Chapter 4 - Nine Minutes

Fox Mulder was sitting on his porch, watching the sun setting. Admiring, sitting and thinking.

How long would the clouds in the sky be wrapped up in this flamboyant orange? How long would it take for the sun to completely disappear when its bottom would have touched down the horizon? How many minutes to wait then for the first star to appear clearly in the sky?

He could think of a few questions and he could ask Scully them. She surely would have answers to give him.

But the moment was so precious that it would be a waste of time. And Fox Mulder didn't want to waste minutes anymore.

Suspended little minutes were little things, still they were precious. You could be abducted by their insignificance and lose your thoughts in their silent ticking, then come back on Earth as if you had spent a lifetime of still blissfulness.

Mulder had now a way to designate these little minutes of greatness. Nine minutes.

All had begun in Bellefleur, Oregon. Nine minutes lost against the laws of physics, against universal invariants. Nine minutes lost for both of them, little minutes disappearing into the mysteries of the universe. Yet, nine minutes of emptiness experienced together, nine minutes of unbelievable awe cementing their relationship forever.

Since then, he had progressively been aware of these both insignificant and meaningful minutes.

At first, he even had tried to quantify them, keeping a lazy eye on his watch. Because he was inclined to believe that these little moments were always lasting nine minutes.

Until he realized that time was never elapsing the same way, that as universal as time was, the length of a minute was highly subjective. So, that all these precious minutes were always meant to be nine minutes in his heart and memory.

Nine little minutes lost within a long lifetime, nine minutes that had always felt better when shared. Shared with Scully.

Some of them were unexpected felicity. He could remember the first nine minutes of his resurrection in a hospital bed long after his abduction. Scully's hands clenching his hand and shoulder, her head weighing his chest, the smell of her hair invading his nostrils. How grateful he had been to have swapped Hell for Heaven, to have floated for a moment in a suspended state of blessedness, Scully flying by his side.

Of course there had been bittersweet nine minutes, but he wouldn't erase them from his memories. They were important to keep and cherish. He recalled the long minutes he and Scully had spent in the tightest embrace, weeping all the tears they both had stored in each of their cells, drowning their melted bodies. Nine minutes of never-ending heartbreak, William quietly sleeping in his crib by their side. Yet, nine minutes of comfort, as he was wrapping her entire tiny body in his and absorbing her whole essence with all his senses. A shared memory he had kept as a treasure when he had been alone, so far away from them.

Undoubtedly, he had also stored lots and lots of nine minutes that were plain joyful memories.

And, these last days, there had been many of them. So many that Mulder wondered whether he would have enough drawers in his mind to keep them safe.

The previous day had given him a few remarkable nine minutes moments. And if he had to select one, it would be the serene afterglow that had followed their shared ecstasy. Slowing down their heartbeat, catching their breath and settling into each other's embrace, they had remained quiet, gratefully welcoming the renewal of their intimate relationship. Nine minutes bringing him mere hope, although they were still standing on indefinite grounds, still crossing precarious bridges between them and still wondering whether their next cautious steps would once again precipitate them in the abyss.

The sun had now disappeared, taking away the flamboyant colors beyond the horizon.

Mulder suddenly felt Scully's fingers slightly squeezing his.

"That was gorgeous, Mulder," Scully said.

"Mmm…" he replied.

"I don't even know how long we just stared at the sky," she added.

"Nine minutes, Scully."

"Really?"

Mulder didn't explain to Scully that it didn't matter if it was nine minutes, or five, or fifteen, or one hour -he would, later. What was important was that Scully had been sitting on the porch of their once shared house, by his side. That they had both lost the sense of time passing, admiring the sun setting, holding hands and doing nothing else.

Nine little shared minutes of greatness in this world of uncertainty.