"Call me Ishmael," I read aloud.
Scully didn't stir, as I had anticipated, so I continued to read.
"Some years ago-never mind how long precisely-having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world."
I glanced up from the pages of Moby Dick to linger on the image of my sleeping partner. I silently closed the book, the distinguished scent of aged paper wafting through the air. It was quickly replaced by the smell of a hospital, metallic and medical, with a twist of bleach.
It was Tuesday morning and the sky was expressing its lament. Not pouring or drizzling, but a steady fall that had lasted most of the night. The room was silent aside from the patter of the gentle shower on the windowsill.
I stood and watched her sleep, one hand in the pocket of the same jeans, which I hadn't changed for days and the other grasping the closed novel. Its threadbare cover had faded to a shade of pale green, its feeble binding barely securing its yellowed pages. The tattered volume radiated childhood memories with the turn of each leaf, and somehow I could envision Starbuck cuddled in the lap of her Ahab, the glow of a winter's fire pervading the living room, simply from holding it.
I suppose that my ultimate intention was to bring Scully home to this place, home to the days of her innocent youth, while she slept. When nothing else mattered but finishing homework in time for The Brady Bunch, and there was nothing to fear late at night beyond the fantastic tales of her older brother's imagination.
I laid the book upon her bedside table. Seating myself in the chair, I once again became immersed in the gentle rhythm of her breathing. Each exhalation fluttered a lock of crimson hair away from the smooth curves of her cheek and back again. Scully's eyelids seemed to dance as she dreamed, sporadically trembling in the slightest.
Please be dreaming of someplace far, far away from here.
I leaned forward, the chair faintly protesting, and delicately brushed the stray wisp away from her face. I lingered for a moment, breathing silently as not to awaken her.
Hey, Scully. Everything's fine now. There's nothing to be afraid of. You're safe, we're both safe, so you can wake up. I'm right here, Scully.
I returned to the chair, resting my elbows on my knees and massaging my temples with my fingertips. The motions required energy, something of which I significantly lacked at the moment. My body cried and pleaded for sleep as my physical exhaustion combined with my mental fatigue. Somehow I knew, though, that I could never allow myself to sleep until Scully awoke.
Scully rarely lets me down.
The sheets before me rustled slightly, indicating a movement from within. I instantly lifted my gaze to observe my partner's eyes feebly flutter open and blink. I met her weary gaze with a smile.
Her pale lips parted in a tiny yawn before smiling in return.
Something inside me melted, beginning deep within my chest and spreading to the tips of my fingers and toes. My heart refused to beat, a brief cessation ensued by a rapid thudding as it quickly picked up pace. I realized I had been holding my breath and slowly released it as Scully wanly whispered,
"I had you bigtime, Mulder."
~**~
As the elevator doors parted before me with a quiet chime, the silence of the elevator was invaded by the cacophony of the second floor of the hospital. Not a single glance was passed my way as I stepped out into the busy hallway, narrowly avoiding the path of a stretcher being rushed past me through the open doors. I slipped one of the steaming paper cups I was holding into my overcoat as I maneuvered my way to the third door on the left.
Slightly pushing aside the curtain, I glanced through the window.
Scully was sitting up in bed, her head turned in the direction of the window opposite the door.
Not bothering to knock in an attempt to remain unnoticed by the doctor swiftly approaching, I cracked the door and slipped into the room, turning to click it softly behind me.
"Mulder, I'd complain about the fact that you're not carrying any flowers, but caffeine withdrawal is hell."
I smiled and turned to face her. Her eyebrow was raised, her shoulders were back, but I felt a sting as I noticed the way she was slightly hunched to the left, favoring the bandage I knew lay beneath her gown.
"I assumed as much," I said, crossing the room to hand her the cup of coffee beneath my coat. She closed her eyes and savored the aroma for a moment before sipping it and sighing. Her shoulders sank, her face relaxed, and she whispered,
"Now I can die a happy woman."
She smiled and opened her eyes, meeting mine as I sipped my own cup.
"You're easy to please, Scully," I replied. We remained silent for a moment, and I turned to remove my jacket and pull a chair beside her bed, lowering myself into it and relaxing against the back.
She nodded and allowed her gaze to wander in the direction of the window. The glow of the overhead lights cast a pallid shadow on her face and cheeks, now so shrunken and faint. I couldn't tear my eyes from protrusion of her jawbone and contrast of her pale skin against the sky blue hospital gown loosely draped across her shoulders.
She kept her countenance strong, her demeanor resilient, but she couldn't hide the effects of her substantial blood loss and resultant physical decline and weakness. Were I to mention anything, though, her harsh glare and pert "Mulder, I can take care of myself" would only drive her farther away.
She already seemed so distant.
"I thought I was stronger than this, Mulder," she said, her eyes remaining fixed upon the splash of the raindrops on the windowsill. She seemed to have lost interest in the steaming coffee she continued to clutch.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, awaiting clarification.
"Mulder, I've always relied upon the strength of my beliefs, drawn upon my faith as a source of comfort, a constant in this dynamic life I've chosen," she began, her eyes focused on the whitewashed sheets below her. She fingered the hem of the covers, toying with a loose thread.
"My faith in you, in myself, and in God."
I swallowed silently.
"And you've kept that faith, Scully. More assiduously than could have possibly been expected, considering your experiences."
She absently reached for the base of her neck, fingering the tiny cross that lay upon the pastel skin. Pausing for a moment, she turned in my direction and locked her gaze with mine.
"Mulder, while I was lying on that floor, watching my blood spread across the tiles, and you were speaking to me...you were talking...Mulder, I was facing death, staring it straight in the eye, and...I was terrified."
She regained her composure, suppressing the tears threatening to fall upon her cheeks.
"I thought I was stronger than this, Mulder. I've faced death before.
Mulder, I can't even remember if I was thinking about God."
I let her continue, her voice progressively rising.
"Suppose I hadn't survived, Mulder. Suppose my life had slipped away as easily as the blood from this wound, and the last thing God heard before my soul left this earth was,
I don't want to die.
Damn it, Mulder, what kind of faith is that?"
I didn't speak but let the tears already beginning to drop trickle down her cheeks. She inhaled sharply and turned away, whispering,
"What kind of faith is that?"
The rain continued to fall upon the window. The wind from the impending storm gently shook the pane, scattering the drops in various directions. I remained silent for a moment before standing and approaching the bed to touch her fingers, raising them gently from the sheet. Not allowing my eyes to wander from them, I murmured,
"To me, it's the strongest kind of faith. The kind of faith unwillingly to yield."
She didn't turn.
I let her fingers fall back upon the sheets.
Padding softly across the floor, I pulled my coat from the chair and headed for the door. Grasping the handle, I turned to meet her watery gaze for a moment. Her eyes were blue that day.
I opened the door silently and left her room, draping the coat across my shoulders to fight the quiet rain.
END Ch. 3
Scully didn't stir, as I had anticipated, so I continued to read.
"Some years ago-never mind how long precisely-having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world."
I glanced up from the pages of Moby Dick to linger on the image of my sleeping partner. I silently closed the book, the distinguished scent of aged paper wafting through the air. It was quickly replaced by the smell of a hospital, metallic and medical, with a twist of bleach.
It was Tuesday morning and the sky was expressing its lament. Not pouring or drizzling, but a steady fall that had lasted most of the night. The room was silent aside from the patter of the gentle shower on the windowsill.
I stood and watched her sleep, one hand in the pocket of the same jeans, which I hadn't changed for days and the other grasping the closed novel. Its threadbare cover had faded to a shade of pale green, its feeble binding barely securing its yellowed pages. The tattered volume radiated childhood memories with the turn of each leaf, and somehow I could envision Starbuck cuddled in the lap of her Ahab, the glow of a winter's fire pervading the living room, simply from holding it.
I suppose that my ultimate intention was to bring Scully home to this place, home to the days of her innocent youth, while she slept. When nothing else mattered but finishing homework in time for The Brady Bunch, and there was nothing to fear late at night beyond the fantastic tales of her older brother's imagination.
I laid the book upon her bedside table. Seating myself in the chair, I once again became immersed in the gentle rhythm of her breathing. Each exhalation fluttered a lock of crimson hair away from the smooth curves of her cheek and back again. Scully's eyelids seemed to dance as she dreamed, sporadically trembling in the slightest.
Please be dreaming of someplace far, far away from here.
I leaned forward, the chair faintly protesting, and delicately brushed the stray wisp away from her face. I lingered for a moment, breathing silently as not to awaken her.
Hey, Scully. Everything's fine now. There's nothing to be afraid of. You're safe, we're both safe, so you can wake up. I'm right here, Scully.
I returned to the chair, resting my elbows on my knees and massaging my temples with my fingertips. The motions required energy, something of which I significantly lacked at the moment. My body cried and pleaded for sleep as my physical exhaustion combined with my mental fatigue. Somehow I knew, though, that I could never allow myself to sleep until Scully awoke.
Scully rarely lets me down.
The sheets before me rustled slightly, indicating a movement from within. I instantly lifted my gaze to observe my partner's eyes feebly flutter open and blink. I met her weary gaze with a smile.
Her pale lips parted in a tiny yawn before smiling in return.
Something inside me melted, beginning deep within my chest and spreading to the tips of my fingers and toes. My heart refused to beat, a brief cessation ensued by a rapid thudding as it quickly picked up pace. I realized I had been holding my breath and slowly released it as Scully wanly whispered,
"I had you bigtime, Mulder."
~**~
As the elevator doors parted before me with a quiet chime, the silence of the elevator was invaded by the cacophony of the second floor of the hospital. Not a single glance was passed my way as I stepped out into the busy hallway, narrowly avoiding the path of a stretcher being rushed past me through the open doors. I slipped one of the steaming paper cups I was holding into my overcoat as I maneuvered my way to the third door on the left.
Slightly pushing aside the curtain, I glanced through the window.
Scully was sitting up in bed, her head turned in the direction of the window opposite the door.
Not bothering to knock in an attempt to remain unnoticed by the doctor swiftly approaching, I cracked the door and slipped into the room, turning to click it softly behind me.
"Mulder, I'd complain about the fact that you're not carrying any flowers, but caffeine withdrawal is hell."
I smiled and turned to face her. Her eyebrow was raised, her shoulders were back, but I felt a sting as I noticed the way she was slightly hunched to the left, favoring the bandage I knew lay beneath her gown.
"I assumed as much," I said, crossing the room to hand her the cup of coffee beneath my coat. She closed her eyes and savored the aroma for a moment before sipping it and sighing. Her shoulders sank, her face relaxed, and she whispered,
"Now I can die a happy woman."
She smiled and opened her eyes, meeting mine as I sipped my own cup.
"You're easy to please, Scully," I replied. We remained silent for a moment, and I turned to remove my jacket and pull a chair beside her bed, lowering myself into it and relaxing against the back.
She nodded and allowed her gaze to wander in the direction of the window. The glow of the overhead lights cast a pallid shadow on her face and cheeks, now so shrunken and faint. I couldn't tear my eyes from protrusion of her jawbone and contrast of her pale skin against the sky blue hospital gown loosely draped across her shoulders.
She kept her countenance strong, her demeanor resilient, but she couldn't hide the effects of her substantial blood loss and resultant physical decline and weakness. Were I to mention anything, though, her harsh glare and pert "Mulder, I can take care of myself" would only drive her farther away.
She already seemed so distant.
"I thought I was stronger than this, Mulder," she said, her eyes remaining fixed upon the splash of the raindrops on the windowsill. She seemed to have lost interest in the steaming coffee she continued to clutch.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, awaiting clarification.
"Mulder, I've always relied upon the strength of my beliefs, drawn upon my faith as a source of comfort, a constant in this dynamic life I've chosen," she began, her eyes focused on the whitewashed sheets below her. She fingered the hem of the covers, toying with a loose thread.
"My faith in you, in myself, and in God."
I swallowed silently.
"And you've kept that faith, Scully. More assiduously than could have possibly been expected, considering your experiences."
She absently reached for the base of her neck, fingering the tiny cross that lay upon the pastel skin. Pausing for a moment, she turned in my direction and locked her gaze with mine.
"Mulder, while I was lying on that floor, watching my blood spread across the tiles, and you were speaking to me...you were talking...Mulder, I was facing death, staring it straight in the eye, and...I was terrified."
She regained her composure, suppressing the tears threatening to fall upon her cheeks.
"I thought I was stronger than this, Mulder. I've faced death before.
Mulder, I can't even remember if I was thinking about God."
I let her continue, her voice progressively rising.
"Suppose I hadn't survived, Mulder. Suppose my life had slipped away as easily as the blood from this wound, and the last thing God heard before my soul left this earth was,
I don't want to die.
Damn it, Mulder, what kind of faith is that?"
I didn't speak but let the tears already beginning to drop trickle down her cheeks. She inhaled sharply and turned away, whispering,
"What kind of faith is that?"
The rain continued to fall upon the window. The wind from the impending storm gently shook the pane, scattering the drops in various directions. I remained silent for a moment before standing and approaching the bed to touch her fingers, raising them gently from the sheet. Not allowing my eyes to wander from them, I murmured,
"To me, it's the strongest kind of faith. The kind of faith unwillingly to yield."
She didn't turn.
I let her fingers fall back upon the sheets.
Padding softly across the floor, I pulled my coat from the chair and headed for the door. Grasping the handle, I turned to meet her watery gaze for a moment. Her eyes were blue that day.
I opened the door silently and left her room, draping the coat across my shoulders to fight the quiet rain.
END Ch. 3
