What was the proper way to solve a paradox?
To step aside, reconsider the formulation of the problem, and, from this new angle, let it vanish or gain valid resolution. Or, maybe, just ignore it and remain in the status quo of blissful ignorance.
That was one question Scully asked herself when she woke up in Mulder's arms, her head nested in the curve of his shoulder, the steady moves of his chest telling her he might be asleep.
At first, she just enjoyed the moment and the sensation, its peacefulness and warmth.
She recalled their desperate reunion up the waterfall, the fresh water washing off their tears and dirt, then their oversensual feast. She looked at the scenery all around her, at the clear sky, at her left hand over Mulder's abs, and she didn't want to move but remain there —and feast again— for hours, for days or for weeks, she didn't even care, as long as there was Mulder, their love, water, and fruits.
Then, doubts.
She was a competent and serious FBI Agent, in the field and on a mission —a kind of rogue one, sure, but with a purpose and an investigation to work on. However, right now, she didn't care at all, she didn't want to think about any of it.
She wasn't Agent Scully anymore, just Dana.
It seemed wrong, it didn't seem like her, and, at the same time, it felt utterly right and all —all what, by the way?— was telling she was inhabiting her true self.
How could she incarnate two opposite sides of a coin in one singular mind? How had she switched so easily from one side to the other? There was contradiction inside her, something inaccurate and unethical living in her core that had been awaiting, shadowed by her reason and professionalism, and that had now been spilled out of its blind.
So, what now? What was the proper way to solve such a paradox?
Slowly, Scully disentangled her body from Mulder's limbs and rose up. Overshadowing him, she looked down at his genuine and limpid face; who could imagine the complex and tortured world flourishing behind its features?
Obviously, she was no different. As science told her, the whole world was more complex than our imagination and way beyond our comprehension, and all we could hope was to tame it and navigate around its traps. Once, she believed she knew who she was and what she wanted. Seven years flashing into darkness and her life's bedrock had crumbled into sand.
Scully turned away and moved to the river, plunging her toes in the water, her sight lost in the opposite bank.
She wanted to heal the bodies and the souls, learn and grow as a medical doctor then leave a mark —as humble as it could be— by daily work and worthwhile research. Finally, seven years of slicing and dicing dead bodies, desperately trying to find the truth of vanished souls, not even sure she had made the world any better. Yet, a partner highly valuing and praising her rotten job, some out-of-the-box publications in fringe scientific journals, and, if she was honest to herself, a few innocent lives saved from a certain death.
Scully spotted a few juvenile fishes in the shallow water, their movements a puzzle from her upper point of view as they seemed to aimlessly circle around a virtual axis.
Maybe that was it; she couldn't reflect on her professional choices by lack of a sky-high perspective. Pass, nothing more to say.
The white picket fence life she once dreamed of? She wasn't even sure she had ever wished for it. Not without passion, not without flesh and blood, pain and joy, because it was what life was made of, no matter how securely fenced your home was. Instead, seven years of weird anomalies, high-leveled rushes of adrenaline, unbearable suffering and much indescribable nonsense, but gifted and enlightened by so much intensity, devotion, respect and care she had never dared to fantasize. No regrets, at all.
Turning around, she glanced at Mulder, still unaware of her absence and doubts.
Mulder, main cause of her shaking and crumbling ground.
Mulder…
No, she didn't want to question him and their relationship, to instill any doubt of this kind in her mind. She chose him, as a whole, and he wasn't to be blamed for her contradictions.
Mulder…
Mulder would only point out that her main inconsistency as a righteous rationalist would be her faith in God.
Scully's left hand automatically reached her cross.
She smiled, recalling their back-and-forth in the basement over Christian-flavored files, or whenever they had to stand close to a Church for a case. Maybe Mulder was just her best rhetorical partner in this never-ending science versus religion argument; so, let it pass.
As if her last thoughts had crossed the dozen yards separating them, Mulder raised his head up and boyishly grinned at her. She hadn't noticed him awakening and she wondered why he didn't call her out; perhaps the sight of her from afar was what all he wanted to ground his come back to reality.
Scully waved him hello and stepped forward.
She shouldn't be afraid of her paradoxes, she was just complex and inconsistent like the beautiful and wonderful man she was coupled with. Moving and thinking ahead, what side of her would or should prevail? Her tossed coin was still spinning into the air, and, even if biased by fate, no one –especially her— would be able to forecast its outcome.
Wait and live. Embrace the present.
Mulder stretched out his hand, welcoming Scully back to his touch.