Title: One Man's Journey Author: Obfusc8er Feedback: aobfuscata@hotmail.com Rating: PG Archive: Ephemeral, Gossamer, Mulder in Jeopardy, Enigmatic Dr.'s. All others please ask first. Disclaimer: These characters belong to Chris Carter, FOX and/or 1013. Spoilers: Deadalive Classification: Angst, AU (Scully's pregnancy is omitted in order to focus on other issues.) Written for the Mulder's Refuge November contest. Note: Thanks to DFS for the beta and most appreciated insights, fic-related and otherwise. This story is dedicated to Xtreme Unction, who danced with me "by the pale moonlight", despite the possibility of crushed toes. If writing is a journey, you are my Indian Guide. Thank you. *************** From "No Way" by Pearl Jam Here's a token of my openness Of my need to not disappear How I'm feeling, so revealing to me I found my mind too clear I just need someone to be there for...me I just want someone to be there for *************** "Is there anything I can do for you, Mulder?" I struggle to suppress a smirk in spite of myself. For a moment, I entertain the thought that she has asked a trick question. Of course, she would not jest at this moment, and everything about her physical presence reinforces that fact. Her posture is stiff, forced, and she avoids meeting my gaze. We both notice, and the awkwardness settles between us in the slant of light from the window. I contemplate the glints of dust particles floating there, drifting in a Brownian daydream. I know I cannot stare stupidly into their tiny universe forever. Unsure of the possible ripples to be caused, I reply to Scully's decidedly sober question. "No. Actually, you've already done far more than anyone else. As much as anyone can." The implications do not need to be spoken. She knows. She is probably painfully aware. There is a void between us, between me and everyone. After all, not many people can really empathize with a dead man, not even a pathologist. "Well, I guess I should go," she says dubiously, watching me now with curious eyes, and she starts to leave. I lay my hand lightly on her shoulder as she turns away, and she stops suddenly. I fail to summon the words to express what I feel, so I simply pull her close. Part of me balks at the idea of embracing Scully with arms that have known anything other than life, as if my touch alone might be sufficient to siphon away her vitality, the fire I cannot resist. She latches her arms around me tightly, though. Inextricably. No one would believe her strength, I muse. She is underestimated all too often. Who else would deny death the unquestioning acquiescence it demands in order to reclaim a misguided visitor? I sense a wave of trembling pass through her frame as I marvel at the implausibility of our circumstances. Her head rests against my chest, against the very place where someone, or something, split me open and tried to remove my faith in her. When they realized they could not have that, they took everything else? Suddenly, I feel empty. The world looks gray. The next thing I know, I hear her mutter an expletive. I cannot resist a smile as I feel myself tilting and sinking. "Mulder? Can you hear me?" "Uh-huh." The ceiling appears in front of me. Or rather, above me. I feel the familiar curves of my leather couch. I do not need to look to know that Scully has me pinned down with her clinically concerned/drag-Mulder's-butt-to-the-hospital expression. "What happened to you?" Another loaded question. I watch as she pulls the coffee table closer to the couch so she can sit within reach. "I was just remembering. Didn't intend to, believe me." She looks at the floor, silent, sad, and exhausted. I immediately regret my blunt statement. What was I expecting her to say? "Sorry you were dead like that, Mulder"? She looks at the door. I have to do something to keep her from leaving. Now. "I have copy of Plan Nine from Outer Space in the DVD player. Want to watch?" Oh, that was lame. I cringe inwardly. I regroup and reinforce my plea with the half-pout that seems to work so well on her. It is totally shameless, but this situation requires desperate measures. "Sure. I think I can handle that." Success. The light from the window has begun to fade, leaving the room cast in various shades of blue. Scully disappears into the kitchen for a moment. I do not bother to turn on a light, but grab a couple of remote controls and get the TV and DVD player set up for the movie. Soon, the sound of a hundred tiny kernel explosions emanate from the kitchen. The smell of butter perfuses the room, and the anticipation of a relaxed, worry-free moment with Scully is almost tantalizing. She returns to the room carrying one large bowl full of popcorn. "Want something to drink?" "Yeah. Juice, please." Politeness will get me everywhere, I think with a smile. After a couple of thwumps from the fridge door, she appears holding two beverages. "Move it or lose it, Mulder." I practically scramble to get my legs out of her way, well aware that she can indeed back up that order. I find myself sitting next to her, the only mild light and sound coming from the fish tank in the corner. The television sits obediently darkened on the Input channel, awaiting, well, input. The quiet of this moment makes an impression in my mind. Finally, Scully breaks the tranquility by reaching for the popcorn and munching on a handful. "You know, I was looking at one of your magazines," she says between bites. Oh no. Busted. I feel some definite inguinal shrinkage at the thought. "Uh, and..?" I am not sure where this is going. "It was The Paranormal Examiner. Something like that." Thank God, I think quite sincerely. I sigh, and she probably hears it. "Anyway," she continues, "I've always loved that word, 'paranormal'." I patiently persevere through her next snack-munching interlude, too curious about her thoughts to get any popcorn for myself just yet. "How so?" I prod. "Well, the etymology varies quite a bit, so its potential meaning covers a lot of ground. 'Para' can be anything from 'next to' to 'beyond'. First off, you have to know what 'normal' means, and I have yet to find anyone who can explain that to me." I hesitate to interrupt her line of reasoning, but she waits for some response. The aerator in the fish tank bubbles away happily. "I'm certainly not the right person to ask about normalcy." She raises an eyebrow at me playfully in the cobalt light of the aquarium, but her face quickly reverts to a more serious expression. "It seems that 'paranormal' pretty much describes both of our lives, doesn't it?" "Yeah," I reply, trying not to think about her point too much. "And then some." The movie waits patiently in the DVD player, as it has slipped greatly in importance. "That doesn't necessarily mean that 'normal' would be better, though." "True," she allows. And we sit in silence again. I suck up my bravado and decide to tell her something very personal, in the most masculine way possible, of course. I look at her, not to lose myself in her eyes, but because she deserves nothing less than direct openness. "I do remember everything, Scully." I swallow hard as she becomes frighteningly still and quiet. My voice softens reflexively. "The one thing that stood out above everything else was that I needed to be beside you again. I couldn't fail. I just couldn't." She looks away for a moment, sniffing and blinking back some tears. Her wound rips me in half. I push on steadfastly. "I imagined this moment many times over, what I would do when I saw you again, what words would be accurate for what you should hear, but none of the ideas seemed to fit. Everything fell short. Then, while I was at the hospital, I found a story in an old magazine." I pause, somewhat intimidated by the moment, my voice the lone entity penetrating the darkness between us. She waits. That is more reassuring than she could ever know. She waits for me and no one else. "It went something like this: A boy wanted to give his teacher a gift to show his appreciation. He lived in a remote village in the middle of the African plains and did not have any money. The boy left one day, and no one saw him that night. Three days passed before he showed up at the school." Scully watches me intently, and I try not to stumble on the words. "He smiled at the teacher and handed him a box. The teacher had no idea what the boy could have gotten for him. Inside the box, he found a beautiful seashell. The teacher asked the boy how he got such an item. The boy replied that he walked to the beach. The teacher could barely believe it, and remarked that the ocean was an awfully long way to go for a gift." I take a deep breath. "The boy replied that the journey was part of the gift." I hear Scully inhale, the shaky rhythm of her breath betraying carefully suppressed emotions. "Mulder, I..." Her voice pinches off. I step in to avoid the looming uncomfortable moment. "Sorry, Scully. I lost your seashell somewhere along the way." A smile spreads its way across her face, now streaked with two glistening trails that reflect the blue aquarium light. I reach up and wipe each of them away with my thumb, pressing gently against her soft skin. She intercepts my hand, wrapping it in her own and squeezing lightly before guiding it down from her face. "That's okay. I have some time off." She releases my hand to reach out and brush some hair away from my forehead. I had not even noticed it. "We can go find one together." It is good to feel alive. I wrap an arm around her and proceed with the movie plans, instructing the TV to come to life. I have a remote control at one hand and Scully, and her popcorn, at the other. The moment is not exactly like any that I had imagined, but I would not trade it for anything. We quote our way through the movie, but I do not watch many of the scenes. I am busy re-memorizing another familiar image in the flickering glow. Her face. "Scully! You remember all of the lines. I'm impressed." She does not dignify that with a response. "I'm turned on." She jabs me in the ribs with her little, seemingly innocuous elbow. I grunt accordingly, hearing her emit a satisfied chuckle. Then, just as the aliens are ruminating over their plans to take over the earth, we both fall silent. We know the lines that will follow, and the awkward, usually amusing dialogue has new meaning. *************** Note: Plan 9 from Outer Space belongs to Reynolds Pictures, Inc. and Edward D. Wood, Jr.