark eyes; what she saw was not just the confused synaptic misfirings of a recently overtaxed brain. She had a good idea of what it was that he had just been awakened from. That oddly remorseful combination of guilt, regret, and fond remembrance mirrored in his eyes was something she had come to recognize instantly. It was his Diana look.
It was obvious that the woman would continue to trouble them both for some time to come. And the worst part about it for Dana Scully was that she didn't even have the option of hating her with the same passion as she had had just ten days ago. Unfortunately, sometimes death does that. Extinguishes passion. Buries truths as much as it exposes lies.
As if following her train of thought, Mulder reached for and clenched the fingers of her hand tightly in his, once again seemingly oblivious to the force of his grip. Scully flinched ever so slightly, but kept her focus on the wall in front of her, concentrating on a discolored patch of paint.
"Where've you been, Scully?"
Was his tone just a touch accusatory? She couldn't decide whether she would be more surprised if it was, or if it wasn't.
"Up the coast at a bed and breakfast. I told you; I took two days' leave for some R & R..."
"Well, no, you didn't exactly tell me. You left me a message."
"You didn't answer your phone."
"I was here. You knew I was here. I'm off work; why'd you call my cell?"
"Habit, I guess, Mulder. What is it, you don't believe me about where I've been?"
It felt stranger than strange to be sitting here on his bed, in the darkness of night, feeling the need to piece together things that weren't broken. It hadn't been Scully's plan to make it seem as though she had run out on him, but she could understand all the reasons why he would think so. All the same, she had merely acted on behalf of her own well-being. For once in her life.
"I'm just wondering what else it was."
"What else would it have been?"
"I have no idea. You've been different -"
"Different?"
Mulder raised himself up onto his elbow and leaned towards her. He caught and held her gaze in the dim light of the room.
"Different. First of all, I've barely seen you, Scully. Five days recovering in the hospital and I saw you twice. You show up at my doorstep for a brief moment - completely blow me away with your behavior - and then I get a message telling me you're gone for two days. You're telling me that's normal?"
Well, Scully thought to herself ruefully, they had apparently not taken anything important out of his skull; he was still as sharp as ever.
"Mulder, I spoke with your doctors. I made sure you were okay to be by yourself -"
"Scully, you're not assuming I missed your medical attention, are you?"
Fortunately, he didn't look as exasperated as he sounded. He continued to stare at her in silence for several seconds. Scully wanted to say something, but didn't know what. Having him be alive and well was her number one priority; she wasn't about to apologize for that. As for the rest of it, she just wasn't sure she could trust herself to discuss it now.
"I missed you. That's all," he finally said, reaching for her hand again. "I've had too much time to think, and no one to share those thoughts with... not to mention I've been worried about you."
"Worried about me? Why?"
"Because I thought you were a bit overwrought the other day and by the time I could think again, you were gone. Why do I get the feeling you've been avoiding me?"
"Don't be silly, Mulder. You left me with a lot of paper work at the office...I didn't exactly carry your load when all this started happening and taking off for five days clear across the world didn't help. I had a lot to catch up on -" She stopped talking, mainly because she heard how unconvincing her words were, even to her own ears. However, as the seconds wore on, the questioning silence that hung in the air became oppressively heavy. She pressed forward, trying it from a different angle. "Mulder, when you were in the hospital, your mother was there the whole while. I thought it would be nice for the two of you to share some quality time alone. God knows your mother shouldn't have to visit you in the hospital just to get some quality time with you."
Mulder eyes dropped as he tried to imagine what it must have been like for Scully to contact his mother. He remembered having a heated conversation with her over his new policy a couple of years ago when they both updated their respective wills. She hadn't entirely agreed with his logic or his reasoning, but in the end she had agreed to his terms.
"Thanks for calling her, Scully. I know that couldn't have been pleasant."
She didn't want to relive those moments any time soon either. "Did you two get a chance to talk much?"
"No, not really. It's not our style, I suppose. She did most of the talking, bringing me up to date with what's happening with friends and relatives that she keeps in touch with." His words were tinged with a melancholic tone of resignation, despite the fact that he had brightened up somewhat with the recollection of his mother's visit. Scully watched the varied emotions play over his face as he continued, "It's a bit strange between us; I must admit... I love her and I know that she loves me, but mom and I - we both seem unable to deal with the fact that precious time has passed. Continues to pass. Neither of us really knows how to pull what's left of this family closer together. Then again, I don't even know if that's necessary or if she even wants it. She seems fine with her lot in life."
"Did you ask her about your disappearance from the hospital?" Scully asked gently.
"Yes. And she told me as much as she knew, or as much as she wanted to tell me. But I really think it was one of those moments in life for her where you really don't have much of a say in what happens. I was dying. Someone told her that I could be saved. What's a mother to do?"
Scully squeezed his hand in a gesture of understanding.
"Anyway, before she left, I promised to go up and see her for Christmas. Got any plans over the holidays, Scully?"
"Not as yet. We usually don't get all that settled until Thanksgiving. I heard Mom mention that we should all go out to California this year."
"Oh. That should be nice for all of you.... Speaking of your mom, thanks for telling her to stop by; she made me feel embarrassingly fussed over. You never told me she makes such a mean chocolate pecan cookie."
At the mention of her mother, Scully suddenly recalled what she had been awakened from, just a few short minutes ago. She got the distinct feeling that she had missed out on something that her mother had been trying to tell her in her moment of distress. Mulder caught the immediate change in her, even in the semi-darkness.
"You don't look rested, Scully."
"I don't feel rested."
"Well then, that begs the question of, what does R & R stand for in your book?"
"I thought it would be good to take a couple of days to re-energize, to think about everything that's happened. To find my own space again and clear my head. But the fact is, I still feel so confused that I don't know if a six month sabbatical would even do it for me."
"Welcome to my kingdom, Scully."
"You don't feel this way."
"How do you know?"
"Because I know. Because you don't have this desire to fight what you see with your own eyes...you're not like that. You want to believe. Me? It's like I see it and I want it not to be true. Or maybe I want it to be true and it's not and I can't believe that it's not."
"Listen to yourself, Scully. You've progressed. You now seem to be fighting yourself just as much as you've ever fought me... " Seeing that she was genuinely disturbed, he added, "Hey, I don't mean to make light of it. But you've been through a lot, and it's okay to feel confused." He paused and frowned slightly, suddenly uncertain about whether or not they were on the same wavelength. "What exactly are we talking about anyway?"
"You name it... the possibility of alien life and where along the scale my own faith lies. And the sixty-four thousand dollar question is, how much more wrong can I possibly be about everything else in between?"
"Scul -" He threw aside his comforter, swung his legs over the side of the bed opposite to her and stood up, all much too quickly. He grimaced as the pain lanced through his head. "- Ow!"
She was by his side in an instant. "For heaven's sake, Mulder... You've had brain surgery. And you've been lying here since before seven and it's now one-thirty in the morning - you can't just bounce out of bed like that. Why is your bandage off, by the way?" She eased him gently back down into a prone position.
"I didn't need it anymore. Did you say it's one thirty?" He looked around in sudden confusion, as if only now noticing that it was dark throughout the apartment.
"Yes. What time did you think it was?"
"I didn't think it was any time. Just - if I've been out since before seven and it's now one thirty, what are you doing here, Scully?" He shifted himself up into a sitting position again and snapped on his bedside lamp. They both squinted against the sudden offending light.
"You left me a message, remember? To come over tonight as soon as I got back. I haven't even been home yet. But you weren't answering your phone nor your door, so I let myself in." She took in the fact that he was fully dressed - jeans and socks included - and frowned. "I assume you only meant to have a brief nap or something... but you weren't having an easy sleep and your forehead felt hot. I thought you might be coming down with something."
"So you're just waiting on me?"
"No, as a matter of fact, I fell asleep on your couch."
"Scully, you don't have a pillow or blankets or anything -"
"I'm fine, Mulder."
"Not that there isn't plenty of room in this bed, too - unless you think I might be contagious."
"Well, I don't know if you actually have anything, but that wouldn't have been appropriate."
Mulder's face fell. "Appropriate?"
The word hung between them like a hospital bed curtain. Not allowing much privacy on either side, but a solid barrier in any case. Seeing his reaction, Scully immediately regretted having used it. But all things considered, she didn't have much left with which to censor her thoughts before voicing them. At one-thirty in the morning, this was likely as good as it was going to get.
"You mean like doctor/patient appropriate? I've got news for you, Scully, I'm not your patient. And I'm okay now, aren't I? Last I checked, I hadn't transformed into something so hideous that you can't bear to touch me again. Least I hope not. And it's not even like I'm suggesting that you should crawl under these covers and jump my bones or anything like that."
Normally, a twinkle in his eyes or a certain inflection in his voice would tell her that he was putting her on, but this time there didn't seem to be anything to indicate that he was really joking.
"So what are you suggesting?"
"Forget it." He sat up straight and swung his legs over the edge of the bed again. This time he sat still for several seconds. "I guess I was just expecting something else. Something more. Hell, maybe even you were expecting something more..." He glanced over at her quickly and decided that he really didn't want to pursue that line of conversation. "Look, Scully, I'm not really myself right now; this was probably a bad idea. I don't think we should be talking now."
"Well, it's way past time to decide that."
He got up and started to pace slowly but deliberately beside his bed. Scully suddenly noticed the dark circles under his eyes; he certainly appeared to be less well than when she had seen him just three days ago.
"What's up Mulder? You don't look much rested yourself."
"I haven't slept much since I left the hospital. They must have had me on something while I was there, to help me sleep."
"You should have let someone know -"
"I don't want any more medication, Scully. And it's not like I don't sleep, just not restfully."
"What do you mean exactly?"
"I keep having these dreams that seem so vivid as to be real. And they're not normal random dreams, they're repeats of dreams that I've had before, or they're dreams about actual past reality."
"Are you having nightmares?"
"No. Not really, anyway. But I'm constantly reliving parts of the past two weeks in my head every time I fall asleep."
Scully felt a shiver run up her spine. Did he just imply that that didn't constitute a nightmare?
"Are you cold?"
"Just a bit...I can go get my jacket -"
"Get under the covers, Scully. Please. Make yourself comfortable, I'm going to get some water. You want anything?"
"No thanks."
Hesitating only briefly when Mulder paused to make sure that she was following orders, Scully pulled back the blankets on the left side of the bed and climbed in. First time for everything, as the saying went.
As she settled back against the pillows, she found her thoughts drifting back to Diana Fowley again, to their last conversation. As a last ditch effort, she had tried to appeal to her supposed love for Mulder, telling her that she should do for him what he would do for her in a second. At the time, she thought that Diana had no nerves for her to hit, and was angered by the other woman's quick dismissal of her plea. She remembered pursuing Diana out into the hall after her unceremonious exit, grabbing her by the arm and spinning her around. Scully subsequently let loose with an accusation of how her method of "thinking" was failing Mulder, how it would guarantee losing him forever. She hadn't been expecting an emotional response...
"Don't lecture me about loss, Agent Scully. If fate had even given me half of another option, I'd still be his wife. That's not something that's ever going to be possible again. So don't you dare tell me that I don't have his best interests at heart."
Scully peered out into the darkness beyond Mulder's bedroom door and considered the irony of the moment. How many answers still remained hidden out there in the dark? How many would forever remain so?
Her own amazement in check once more after that revelation, Scully had in turn been surprised by the depth of feeling that she saw in the other woman's eyes.
"I can tell how much you guys really talk. You think I'm the devil's disciple but you really don't know anything about me, do you? How black and white is your world, Agent Scully? I could deliver him into your arms and you'd still think I had ulterior motives. So how about we stop wasting my time and you can let me get back to what needs to be done?"
Scully had largely ignored her outburst at the time, especially when it appeared as though she hadn't succeeded in changing her mind in any significant way. In fact, she had hardly given the encounter a second thought until Skinner informed her of Diana's death a few days ago. For some reason, she wanted to be the one to tell Mulder. It hadn't worked out like she'd expected, however, as she thought back to that afternoon; how she had been so uncharacteristically overcome by the situation when she appeared at his door. It was somehow made worse by seeing his smiling face under that ridiculous Yankees cap. She was suddenly overcome with feelings for him, regret for Diana, confusion over Diana's past relationship with him, and uncertainty regarding their own future. The battle to hold her words and thoughts together was lost before she could even begin to fight.
She had meant to comfort him, not the other way around. It wasn't her turn to grieve and she shouldn't have been there to take when she should have been the one to give. And in the end, she had also meant to kiss him on the lips but something inside her redirected her aim at the last second. No wonder Mulder was perennially confused. And for quite possibly the millionth time, she couldn't blame him. Over a year later, she was still at the helm of a relationship that she didn't quite know which way to steer.
Diana was dead, but one thing hadn't changed. Dana Scully still had many questions that she wasn't ready to ask. And many feelings that she wasn't ready to deal with.
* * * * *
Mulder stopped just outside the doorway to his room, remaining hidden in the shadows. He found himself experiencing a sudden spell of dizziness as some sort of twisted reverse deja vu overtook him at the sight of Scully in his bed. Another dream versus reality moment. Except that he was in the bed - his deathbed - with the image of Scully - young and beautiful still - approaching him. He was reflecting on what had been a surprisingly full and satisfying life, and was amazed that he had not thought about her more over the years. Seeing her again made him realize what she still meant to him. But then suddenly she was admonishing him. Accusing him. And then just as suddenly she disappeared as the world around him began its final descent into an incontrovertible hell.
"No..." He leaned back against the wall and slid downwards slowly. He eventually hit the floor with a dull thud, more than enough to shake him out of his momentary lapse.
"Mulder?" Scully was out of the bed in a flash.
"I'm okay."
"What do you mean, you're okay? What was this?"
She took the miraculously unspilled glass of water out of his hand and helped him to his feet. He really didn't seem to be impaired at all, as he pulled away from her and walked back to his bed without assistance. "Nothing, just... a flashback or something."
"You said you weren't having nightmares. Are you having them while you're awake?"
"No. I've had nightmares before, Scully, I know what they are. It's not like I'm waking up screaming in a cold sweat. At least that's usually what's involved."
"But they're obviously bothering you in some way...even when you're awake."
He crawled back into his bed, pulling the covers back up on his side. He left her side open for her. She followed his lead and sat down again, but faced him this time. She handed him his glass of water and asked, a bit hesitantly, "So what exactly are these dreams, Mulder?"
"I told you. They're replays of dreams that I had while I was out, while they were operating on me."
"There must be more to them than that for them to be affecting you like this."
"Not really. I mean, I also have dreams of what happened before that while I was in the hospital. When I was awake but unable to speak." Noticing that her eyes were down, he looked past her into the shadows.
Scully fiddled with the corner of the bedsheet as she considered her next question. A lot more hesitantly, she looked up at him and asked, "Am I in these dreams?"
He seemed to think for a long moment before deciding to answer.
"Yes," he finally said. "A couple." That I keep having, Mulder thought to himself.
"What are they about?"
"Well, I sort of alluded to one the other day when you came over. The world has been overtaken by aliens or whatever and I'm in bed unable to do anything about it. I think I'm dying of old age or something like that. I'm all alone when you suddenly show up - looking just as you do now, no older - and you start telling me that I've taken the easy way out, forsaken our work, and that I should have continued the fight. That's when you saved me. Like I said, you were the only one in that alternate reality who told me the truth..."
"Alternate reality?"
"I don't know what else to call it. It was like I lived this whole lifetime in another reality where everyone that I thought was -" He was going to say 'dead', but that wasn't entirely correct, "- gone from my life, were all back. I was taken from the hospital and plunked smack dab in the middle of some impossibly perfect suburbia where I saw Deep Throat again - had dinner with his family even." His expression was one that Scully hadn't seen too many times in her life. It was accompanied by a detached peacefulness and serenity in the way that he spoke.
"And you said you found your sister in this alternate reality?"
"Yes. And her family."
Long pause.
"You lived a completely normal life?"
"More normal than I could ever see myself being." He hoped that she wouldn't ask him for any details beyond that. Because if Dana Scully was plagued with being unable to ask Fox Mulder about certain private matters, Fox Mulder was plagued with something similar yet entirely different. As long as she were to ask, he felt duty-bound to answer. He didn't quite know where this sense of obligation came from, but ever since they had taken that step forward, it had been there - as difficult as it was sometimes.
"Were you happy, Mulder?"
Their eyes met for a brief moment as she seemed to ask him if he would be able to identify what being happy really felt like. His answer surprised her.
"Yes. Yes I was. Until those last moments when the world was crumbling around me and everyone had died. That's when you came to me and told me that I was a traitor, that I had failed to finish the battle and -"
"Well, those are dreams for you - they're always just a little 'off' in the end result." She tried unsuccessfully to suppress her annoyance at the seeming reverence with which he was relating his dream interpretation. "Look, Mulder, plain fact is - if I ever thought that you had a chance for a happy life where you got your sister back, I'd hardly be appearing at your bedside to admonish you about shirking your responsibilities to the X-Files. Don't give me that credit, because I wouldn't have said that."
"But that was what brought me back, Scully."
"Mulder, it was just a dream."
"But you were right in the dream. It was my recognition of who you really were that made me come out of whatever it was that I was in."
"Mulder, they didn't take you to kill you. It's never been their intention to kill you or they would have done so a long time ago. They did what they did to you for whatever reason and then left you there to be found, by me or whomever. You were in better shape when I found you than when you were taken from the hospital. So it wasn't some dream image of me that clued you in and brought you back to life, heroic as that may sound.... Because the fact is, nothing that I did was heroic. I couldn't do anything for you. Jesus, I couldn't even find you without help. In the past, I've always able to track down what was needed to help you. This time, I travelled to the other side of the world to look for answers that I couldn't even begin to understand. It got me nowhere. All I could do was stand aside and watch you die."
Mulder didn't know what to say. Was she upset because she couldn't save him or because she came so close to losing him? In an automatic gesture, he reached out to put his arm around her. Amazingly, she pulled away from him, surprising him even more.
"What's the matter?"
"You were wondering if there was another reason why I took off these past couple of days."
"And?"
"When I came over the other afternoon, I intended to be the one to offer support. You know, under the circumstances.... It basically turned out the other way around."
"And was that so bad? You hardly ever let me do that for you, Scully."
"I know. I know, but it wasn't about me and I didn't think it was fair for me to turn it into some big crisis about how lost I was in my beliefs. That's why I went away. It was clear that I needed time to figure out for myself what had happened, but I also wanted you to take some time, to process all this and to deal with it in whatever way you need to... But I didn't know all this was happening to you, or I wouldn't have left you alone."
"I'd only been home one night when you came over. Didn't figure the dreams would last this long." He shrugged in that familiar gesture of 'hey, I'm used to it.'
"I don't mean to brush aside what you think your dream means. I remember what you said years ago about dreams being akin to answers to questions that we haven't learned how to ask. But sometimes, Mulder, don't you think that dreams are just, well, dreams?"
"Of course. But when I keep having them like this and they don't really change, I can't help but think they're trying to tell me something."
Dana Scully gathered up all of her resources and asked.
"So what is it they're trying to tell you about me?"
Many thoughts and emotions seemed to cross his mind before he committed to an answer. And when he finally spoke, he seemed to use carefully chosen words.
"That you'll always be there for me... but not necessarily to save me, Scully, because that's not why I need you. Just that you'll always be there to help me find my way home."
What was it about the dead of night that made one's emotions so much sharper and more highly charged than at any other time? Swallowing down her urge to cry, Scully cleared her throat before asking her next question.
"And the rest of it?"
Mulder considered that if the Scully part of his dreams meant something, then the other parts had to mean something too. But it wasn't so easy to categorize the remainder of it. And he wasn't sure he wanted to verbalize it, even if he knew.
"I'm not sure. Maybe it has to do with choices made in life and how we have to live with them."
She was pretty sure that they both knew what it was that neither one of them wanted to discuss too deeply at this point in time. On the other hand, she really needed to let him know something.
"I'm really sorry about Agent Fowley, Mulder."
He turned to her in surprise, wondering what had prompted that comment. After a short beat, he decided to take it as merely something that she felt she had to say.
"I know that. So am I."
"Do you know if there's a service planned?"
"I called the Bureau to find out. Her family requested that her body be sent back home. Diana herself had left instructions on file not to have anything done in the event that..."
Mulder let the thought trail off and considered for a moment. Someday, he'd have to sit down and tell her the whole story. But not tonight. Especially not tonight. He was still hoping that he would know when the right moment came. He looked at her and wondered what she was thinking, what she wasn't asking. Apparently it wasn't the right time for her either.
"So no, no service."
* * * * *
Fox Mulder gasped and jerked awake, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. A quick glance to his left revealed the back of Scully's head against the pillow; she was thankfully unaware of his sudden movement. He turned back to stare up at the ceiling, trying to slow down his breathing.
Same dream. Same image of her gliding towards him in that black negligee. Same ritual of that consuming kiss of unrelenting hunger which would then be followed by feverish foreplay and a fierce, animalistic coupling, replete with moans, screams, and cries. Same primal sensations of wanting and needing release dominating his spirit. He didn't have to lift up the covers to know that his pathetic body had already begun to respond to this dream as it usually did. Fortunately this once, he had somehow managed to awaken in time to save himself from total embarrassment and humiliation. He squeezed his eyes shut against the shameful tears that threatened to add to his silent agony.
Strange that he had never awakened in the middle of that dream before. More significantly, he had done so in the middle of saying "I love you". That was another thing that was different this time - the words no longer rang true to him, in this most surreal of dreams. Maybe it was a sign that this would all end soon. Maybe it was a sign that he was losing his connection with this other life that had tempted him so.
Neither the Diana in his dreams nor the real Diana that he encountered in the hospital could profess her love for him enough times. With his newly acquired mental powers, he was able to determine that she actually meant it. That fact surprised him. The other truths that he was able to discern didn't surprise him, but the fact that she loved him did.
On the other hand, it had disturbed him beyond mere words and feelings how much Dana Scully couldn't bring herself to say those same words.
He was thankful that they never got around to discussing the other dream that he kept having about her. The one of her visit to the hospital upon her return from South Africa. When she had to convince the doctors to let her in to see him. His dream sequence would always begin well in advance of her actual visit. He'd be back in the rubber room, yelling. Convinced that he was dying. Discovering without humor that life's biggest joke on him was to demonstrate just how wrong he'd always been about what it felt like to die. The raging storms that assaulted his brain night and day terrified him beyond his screams. He would call for her, but she never came. Some minute part of him trusted that she was out there trying to find answers, but all he could focus on at the time was that she was gone.
And when she finally appeared by his bedside, he wanted desperately to hear the words from her that Diana had been saying to him. The words from Diana hadn't meant much to him, true though they might have been. He had been wanting to hear them from Scully. Believing that if there was truly nothing to be done for him, she wouldn't let him slip away into this darkest of nights without telling him that she loved him. In the end, he heard her think the words, but they didn't come out. That little bit of reality - since relived again and again - had left him with a persistent ache that couldn't be nullified even by her emotional display at his doorway three days ago.
He slid up quickly into a sitting position, holding his breath as he did so in that familiar childlike way of attempting to minimize the effect of his movement. He couldn't sleep here beside her knowing that he might repeat that scandalous dream again, with God knew what sort of results. It was back to the couch for him once more. As he flipped aside his covers, Scully stirred, turning over onto her back. Responding to a compelling urge that tugged from deep within him, he leaned down over her face and whispered, "I love you, Scully."
His words seemed to trigger some reaction in her, as she took a deep sighing breath. He made sure that she was asleep before easing himself out of the bed, taking his pillow with him.
Maybe it was enough that he said it.
* * * * *
Dana Scully had the sensation that someone was in the room with her. She opened her eyes and turned over, catching sight of her partner leaning against the window, looking outwards.
"Mulder...how long have you been standing there?"
"About ten minutes. I thought the smell of coffee would wake you," he said, pointing to a steaming mug on the nightstand.
Scully sat up, instinctively pulling the covers up to her chin. "Thank you. Did you sleep at all?" Sometime in the early morning, she had awakened briefly to discover that he had left the bed.
"Enough. Wanna take a drive out to the beach, Scully?"
"The beach?"
"Yeah. It's not the best weather, but it looks like it might still be an okay day. We can go for a walk in the sand."
It was somewhat of an odd request, but nothing that she would seriously object to, truth be told. It would give her a chance to stop associating the beach with horrific memories of South Africa, anyway. "Any reason why?"
"I'd like to tell you a story, Scully. About a little boy and his sandcastle spaceship."
He turned around and looked directly at her. Something in his expression had changed since last night. It was a good change; the darkness was gone. Instead, she saw and felt a comforting reconnection. One that immediately delivered an outpouring of warmth through to her very soul. It was that familiar sensation that she always thought had the power to strengthen and cripple her at the same time. Right now, it was confirmation that the walls on both sides were down again. Might things be back to normal between them?
She had to smile, in response to her own thoughts as well as to the unabashed emotion that gradually radiated across Mulder's beautiful face.
Normality. What a concept.
* END *
Updated Author Notes (2008-2010)
Ah, what the hell, I made the change in this edition to “West Africa” from “South Africa” – a little bugaboo on my part from not having paid greater attention to those season seven openers. (But then who can blame me? I can’t have been the only one to have been disappointed by the follow-ups to the season six finale.)
I recall this being a “prickly” experience for me in terms of writing the story and in terms of having watched the associated episodes. Scully bothered me; she really did. And my fear was that my growing dislike of her was going to damage the stories that I was still planning to write. In effect, I needed to create some scenarios in which Mulder could convince me that she was still worth my time.
So did I manage to do what I intended to do with this story? For the most part, I think so. By the time I got to the end, I felt better about what might have been troubling Scully, to the point of allowing Mulder, at least, to forgive her. Somewhere in the midst of creating this, I realized that I had to pursue the “boy and his spaceship” and the thought of how I might do that story calmed me down and brought about a nice conclusion to this one.
Due to the difficulties I had with getting this one in the can, so to speak, this is not a favourite of mine. Still, it stands up to a reading ten years later, and other than to correct the location on the African continent, I didn’t actually find very much that I wanted to change.
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