Title: Impossible Pursuit
Author: X-Phylia
Disclaimer: "The X-Files" belongs to CC and the Fox
Network.
Rate: PG to R (for some language)
Category: MA, SA
Spoilers: Fill-in for "Demons"
Archive: Sure, just email me first.
Feedback: Don't ask, just hit "send" :)
This story was written as a birthday present for
Mindy, but she ended up having to do the beta...
Thank you, my friend, you did a great job!
"IMPOSSIBLE PURSUIT"
By X-Phylia
"Agent Mulder undertook this treatment hoping to
lay claim to his past -that by retrieving memories
lost to him, he might finally understand the path
he's on, but if that knowledge remains elusive, and
if it's only by knowing where he's been that he can
hope to understand where he's going, then I fear
agent Mulder may lose his course, and the truths
he's seeking, from his childhood, will continue to
evade him... driving him more dangerously forward
in impossible pursuit."
- Demons -
Once Mulder emptied the clip of his gun, the gloomy
house was engulfed by an ominous silence. He leaned
forward, his head hanging down in the ultimate
picture of defeat. He just stayed there, like a
broken puppet, while Scully kneeled beside him and
attempted to comfort him, to pull him out of the
darkness he had chosen to dive into. She was aware
of the sheer desperation of his acts, yet she was
having a hard time acknowledging how far Mulder was
willing to go to uncover the events of his
childhood. Everything he had done in the last
couple of days had defied logic and common sense -
even by Mulder's standards.
Once again, Scully had been dragged from her home
on a weekend, away from the rest she so desperately
needed in order to keep functioning despite her
disease. And what for? To tag along a man who
wouldn't listen to her sound advice, who ditched
her without notice, who pointed a loaded gun at
her?
Police officers broke in to find both partners
lying on the floor; Scully was propped against the
wall and Mulder slumped over her, his head resting
on her shoulder, arms hanging in a defeated
posture. The scene was slightly unexpected for the
men, and it showed on their faces.
"Agent Scully...?"
She nodded them away, not wanting to disturb
Mulder. If the officers were puzzled by the unusual
behavior of the two federal agents, they kept it to
themselves.
"I'll need to take Agent Mulder to the hospital,"
she said. "Just give me a few minutes."
Mulder didn't want to go anywhere. He wanted to
stay there in the dark, quiet depth of the summer
house, away from people who would ask too many
questions and not understand the answers.
"I just needed to know, Scully... I *need* to know.
You don't understand," he mused brokenly against
her shoulder.
She didn't know what to say, overwhelmed by her
mixed emotions. Mulder was obviously hurting and
that brought the impulse to comfort him, to draw
him close to her and caress him until his anxiety
subsided. But on the other side, she was plain
furious with his actions. Maybe he was right; she
didn't understand.
"We'll talk about that later. Right now we need to
get you to a neurologist," she said as gently as
she could manage.
"No. No hospital. I want to stay here."
"Look, Mulder, in the last two days, you've dragged
me out of bed at 4:50 am on a Sunday, ignored my
medical advise regarding your seizures, ditched me
at your mother's, and pointed a gun at me. I'm
*asking* you to go to the ER. Do you think you can
do that for me?"
Her tone wasn't overtly accusatory, but it did
sound that way in Mulder's ears.
"I'm sorry, Dana. I had to do it. I can't let this
go."
Scully sighed. The switch from Scully to Dana was a
smooth move. Mulder didn't want his partner to
scold him for his reckless behavior; he needed his
friend to alleviate the emotional pain.
"Okay, here's the deal: we go to the hospital to
check you out. I won't back down from that one, but
I promise I won't make you stay for the night
unless it's strictly necessary."
Mulder's obvious reluctance to being examined was
not lost on the doctors and nurses tending to him,
and he flatly refused to being admitted and staying
overnight for observation, as the doctor suggested.
He kept glancing meaningfully in Scully's direction
the entire time, as if afraid that she might forget
their deal. Scully was past the point of arguing
with him as she drove both of them back to
Providence. He was exhausted, and his introspective
mood suggested that the emotional shock was
beginning to subside as the enormity of what he had
done permeated his skin.
Serves you well, Mulder. When the hell are you
going to quit doing stupid things like this? Who
are you going to call if something happens to me?
The thought of her own mortality -a very real,
frightening perspective- made her shudder, and for
a brief moment, she hated him. Didn't he know what
she was going through? In the last few weeks she
had been feeling tired all the time, the nosebleeds
were increasing in frequency and intensity, and
only her prayers must have spared her today. The
last thing either of them needed was a dramatic
reminder of how fragile reality was. But then
again, she prided herself of her ability to hide
her discomfort from Mulder to the point of allowing
him the illusion that everything was *fine*. Would
his behavior be so reckless if he were more aware
of her deteriorating health, if she hadn't kept him
at arm's length?
This wasn't a good time to be delving into Mulder's
emotional instability. She needed him strong,
confident -not vulnerable and defeated- and yet she
had consistently denied herself the comfort of his
embrace, his silent understanding and whispered
reassurance. Mulder, on the other hand, had no
qualms about calling her in the middle of the night
to help him clear up his mess. Didn't that say a
lot about how things worked between them?
Scully parked the car in front of Room 6 of
Hansen's Motel in Providence, just like she had
done almost 48 hours earlier. She, too, was
exhausted.
"Wake up, Mulder. We're here," she called him.
Mulder seemed a little disoriented, which sent
pangs of worry all through her body. "Are you
okay?"
"Um, yeah, just tired. Sorry," he mumbled.
"Then go ahead and take a shower. I'm going to see
if they have another room available."
When she returned to his room fifteen minutes
later, she found him curled up on the bed, wrapped
in the same blanket she had covered him with upon
finding him shivering in the shower. She kneeled by
his side, moved by the obvious emotional pain his
body language was emanating.
"It'll be okay, Mulder. Get some sleep," she said,
caressing his still wet hair.
He looked up at her.
"Scully, thank you. For everything."
She nodded a brief smile and was about to get up
when he reached out and grabbed her arm.
"I know I asked a lot from you already, but..." he
vacillated.
"What?"
"I have no right to ask for this, and please don't
take it the wrong way...um, would you stay
with me tonight? Please, Dana. I don't want to be
alone."
The pale light of the room reflected in his eyes,
revealing the true nature of his feelings. He was
afraid, hurt, and lonely. It was the sheer
loneliness she saw in him that made the decision
for her. That, and his rather annoying habit of
calling her by her first name and taking her off-
guard.
"Okay, but first I need to go back to the front
desk to cancel the other room. I'll be back in
ten."
Freshly showered and clad in comfortable clothes,
Scully felt almost human again, albeit a little
disconcerted about sharing a bed with her partner
in a motel. A needy Mulder was a rare occurrence,
but honestly, she'd sleep a lot better herself
knowing that she'd be there in case he lapsed into
another seizure. So, she slid between the sheets
gingerly, believing him to be already asleep and
not wanting to disturb him.
Mulder wasn't sleeping. He couldn't close his eyes
without seeing cascades of images in an infinite
loop. Which of them were true memories, and which
were the product of some residual ketamine still
messing with his brain? It was frightening not to
be able to tell the real from the unreal. He felt
so incredibly sad and dejected; it was almost a
physical pressure weighing heavily on his chest.
The warmth radiating from Scully's body, lying so
close to his, was his only source of comfort.
Everything else seemed cold, distant.
Hold me, Scully. Show me that you love me, that
you care. Tell me I'm not just a bastard that no
one wants...
He fought the spasm in his stomach provoked by his
morose thinking and stifled a groan. Almost
immediately, a warm hand squeezed his shoulder.
Mulder sat down and leaned forward against his bent
legs, arms wrapped around them -his favorite
protective position. Scully propped herself against
the headboard, and started to run her hand up and
down his back.
"You scared yourself this time, huh Mulder?" she
said gently. It was hard to stay mad at him. Was
all of this actually his fault, anyway? Looking
back, she could see a pattern in Mulder's peaks of
recklessness and sheer stupidity, which seemed to
coincide with episodes in which his family was
involved somehow: Alaska and the Samantha clones,
New Mexico after his father was shot, running away
to Canada after his mother's stroke, letting loose
a serial killer who claimed to have murdered his
sister, and now this. Had he ever really had a
choice, or had it been his own family background
which had shaped him and condemned him to this
impossible pursuit? Scully felt for him, realizing
that no matter how hard she tried to rationalize
his actions, she couldn't begin to understand all
that her partner had gone through in his life. He
was at the end of his rope already, and she hated
to think of what would happen to him once she
wasn't by his side.
Mulder's voice sounded cracked and hoarse.
"I needed to know, Scully. It's my life. I have the
right to know," he said, anger and bitterness
tingeing his words. "She's my mother, and she
slapped me."
"She slapped you? Why? What did you say to her that
upset her so much?"
"I asked her who my father is."
The silence felt heavy, but at least she now knew
why Mrs. Mulder had bolted out of the room in a
hurry, and why her son had left her stranded at her
house.
"I'm sorry I left you behind," he apologized as if
reading her mind. "I was so angry... I guess I had
forgotten just how bad my mother's silence always
made me feel," he added in a choked whisper.
The silence was even more difficult this time.
Scully wondered if Mulder was aware of how much he
was revealing about his family life, if he was
saying it because he just needed to talk about it
or because he wanted her to know. Either way, he
was tearing her heart apart.
"Mulder, whatever your reasons are for questioning
your mother, please don't base them on those
ketamine-induced visions. There's no way of knowing
if they are real, if they can be trusted as
legitimate memories."
"But what if they are, Scully? What if all I know
are lies, if my whole life has been a lie? Could
you live with that? Would you ever forgive your
parents?"
No, of course she wouldn't. That kind of betrayal
was too painful to even consider. It made her want
to lie down and cry herself silly. Just how
accustomed to that kind of heartache one needs
to be in order to speak about it softly, like
Mulder was doing? How many layers of thick skin did
that take? And how had he avoided faring worse
after such traumatic childhood? The more she
learned about his life, the more she felt like
handing him the right to be a little unstable. But
all things considered, Mulder was amazingly normal.
He had achieved many important things in his life.
Scully found herself sincerely wishing he would let
go of his past, but Mulder and his quest were so
inextricably united that neither of them could
survive without the other. She had trouble
picturing him happy, living a stable, normal life;
his future seemed almost as dark as her own.
"I understand your need to know, Mulder, but you
shouldn't force it. Maybe there's a reason why you
can't remember what happened to you."
He snorted.
"As in 'You may not be able to handle the truth'?"
"I don't claim to know it all, but I don't think
I'd be wrong if I said that you didn't have an easy
family life."
"That's an understatement whose extent I can't even
begin to explain."
She swallowed hard.
"Then why don't you leave it alone? Why are you so
bent on learning things you know will probably
destroy you? Listen to me, Mulder. We both need to
face the possibility that I might not be around in
the near future, and..."
Mulder's body tensed, as if he had received an
electric shock discharge.
"Don't *GO* there, Scully," he interrupted her
sharply. "Please."
Well, hello, denial, nice to meet you too.
"I just want you to be happy. There's more to life
that hanging on a past that doesn't let you choose
your own path," she said, gently rubbing his back.
"I can't let go, Scully. You know I can't. I need
to know, and I'm going to find out, even if it's
the last thing I ever do."
"You mean you're not going to give yourself even
the slightest chance?"
"Damn it, Scully!" he snapped, startling her. "I
can't believe you, of all people, are saying this
to me! I want the Truth, with capital T! I've
risked my life countless times in search of proof,
and I would do it all over again, because that is
what I believe in. But how can I expect to uncover
a global conspiracy when I can't even find the
truth about my own family? How can I blame
Cancerman for lying to me when my own mother won't
answer my questions?"
Mulder's rant finished on a broken sob. He leaned
back against the headboard to the bed, but Scully
caught him and drew him against her, not at all
surprised when he eagerly sought her comfort.
"My mother always had different priorities, Scully.
I do believe she loves me, but her ultimate loyalty
is not with me. It never was."
"Mulder, for what it's worth, I don't need to know
your past to know who you are. A man is defined by
his actions, his convictions... and that makes you
one of the finest people I've ever known in my
life. I also know that some day the Truth will be
revealed to you, to us. But until then..."
Mulder turned around and slowly lowered his body
over hers; his arms encircled her in an almost
painful grip, and his head rested against her
shoulder. Did she know how much he had ached to
hold her like this, to feel her hand stroking his
back, her fingers massaging his scalp? His heart
was still pounding in his chest. He was sure Scully
could feel it, but to her credit, she remained
silent and kept caressing him until he lamented the
presence of his cotton t-shirt between his skin and
her hand. He cried in her arms all of the tears he
couldn't shed in front of anyone else. He could
bare his soul to her because she listened, and at
least she tried to understand. But most of all, he
cried because he knew there wouldn't be many more
nights like this; the intimacy would be as fleeting
as the fake memories he had vainly tried to grasp.
"Let's go to sleep, Mulder. I'll stay with you. I
won't let you go," she whispered as she lay down
back between the sheets. For all she had fought to
keep him away, Scully was now overwhelmed by how
good it felt to hold him so close -for the first
and possibly last time in her life.
Life is so unfair, Mulder.
Mulder couldn't resist the pull of sleep any
longer, but his last conscious thought was loud and
clear.
I'm *not* going to live without you, Scully.
Fin
Thanks for reading!
Author: X-Phylia
Disclaimer: "The X-Files" belongs to CC and the Fox
Network.
Rate: PG to R (for some language)
Category: MA, SA
Spoilers: Fill-in for "Demons"
Archive: Sure, just email me first.
Feedback: Don't ask, just hit "send" :)
This story was written as a birthday present for
Mindy, but she ended up having to do the beta...
Thank you, my friend, you did a great job!
"IMPOSSIBLE PURSUIT"
By X-Phylia
"Agent Mulder undertook this treatment hoping to
lay claim to his past -that by retrieving memories
lost to him, he might finally understand the path
he's on, but if that knowledge remains elusive, and
if it's only by knowing where he's been that he can
hope to understand where he's going, then I fear
agent Mulder may lose his course, and the truths
he's seeking, from his childhood, will continue to
evade him... driving him more dangerously forward
in impossible pursuit."
- Demons -
Once Mulder emptied the clip of his gun, the gloomy
house was engulfed by an ominous silence. He leaned
forward, his head hanging down in the ultimate
picture of defeat. He just stayed there, like a
broken puppet, while Scully kneeled beside him and
attempted to comfort him, to pull him out of the
darkness he had chosen to dive into. She was aware
of the sheer desperation of his acts, yet she was
having a hard time acknowledging how far Mulder was
willing to go to uncover the events of his
childhood. Everything he had done in the last
couple of days had defied logic and common sense -
even by Mulder's standards.
Once again, Scully had been dragged from her home
on a weekend, away from the rest she so desperately
needed in order to keep functioning despite her
disease. And what for? To tag along a man who
wouldn't listen to her sound advice, who ditched
her without notice, who pointed a loaded gun at
her?
Police officers broke in to find both partners
lying on the floor; Scully was propped against the
wall and Mulder slumped over her, his head resting
on her shoulder, arms hanging in a defeated
posture. The scene was slightly unexpected for the
men, and it showed on their faces.
"Agent Scully...?"
She nodded them away, not wanting to disturb
Mulder. If the officers were puzzled by the unusual
behavior of the two federal agents, they kept it to
themselves.
"I'll need to take Agent Mulder to the hospital,"
she said. "Just give me a few minutes."
Mulder didn't want to go anywhere. He wanted to
stay there in the dark, quiet depth of the summer
house, away from people who would ask too many
questions and not understand the answers.
"I just needed to know, Scully... I *need* to know.
You don't understand," he mused brokenly against
her shoulder.
She didn't know what to say, overwhelmed by her
mixed emotions. Mulder was obviously hurting and
that brought the impulse to comfort him, to draw
him close to her and caress him until his anxiety
subsided. But on the other side, she was plain
furious with his actions. Maybe he was right; she
didn't understand.
"We'll talk about that later. Right now we need to
get you to a neurologist," she said as gently as
she could manage.
"No. No hospital. I want to stay here."
"Look, Mulder, in the last two days, you've dragged
me out of bed at 4:50 am on a Sunday, ignored my
medical advise regarding your seizures, ditched me
at your mother's, and pointed a gun at me. I'm
*asking* you to go to the ER. Do you think you can
do that for me?"
Her tone wasn't overtly accusatory, but it did
sound that way in Mulder's ears.
"I'm sorry, Dana. I had to do it. I can't let this
go."
Scully sighed. The switch from Scully to Dana was a
smooth move. Mulder didn't want his partner to
scold him for his reckless behavior; he needed his
friend to alleviate the emotional pain.
"Okay, here's the deal: we go to the hospital to
check you out. I won't back down from that one, but
I promise I won't make you stay for the night
unless it's strictly necessary."
Mulder's obvious reluctance to being examined was
not lost on the doctors and nurses tending to him,
and he flatly refused to being admitted and staying
overnight for observation, as the doctor suggested.
He kept glancing meaningfully in Scully's direction
the entire time, as if afraid that she might forget
their deal. Scully was past the point of arguing
with him as she drove both of them back to
Providence. He was exhausted, and his introspective
mood suggested that the emotional shock was
beginning to subside as the enormity of what he had
done permeated his skin.
Serves you well, Mulder. When the hell are you
going to quit doing stupid things like this? Who
are you going to call if something happens to me?
The thought of her own mortality -a very real,
frightening perspective- made her shudder, and for
a brief moment, she hated him. Didn't he know what
she was going through? In the last few weeks she
had been feeling tired all the time, the nosebleeds
were increasing in frequency and intensity, and
only her prayers must have spared her today. The
last thing either of them needed was a dramatic
reminder of how fragile reality was. But then
again, she prided herself of her ability to hide
her discomfort from Mulder to the point of allowing
him the illusion that everything was *fine*. Would
his behavior be so reckless if he were more aware
of her deteriorating health, if she hadn't kept him
at arm's length?
This wasn't a good time to be delving into Mulder's
emotional instability. She needed him strong,
confident -not vulnerable and defeated- and yet she
had consistently denied herself the comfort of his
embrace, his silent understanding and whispered
reassurance. Mulder, on the other hand, had no
qualms about calling her in the middle of the night
to help him clear up his mess. Didn't that say a
lot about how things worked between them?
Scully parked the car in front of Room 6 of
Hansen's Motel in Providence, just like she had
done almost 48 hours earlier. She, too, was
exhausted.
"Wake up, Mulder. We're here," she called him.
Mulder seemed a little disoriented, which sent
pangs of worry all through her body. "Are you
okay?"
"Um, yeah, just tired. Sorry," he mumbled.
"Then go ahead and take a shower. I'm going to see
if they have another room available."
When she returned to his room fifteen minutes
later, she found him curled up on the bed, wrapped
in the same blanket she had covered him with upon
finding him shivering in the shower. She kneeled by
his side, moved by the obvious emotional pain his
body language was emanating.
"It'll be okay, Mulder. Get some sleep," she said,
caressing his still wet hair.
He looked up at her.
"Scully, thank you. For everything."
She nodded a brief smile and was about to get up
when he reached out and grabbed her arm.
"I know I asked a lot from you already, but..." he
vacillated.
"What?"
"I have no right to ask for this, and please don't
take it the wrong way...um, would you stay
with me tonight? Please, Dana. I don't want to be
alone."
The pale light of the room reflected in his eyes,
revealing the true nature of his feelings. He was
afraid, hurt, and lonely. It was the sheer
loneliness she saw in him that made the decision
for her. That, and his rather annoying habit of
calling her by her first name and taking her off-
guard.
"Okay, but first I need to go back to the front
desk to cancel the other room. I'll be back in
ten."
Freshly showered and clad in comfortable clothes,
Scully felt almost human again, albeit a little
disconcerted about sharing a bed with her partner
in a motel. A needy Mulder was a rare occurrence,
but honestly, she'd sleep a lot better herself
knowing that she'd be there in case he lapsed into
another seizure. So, she slid between the sheets
gingerly, believing him to be already asleep and
not wanting to disturb him.
Mulder wasn't sleeping. He couldn't close his eyes
without seeing cascades of images in an infinite
loop. Which of them were true memories, and which
were the product of some residual ketamine still
messing with his brain? It was frightening not to
be able to tell the real from the unreal. He felt
so incredibly sad and dejected; it was almost a
physical pressure weighing heavily on his chest.
The warmth radiating from Scully's body, lying so
close to his, was his only source of comfort.
Everything else seemed cold, distant.
Hold me, Scully. Show me that you love me, that
you care. Tell me I'm not just a bastard that no
one wants...
He fought the spasm in his stomach provoked by his
morose thinking and stifled a groan. Almost
immediately, a warm hand squeezed his shoulder.
Mulder sat down and leaned forward against his bent
legs, arms wrapped around them -his favorite
protective position. Scully propped herself against
the headboard, and started to run her hand up and
down his back.
"You scared yourself this time, huh Mulder?" she
said gently. It was hard to stay mad at him. Was
all of this actually his fault, anyway? Looking
back, she could see a pattern in Mulder's peaks of
recklessness and sheer stupidity, which seemed to
coincide with episodes in which his family was
involved somehow: Alaska and the Samantha clones,
New Mexico after his father was shot, running away
to Canada after his mother's stroke, letting loose
a serial killer who claimed to have murdered his
sister, and now this. Had he ever really had a
choice, or had it been his own family background
which had shaped him and condemned him to this
impossible pursuit? Scully felt for him, realizing
that no matter how hard she tried to rationalize
his actions, she couldn't begin to understand all
that her partner had gone through in his life. He
was at the end of his rope already, and she hated
to think of what would happen to him once she
wasn't by his side.
Mulder's voice sounded cracked and hoarse.
"I needed to know, Scully. It's my life. I have the
right to know," he said, anger and bitterness
tingeing his words. "She's my mother, and she
slapped me."
"She slapped you? Why? What did you say to her that
upset her so much?"
"I asked her who my father is."
The silence felt heavy, but at least she now knew
why Mrs. Mulder had bolted out of the room in a
hurry, and why her son had left her stranded at her
house.
"I'm sorry I left you behind," he apologized as if
reading her mind. "I was so angry... I guess I had
forgotten just how bad my mother's silence always
made me feel," he added in a choked whisper.
The silence was even more difficult this time.
Scully wondered if Mulder was aware of how much he
was revealing about his family life, if he was
saying it because he just needed to talk about it
or because he wanted her to know. Either way, he
was tearing her heart apart.
"Mulder, whatever your reasons are for questioning
your mother, please don't base them on those
ketamine-induced visions. There's no way of knowing
if they are real, if they can be trusted as
legitimate memories."
"But what if they are, Scully? What if all I know
are lies, if my whole life has been a lie? Could
you live with that? Would you ever forgive your
parents?"
No, of course she wouldn't. That kind of betrayal
was too painful to even consider. It made her want
to lie down and cry herself silly. Just how
accustomed to that kind of heartache one needs
to be in order to speak about it softly, like
Mulder was doing? How many layers of thick skin did
that take? And how had he avoided faring worse
after such traumatic childhood? The more she
learned about his life, the more she felt like
handing him the right to be a little unstable. But
all things considered, Mulder was amazingly normal.
He had achieved many important things in his life.
Scully found herself sincerely wishing he would let
go of his past, but Mulder and his quest were so
inextricably united that neither of them could
survive without the other. She had trouble
picturing him happy, living a stable, normal life;
his future seemed almost as dark as her own.
"I understand your need to know, Mulder, but you
shouldn't force it. Maybe there's a reason why you
can't remember what happened to you."
He snorted.
"As in 'You may not be able to handle the truth'?"
"I don't claim to know it all, but I don't think
I'd be wrong if I said that you didn't have an easy
family life."
"That's an understatement whose extent I can't even
begin to explain."
She swallowed hard.
"Then why don't you leave it alone? Why are you so
bent on learning things you know will probably
destroy you? Listen to me, Mulder. We both need to
face the possibility that I might not be around in
the near future, and..."
Mulder's body tensed, as if he had received an
electric shock discharge.
"Don't *GO* there, Scully," he interrupted her
sharply. "Please."
Well, hello, denial, nice to meet you too.
"I just want you to be happy. There's more to life
that hanging on a past that doesn't let you choose
your own path," she said, gently rubbing his back.
"I can't let go, Scully. You know I can't. I need
to know, and I'm going to find out, even if it's
the last thing I ever do."
"You mean you're not going to give yourself even
the slightest chance?"
"Damn it, Scully!" he snapped, startling her. "I
can't believe you, of all people, are saying this
to me! I want the Truth, with capital T! I've
risked my life countless times in search of proof,
and I would do it all over again, because that is
what I believe in. But how can I expect to uncover
a global conspiracy when I can't even find the
truth about my own family? How can I blame
Cancerman for lying to me when my own mother won't
answer my questions?"
Mulder's rant finished on a broken sob. He leaned
back against the headboard to the bed, but Scully
caught him and drew him against her, not at all
surprised when he eagerly sought her comfort.
"My mother always had different priorities, Scully.
I do believe she loves me, but her ultimate loyalty
is not with me. It never was."
"Mulder, for what it's worth, I don't need to know
your past to know who you are. A man is defined by
his actions, his convictions... and that makes you
one of the finest people I've ever known in my
life. I also know that some day the Truth will be
revealed to you, to us. But until then..."
Mulder turned around and slowly lowered his body
over hers; his arms encircled her in an almost
painful grip, and his head rested against her
shoulder. Did she know how much he had ached to
hold her like this, to feel her hand stroking his
back, her fingers massaging his scalp? His heart
was still pounding in his chest. He was sure Scully
could feel it, but to her credit, she remained
silent and kept caressing him until he lamented the
presence of his cotton t-shirt between his skin and
her hand. He cried in her arms all of the tears he
couldn't shed in front of anyone else. He could
bare his soul to her because she listened, and at
least she tried to understand. But most of all, he
cried because he knew there wouldn't be many more
nights like this; the intimacy would be as fleeting
as the fake memories he had vainly tried to grasp.
"Let's go to sleep, Mulder. I'll stay with you. I
won't let you go," she whispered as she lay down
back between the sheets. For all she had fought to
keep him away, Scully was now overwhelmed by how
good it felt to hold him so close -for the first
and possibly last time in her life.
Life is so unfair, Mulder.
Mulder couldn't resist the pull of sleep any
longer, but his last conscious thought was loud and
clear.
I'm *not* going to live without you, Scully.
Fin
Thanks for reading!