Phoebe found him in the emergency ward at Saint George's Episcopal Hospital. He sat on the gurney in one of the examination bays, the picture of calm in an otherwise stormy environment. Doctors rushed to and fro caring for the injured from the blast. It was like something out of a disaster movie, but it wasn't. This was real.
Phoebe hated this. She hated this part of her job, bearing bad news to people. She hated it now, having to bear bad news to Mulder and, if possible, help him to shoulder the burden.
Mulder turned to face her when she entered the examination bay. He had a butterfly bandage above his right eye to close the gash in his forehead, and a thin layer of Nu-Skin on the brush burns that covered his face. His shirt was ripped and smudged, his forearms scraped from when he hit the ground. He had been through so much, but remained undaunted. Phoebe could see that the second he opened his mouth.
"Good, Phoebe; I'm glad you're here. I want you to fill me in on the investigation - I've got several theories on Scully and her disappearance..."
"Mulder," Phoebe began, but he didn't hear her, or refused to hear her, making it all the more difficult to say what had to be said. "It's obvious that Scully was being held by Krycek - probably at gunpoint - at another location." Mulder continued. "They were so clever; they thought they were so clever by setting up a decoy - that's all it was, Phoebe. The car was a decoy. The people in it may have looked like Scully and Krycek..."
Krycek. The mention of his name made Phoebe wince. She knew this man, the man who prevented her from helping Mulder and Scully in the first place.
And now he was dead, and Mulder's wife along with him.
"Mulder, I have to tell you something," Phoebe began, but Mulder cut her off. "Don't say it, Phoebe," he began, but she would not be deterred.
"Mulder, Scully is..."
"Don't say it; don't say it; don't say it, Phoebe because it is NOT true! We do not know that it is true, Phoebe..."
"MULDER YOUR WIFE IS DEAD!" Phoebe's voice rose over Mulder's protests, but Mulder angrily shouted back.
"NO! Not Dead! My wife is NOT dead! I would know it. I would know it in here," Mulder insisted, pointing at his heart. "And what's in here tells me that she is NOT dead and that she IS alive, and nothing you can say or do will change that!"
Phoebe stood silently before Mulder, hesitating before she spoke. She reached into the pocket of her jacket, and pulled out an evidence bag. "One of my investigators found this about a mile from the crash site. I think.... I think you should take a look at this."
Mulder paused before he took the evidence from Phoebe. He hesitated a moment, then reached inside the plastic bag. He pulled out Scully's identification wallet, the one that held her badge and credentials. The front cover was ripped from the blast, but the ID badge inside somehow remained intact. He remembered the picture well, taken days after they had re-opened the X-Files in order to search for their daughter. She wasn't crazy about the picture, but he was.
"It's the most beautiful photo of you yet, Scully," he had said.
As he held the ID wallet in his hand, he noticed there was a gap, as though something had been slipped behind the photo. He reached in, and pulled out the object.
It was Scully's wedding band. He looked inside for the inscription. "You are my constant, my touchstone," it said. It was engraved with that inscription to compliment the one in his wedding band...
"....And you are mine."
"I'm sorry, Mulder," Phoebe said quietly. "There was no way anybody could have survived that crash. You were there, Mulder, you saw it. I will do my level best to find out who's behind this, Mulder. I've got my best personnel working on this case..."
"Where's Scully's cross?" Mulder asked quietly. "Did you find her cross?" "I'm afraid we haven't yet, Mulder." Phoebe replied. "And, judging by what I remember of it, it was so delicate and so fragile that it most likely melted in the blast.."
Mulder sat looking at his late wife's effects, fingering her wedding band and turning it over and over in his hand. He suddenly looked up and directly at Phoebe. "Meena; where's Meena?"
"The young woman from Harrods's ? It's alright, Mulder - she's here."
"I'd like to see her," Mulder began. "I don't think..." Phoebe replied, but Mulder stopped her. "Don't fight me on this, Phoebe," he said.
Phoebe paused before she spoke, looking at the man in front of her. And she relented.
"Her attending physician was a friend of my late husband's," Phoebe finally said. "I'll see what I can do."
After about twenty minutes, Phoebe came back for Mulder. "I'm going to take you to her room," she said.
"Thank you, but if you don't mind, I'd rather do this alone."
"Alright, Mulder. As you wish," Phoebe said quietly. "She's in the intensive care ward, room 1013. Down the hall, and to your left."
It was the longest walk Mulder ever had to make.
He reached Meena's room in intensive care, standing just outside. He peered at her through the glass, seeing the machines and monitors hooked up to his baby girl. She looked so fragile, so helpless, so alone.
"Mister Mulder?"
Mulder turned around to face the attending physician on Meena's case. "Mister Mulder, I'm Dr. Fairchild; I'm the attending physician. Chief Inspector Montague said that you were a part of this investigation, and that I was to give you complete and total access. Please rest assured that I will. Is there anything I can answer for you?"
"How is she?" Mulder asked quietly.
"Well, she has a mild concussion, but that's not the thing that concerns me the most." Mulder looked at Dr. Fairchild, pressing him by his gaze for an answer.
"The young lady is in a catatonic state," he replied. "She is completely unresponsive. And at this point, I can't tell whether her catatonia is reversible or not. There is a distinct possibility, given with the trauma of witnessing the car crash and resulting explosion, that her catatonic state may not be reversible. I just don't know."
"Only time will tell, Mister Mulder."
Mulder walked into the room, sliding the glass door shut behind him. The door provided an instant buffer between them and the outside ward, shutting out all outside noise. The only noises that enveloped them now was the whirring hum and beeps of the monitors and the machines, and the loud thumping in Mulder's chest.
Her stare was fixed and unmoveable; her limp limbs flanked her body on either side. She was entirely motionless, save for the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed in... and out. Mulder could see the bruises on her face, the cuts and scrapes on her arms. He wondered if she was in pain, wondered, but until he could reach her, if he could reach her, he would never know.
And that fact was slowly killing him inside.
He walked over to her bedside, picking up the patient PDA that sat on the night stand. He stared blankly at it. He couldn't read it, not really. Not the way Scully would be able to read and analyze the data that flashed on its screen. He was, however, able to understand six words in his daughter's chart.
"Status: Serious and in Critical Condition."
Mulder had read enough.
He pulled the chair that was next to Meena's nightstand next to her bed, and sat down. He smoothed a hair out of his daughter's face, hoping that this guesture, however small, would trigger a response. It didn't. He carefully reached for her hand and brought it to his face, cupping it against his cheek. He brought it away and kissed the back of it, as if by the touch of his lips he could ease the discomfort of the IV and of their souls. Mulder brought Meena's hand back down to the bed and rested it in his hand, cradling it and stroking it with his other free hand.
"Meena," he said softly. "I'm afraid that what I'm about to say isn't intirely altruistic. It's..... It's actually quite selfish really. And I see now that my selfishness, my own single-mindedness, my constant windmill-tilting has harmed those that I love. Has taken away those that are most dear to me. But why should I change now, right?"
Meena remained unresponsive; her breathing, slow and steady, sang in macabre symphony with the mechanical sounds in the room.
"Meena...." Mulder continued, his voice thick with sorrow and on the verge of tears. "Sweetie, you have to get well. You have to come back. You see.... Sweetheart, you're all that I have left now; all that I have left of your mother." Despite his best efforts, the tears began to fall silently down his face. "You are her legacy, Meena. You are the love she had for you, the desire she had for you and your happiness, manifest in your smile, your courage, your bravery, your existence.... You are my reminder that I was once loved by a very, very special woman."
"Sweetheart, I know that you'll come back. Please. I need to know I have another chance."
Mulder sat silently at his daughter's bedside and held her hand as the tears continued to flow.
*******************************************************************************
The last thing Meena remembered was the brilliant, blinding light; before that, she remembered seeing her mother's face. She didn't remember much else after that.
She found herself in a bright room, a white room, devoid of sound and substance. It was as though she were floating in a white void, white space. She didn't know where she was, or who she was really, for that matter....
"Hello."
All of a sudden, she faced a young girl. She couldn't have been more than sixteen. She was dressed in a white ballgown and wore white gloves like a fairy princess. "I've seen her before," she thought, "but where?"
"Hello," the young girl said again. "Hello," Meena replied. "Do I know you?"
"I am you," the girl replied. "We've known each other for a long time - we've just lost each other for a while, that's all."
Meena looked around the vast void, trying to place where she was. "Am I... Am I dead?" Meena asked. The young girl shook her head. "No, just in a safe place. Until you can find your way back."
"Back where?" Meena asked.
"Home," the young girl replied. "I've been waiting here to show you the way back home. And so have all these people."
Meena looked around the void, which was suddenly filled with people. Some she recognized, some she did not. "Don't worry, Meena," the young girl said, "You know who these people are, you just need to find them again, and you will. I'll help you."
Suddenly, Meena felt an overwhelming sense of calm. The scene didn't frighten her as it had before. And the headaches.... The headaches were gone.
Meena could look through this time, this space, and see the outside world. It was as though she were having an out-of-body experience, watching herself from afar. She saw a woman who looked just like her in a bed; a man with a boyish face in spite of his gray hair holding her hand, stroking it.
"Is that me?" she thought. The young girl answered her question. "Yes, Meena. If you want to know what happen, you can. When you're ready."
Meena and her younger self looked at the scene. "He looks so sad," Meena said. "Because he loves you so much," the young girl replied. "I wish I knew who he was," Meena said. "I know I should, but..."
"You will in time," the young girl said. "When you're ready."
Meena reached out her hand, as if she could touch what was in front of her.
*****************************************************************************
"Mister Mulder..."
Dr. Fairchild had opened the glass door, and stuck his head inside. Mulder didn't want to leave, but he knew he had no choice. He leaned over, kissed his daughter tenderly on the forehead, and left.
Mulder and Dr. Fairchild went outside into the hallway to discuss Meena's case. When Mulder left, Meena closed her hand, as though she were trying to grasp something.
After a moment, she opened it again.
******************************************************************************
Mulder's day had been cursed with a multitude of misery, and he knew the worse wasn't over. He left intensive care and trod the hall with heavy footsteps until he came across Phoebe. He asked her his question and she nodded. She led him down the hallway to an office, and took him inside. It was sparse, almost spartan, with only a desk, a chair and a phone. Phoebe left him, shutting the door behind her.
Mulder stared at the phone for what seemed to be an eternity. He picked it up several times, but let it fall back in the cradle. He didn't want to make this call, but the day's events forced him into it. Mulder looked at his watch. Three p.m. He knew it would be nine in the morning there.
He realized he couldn't remember the phone number as he placed the receiver to his ear. Just before the line went dead, he dialed. "International operator, may I help you?" the voice said.
"Bill Scully, Jr., please. Arlington, Virginia - USA," Mulder answered.
Bill's son, Matthew, answered the phone. Mulder had forgotten that Matt would stop by his dad's house sometimes on the way to work for a quick cup of coffee. Mulder had always thought Matt was a good son and that they had a good relationship, even if his father was a bit too hard with him. Matt was an easy person to speak to, and Mulder was secretely glad he answered the phone.
"Matt, it's your uncle, Fox Mulder. Is your dad in?"
Matt could tell something was wrong by the tone of Mulder's voice. As he was on the phone with his uncle, his father was watching the news bulletin that had interrupted his morning talk show.
"London's trendy Notting Hill was rocked by an explosion that killed four, and injured at least a half a dozen people a few hours ago. Sources say that at least two Americans were killed in the blast, caused when a car drove head on into a brick building...."
When Matt handed Bill the phone, he knew something was wrong. The moment he heard Mulder's voice, he began to scream. He errupted like Mount Vesuvious, curses and vitriol spewing like hot, molten lava on Mulder's tortured soul. Mulder said nothing throughout Bill's tirade of verbal abuse. Bill's final words to Mulder were, "my one fervent wish is that it had been you in that car; my one fervent wish is that you were dead instead of my sister!" Mulder finally spoke, saying the only words he spoke during the whole conversation.
"I wish it had been me too, Bill. I wish to God it had been me."