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 Continued in Dreamcatcher |
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The flight back from Farmington had been silent and uneventful. Beside her in the aisle seat, Walter Skinner had had little to say beyond the brief explanation he'd offered in front of the sheriff's office. Mulder had asked him for a ride to the airport, and the A.D. had seen no reason to refuse. Scully would have begged to differ, but there'd been no point. Mulder was already gone. And now, he was home. All the way back, she had told herself that she would give him the space he obviously needed. Leaning her head against the cool glass, she'd watched twinkling patches of civilization drift by in the darkness six miles below and promised herself that she wouldn't come here until he asked. But she knew he'd never ask. Not while he considered himself a liability. Or defective. Or whatever the hell else he'd talked himself into believing somewhere between Helen Minton's house and the sheriff's office. She might not be familiar with this new version of Mulder, but she knew the original pretty damned well. This was so like him that it made her want to bang her head on something. Or, better still, bang his head until she knocked some sense into it. His lights were off, but the flickering blue glow from the television gave him away. Knowing he was home safely, she had no earthly excuse to sit out here watching his windows. He needed time to work through it all. And so did she. She would call him from work tomorrow. There was a case report to type, and a discussion she planned to have with their boss. Tomorrow would be better. That decision held nearly as long as it took her to open the car door. By the time she reached his apartment, she had stopped pretending that any other course of action had ever been possible. The door swung open under her knock and Mulder stepped back to let her in. "I wondered how long you were going to sit out there." She moved past him into the living room before she answered. "Are you all right? I was worried." He closed the door and then leaned back against it, arms folded over his chest. "That's what I've been trying to decide." He pushed off and walked past her to the desk. It was his computer that was on, not the television. "Did you know that I kept a journal?" "No, I didn't." And frankly, the implications scared the hell out of her. He tapped a few keys. "Not a journal, exactly. More along the lines of personalized case notes." He leaned back to let her see the screen. "I'm up to 1998." Scully leaned closer and looked where he was pointing. The date was August 17th, a few weeks after they'd come back from Antarctica. Five years into their partnership. After Diana Fowley slithered into their lives. Before his mother's death. Before... She moved to the couch and sat down. "Does any of it seem familiar?" It was the most neutral thing she could think of to say. "I've gotten some... impressions," his voice was as careful as hers, "but no, I don't remember any of this happening." "Impressions about what?" "First, tell me why you came here tonight." He was studying her face the way he sometimes did. It always made her wonder if he might be reading her mind. Or trying not to. "Mulder, you left without a word. I was afraid something happened to you." "Something did." "I meant something new." He was making her absurdly nervous. "Mulder, taking off like that was incredibly foolish. There are some very dangerous people out there and you aren't able to recognize them." "But they don't know that." She bit back an exasperated sigh. "Tell me why you left." "I left because there was no point in staying. The answers I'm looking for aren't in Farmington, New Mexico. They're here." He tapped the desk next to the keyboard with two fingers. "And they're in the office, if the FBI will let me back in the building. The journal talks about case files that I gather are in paper form. I want to read them. Ironically enough, I've discovered that I do seem to have a photographic memory." His half-smile pleaded for a response, and she answered with the best she could muster. "If all you want to do is read files, Mulder, I'm sure they'll let you back into the building. It's working the files that's always been the problem." "We'll cross that bridge when we reach it." He turned back to the computer and shut off the monitor, then stared at the blank screen for a moment before he looked over at her. "I wanted to ask you something, but now I'm not sure how to put it." "I've never known you to be shy, Mulder. Just say it." "But that's just it. You don't know me at all. Not now. And I don't know you. I'm beginning to realize how... difficult that must be for you." His voice had dropped into the velvety register he reserved for their most intimate discussions, and his eyes were soft with something uncomfortably close to pity. I've gotten some impressions. It was apparently a very personalized journal. Her cheeks flushed, but she regarded him levelly. "You don't have to worry about my feelings, Mulder. I'm fine." His chuckle surprised her. "Do you have any idea how much he hated those words?" At her blank look, he tipped his head at the computer. "It's the only time he used exclamation points." Hearing him refer to himself in the third person was downright eerie. "You, Mulder. You hated the words, but that doesn't make them any less true. I said you don't have to worry about me, and I meant it." Suddenly, all she wanted was to get back to her apartment where she could lick her wounds in private. Getting quickly to her feet, she pasted on a convincingly neutral expression. "I'll see you at the office in the morning, unless you need me to pick you up." He shook his head. "I can find my way." But when she took a step toward the door, he snagged her wrist in a gentle grip. "Scully, wait." His touch felt like warm silk. "We'll talk tomorrow, if you want. Right now, I need to get home to bed." He dropped his hand at the first tug of resistance, the pity in his eyes unmistakable now. "I'll see you in the morning." He let her go this time, not even getting up to walk with her to the door. For that, she was grateful. She drove home through deserted streets, virtually on auto pilot. Her empty apartment's utter normalcy mocked her. A hot shower did nothing to ease the chill that had settled into her bones. When she finally crawled into bed, it was after four in the morning. But her racing thoughts would not allow her to rest. She had been prepared for the possibility that he might never remember their relationship. It wouldn't have been so different from the way they'd been with each other for the first six years, after all. Hiding her emotions from him had once been a way of life. She was confident that she could do it again, for as long as it took. One day, even if his memory never returned, he would love her. It was as inevitable as the sunrise. They were destined to be together. She still believed that. What made the situation unbearable now was that he knew. He knew that she loved him, but he felt nothing in return. She could have lived with almost anything but that. Almost anything but the cautious care she would now see in his every action. Mulder's innate kindness would make it just as unbearable for him. The irony of Fox Mulder, paranoiac extraordinaire, keeping a written record of their relationship had blindsided her completely. And he hadn't even reached the point where they had become lovers. Had she really been that transparent, even then? The thought that he might have been giving her all those tender looks out of sympathy rather than affection made her face burn with shame. At least now she would have no doubts now about the source. There was something to be said for certainty. When the alarm cut into her misery at 6 am, she dragged herself out of bed and into the shower. She reached the basement office an hour and twenty minutes later, still with no idea what she would say to him. It was early, even for Mulder, so she wasn't surprised to find the office dark and empty. Her first task would be to finish the case report. When Mulder arrived, she wanted to have it ready for his signature. It would give them something neutral to discuss until the initial awkwardness eased enough for her to think clearly. She had made nothing but bad choices for the past week, and the decision she was about to make was infinitely more important. When the phone rang a moment later, she nearly knocked the receiver to the floor reaching for it. It was Skinner, and he wanted to see her in his office as soon as it was convenient. That meant now. She half-expected Mulder to be sitting in his customary seat in front of Skinner's desk, though she suspected this meeting was about him. "Sit down, Agent Scully." Her pulse spiked at the kindness in his voice. It was totally at odds with his formal bearing. "Will Agent Mulder be joining us?" "No, I spoke with him earlier this morning. That's why I wanted to see you." His tone had a ring of finality that sent her nerves over the edge. "Sir, Agent Mulder isn't himself. I think you know that as well as I do. If he's made any decisions that might affect his job, I think you owe it to him to--" He held up a hand, halting her in mid sentence. "I'm aware of Agent Mulder's limitations. So is he. That's what he wanted to see me about in Farmington. It's why I didn't try to stop him from leaving then. It's also why I wouldn't have tried to stop him now." The emphasis on "wouldn't have" was clear. "Then, he didn't resign?" "Quite the opposite. He asked me to help him remain on active duty. With you." "But I thought..." It was no doubt obvious what she had thought. "He was concerned that you might have some reservations you wouldn't feel comfortable expressing if he were present. I have some serious concerns of my own that I'd like to discuss with you, beginning with his prognosis. Mulder tells me it's very unlikely that his memory will return soon. Is that your assessment as well?" "His doctor felt that familiar surroundings might help trigger his recovery, but he didn't offer any estimates on how long that might take." Skinner removed his glasses, a sure signal that the gloves were about to come off, too. "I didn't ask for the official opinion. I want to know what you think." No, you don't. Aloud, she said, "Agent Mulder's condition is unexplained. Given the lack of empirical data, I--" "Scully," he cut in, "tell me what you think." It took the bluster out of her voice. "I need to talk with him, Sir. There are other issues that I don't think I can assess without his input." He studied her for a long moment, looking very much as if he were censoring a number of his own questions. When he spoke, his voice had regained its professional smoothness. "I think you're aware that keeping Agent Mulder on active duty would involve a certain amount of... subterfuge on both our parts. If his amnesia were exposed, we would both be in a great deal of trouble. I won't consider it unless I'm convinced he poses no danger to himself or to anyone else. I wouldn't consider it at all if we were talking about anyone but Agent Mulder. You understand what I'm saying?" "Yes, sir." "I'd like to resolve this right away. Would Monday morning be possible?" He picked up a pen and poised it over his open appointment book as if they were discussing a luncheon engagement. "I... yes, I think that will be fine." She stood up, her head already spinning with questions. When she reached the door, she turned back to ask the most immediate one. "Sir, where is Agent Mulder?" "He said if I needed to reach him, he would be at his father's home on the Vineyard for the weekend. Do you have the address?" "How did he..." she began, then realized that Mulder's journal must have included a lengthy reference to his father's death. It would be just like him to seek out such a traumatic locale to work through this. "Yes, sir. I have the address. I'll go out there this afternoon after I finish up the case report." "The case report can wait. This can't." "Yes, sir." "I'll see you Monday morning." He picked up the telephone and punched in a number. She was dismissed. It didn't occur to her until much later that an Assistant Director of the F.B.I. had all but ordered her to spend the weekend with her partner. She didn't hesitate over how to pack. There was no question that she'd have to stay at least overnight. It was far too long a trip to do otherwise. The house was large, and she was reasonably certain that Mulder had never disposed of the contents. She would have a place to sleep, no matter how their discussion turned out. There was a United Airlines flight leaving Dulles at noon that would get her into the Vineyard by 3pm. The nine hour drive was completely out of the question, though she would have liked having her car available. The sky had turned dark and threatening by the time she boarded the plane. When she landed at the small island airport, it was raining buckets. The air was surprisingly cool, and she felt chilled to the bone by the time she got a taxi. Mulder was sitting on the enormous front porch when she pulled up in front of the house. Her heart rate climbed another few notches as she climbed the wide front step. He looked pleased to see her, but he could have been smirking at the suitcase in her hand, for all she knew. She stood there shaking the rain from her hair. "Nice weather you're having." Mulder hauled himself out of the low wooden chair and picked up her suitcase. "If you came here to sunbathe, I think you're out of luck." He leaned around her and opened the front door. "I didn't." He paused in the doorway and gave her a long look. "I know." It wasn't much warmer inside the house. There were shapes where furniture should be, but everything was covered with drop cloths. The drapes were all closed. Mulder moved through the vestibule, down the hall toward the kitchen. "I didn't buy much in the way of food," he called back to her, "but I've got coffee." He was pouring her a cup when she caught up to him. She accepted it gratefully and wrapped both hands around the thick mug, absorbing the heat into her icy fingers. He had set her suitcase on the floor next to the tiled center island where he'd obviously been working. "I didn't know you had a laptop." "I don't. Frohike brought it over this morning and downloaded all the files from my desktop. I thought I'd catch up on some reading." He leaned back against the long counter, sipping from his own mug. "I guess Skinner told you we talked. I didn't know if you'd come." He suddenly sounded as nervous as she was, and it almost made her smile. "I wasn't sure myself." He nodded, looking down at his feet for a moment before he met her eyes again. "I want you to know that I realize how much I'm asking of you. From what I've read, working with me has never been a picnic." She chuckled, surprising both of them. "Mulder, you do have a gift for understatement." "I'm serious, Scully." His tone sobered her instantly. "I know that, Mulder. I'm just not sure you realize what you're asking of yourself. You could have an entirely new life. You have a lot of options aside from the basement of the Hoover building. We talked about that." "And I said that I wanted my old life back, not a new one. Even before I knew what I'd be giving up." Panic bloomed in her chest. "Mulder, you need to think before you read any more. How will you know what's memory and what' s just your mind expanding on the journal entries?" He put down his mug and walked to the laptop. "I read some more last night after you left." He turned the computer so she could see the screen. Scully read far enough to see the date: January 2, 2000. The day after their first night together. There was no shred of her dignity left now. It must have showed in her face, because Mulder's eyes filled with shared pain. "If we're going to work together, we have to get past this," he told her much too gently. "Do you want to do that?" She couldn't tell whether he was asking if she wanted to 'work together' or 'get past this'. It didn't matter. She didn't think she could do either at this point. "I didn't know it was going to be so hard." She couldn't put enough breath behind the words to be sure that he heard. He heard. "Scully, I wish I could explain how this feels. I can't imagine what it's like for you." He looked as if he were about to put his arm around her, and she stepped back. "I can't do this." She fled, making it halfway down the hall, before he caught up to her. She spun on him, both hands held high in defense... not surrender. Never that. "I thought I was stronger than this. I really did." Hysterical laughter bubbled in her chest and she bit her tongue until she tasted blood. "I guess it's just one more thing I was wrong about." "Come back and talk to me. Please." He held out his hand to her but kept his distance. God, this wasn't the way she'd intended to behave. Where the hell was that icy calm she had spent a lifetime hiding behind? But she knew. She had left it in a pile of clothing on Mulder's bedroom floor one New Year's night three years in the past. She had always known that giving in to her consuming need for this man would one day be her downfall. Well, here it was. Doomsday. She forced her voice to steady. "I will tell the Assistant Director that you're capable of working. That's all he wants to know." "Then you didn't listen to him, if that's what you think. The only way he'll let me work is if you work with me." She lowered her hands and stared at him. "Mulder, how can you possibly want to go back? You've seen what your life was like. You have a chance that most men would sell their souls for. You have your mind, your intelligence, but none of the pain. You can walk away from it all without a moment of guilt or regret. Why would you not want this chance? Tell me so I can understand." "The work is important. You told me that. Helen Minton has proof of the aliens you and I have fought against for years, even before you believed." His voice softened. "Even though I don't believe it now, if there's any chance that it's true, I want to do something about it." She gaped at him. "Mulder, we were tilting at windmills for seven years. Helen Minton just proves it. If she's delusional, we don't have to worry. If she's right, there are forces much stronger than we could ever be already aligned against colonization. The work isn't a good enough reason. Not anymore. Tell me why you want to keep trying." His posture sagged everywhere hers had stiffened, and his voice fell to a whisper. "Because I read what he felt... what I felt... for you. I can't imagine anyone deliberately giving that up. You said most men would sell their souls for another chance? Well, I think any man alive would sell his soul for what I had." He studied her eyes. "It's still there, and I'm not going anywhere as long as you feel this way. Not because I feel sorry for you, Scully, but because I want that feeling back. I want it back." And at that moment, she could see the familiar intensity in his gaze. The longing. The hunger. There was no possible way to keep from touching him. When she moved toward him, he reacted like a drowning man. His arms folded around her, pulling her against his chest. His heart slammed beneath her ear, his breath warm and soft in her hair. She snaked her arms beneath his jacket, encircling his waist, and lost herself in the pure scent of him. * * * End (10/10)
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