From: "Henry Lee" Subject: Replacement of "Garden" Date sent: Mon, 16 Jun 1997 12:55:11 -0400 (EDT) Gossamer Archive Classification : V, A, M/S UST Gossamer Archive Summary : The following focusses on how Mulder might internalize events shortly after Melissa Ridell's death. ===================================================== From: lee@aries.phys.yorku.ca (Henry Lee) Subject: Revised/Repost - post-TFWID : GARDEN (1/1) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Date: 16 Jun 1997 12:44:44 -0400 Organization: York University, Toronto, Canada The following is a repost of "Garden" which I originally posted last November when TFWID first aired. This version contains revisions which should improve the reading and flow a little better. Thanks for reading. This story is based on characters created by Chris Carter, Glen Morgan, James Wong, Ten Thirteen productions and Fox Television. I have used the principal characters with "reckless abandon" but I intend no infringement of copyright. This story may be distributed freely and, hopefully, with the author's blessing. Here lies a post-Field/TFWID (4X05) study of the principal characters; a number of 4th-season spoilers are sprinkled throughout in places. Of course, due credit goes to Robert Browning's "Paracelsus." Finally, special thanks to Paula Graves. Gossamer Archive Classification : V, A, M/S UST Gossamer Archive Summary : Post-Field/TFWID short fiction. --------------------------- GARDEN by Henry Lee --------------------------- ``At times, I almost dream. I too have spent a life the sage's way And tread once more familiar paths. Perchance I've perished in an arrogant self-reliance an age ago. And in that act of prayer for one more chance went up so earnest ... so. Instinct with better light let in by death that life was blotted out not so completely. But scattered wrecks enough of it to remain dim memories. As now, one seems once more The goal in sight again.'' ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The sun set, saying goodbye to this side of terra firma for another day. Another day in the life of habitants firmly grounded in their belief, that terra would simply continue on its orbital path around that life-giving burning sphere of gas, which itself was frightfully typical compared to any number of countless stars in the Galaxy. No doubt any deity who bothered to care might have enjoyed their handiwork. No doubt the day might have been tossed aside just like any other day. But to the solitary man, it was not just any ordinary day seeing its end behind a thin line of obscuring cloud over the western horizon. Only blowing gusts and the howling wind kept him company. FBI and BATF agents had rushed into the house shortly after him. They subsequently took care of matters, grisly and otherwise. He had been left alone since the morning. That was hours ago. The agents began to trickle out to their cars when the sun began its descent. Finally, there were just two. A man and a woman. He looked alone, standing in the field where he died. Hands clasped solemn in quiet prayer. Holding on to aging photographs and clinging to beliefs. Holding onto the supposed memory of Sullivan Biddle and Sarah Kavanaugh. Past lives. And hope. Hope for eternal souls and everlasting life. Was he just merely hoping for too much? Had this always been so? The revolving door always seemed to spin a little faster. He might have fooled himself into thinking there were absolute answers to these questions after Kevin Kryder. Somehow, Scully had managed to recapture some of her lapsed Catholic faith after the threat to young Kryder had been eliminated. She had a found a reason to believe. Today, like many days, he'd seen it slip through his hands. Unlike other days, he'd known it was coming very, very early. But, he was too late. It seemed he was always too late. She watched him at a respectful distance. She leaned back against the car, resting briefly her tired body, hoping to find some inner peace. She ached for him, his pain. She didn't quite know what to do about it. But the entire thing, the essence of it all was now nagging her mercilessly. Mulder had been right after all, intuiting correctly the eventual fate of the Temple members. She had seen the grudging respect for Mulder as agents parted like waves as he had walked out of the room. Yesterday, one of their own agents had called him by that unmistakable epithet ... spooky ... the mere thought of it chilled and angered her. Even she could see the dark look in Skinner's eyes at the slight directed towards his subordinate agent. But apart from the horror of all those bodies after the mass suicide, what she would recall now was watching him. The bowed shoulders. Oh god, the look on his face. He had walked out from the smell of death, the lingering bittersweet scent of another tormented and lonely soul wafting out with the newly liberated to their respective off-world destinations. As he was about to pass her, she had reached up with her hand to hold onto his arm for a moment. To look at him, to look at her; to tell him. Dark shutters had begun to close around his deep thoughtful eyes. He let go of her hand and walked out. How she wanted so much to believe in the bonds that surpassed even time. She wanted to believe for hope in past and future; that her Ahab was still watching over her, loving her; to believe that Missy was ever more the older sister and taking care of her baby sister. Even if she could be certain, couldn't Mulder ever have the same? The momentary lapse and thoughts of her father and sister were almost too much to bear. The corporeal state was just too damn ethereal. Such a Mulder thing to say. She did believe, however, in the tricks the mind would enact to defend and protect itself against sights so appalling, too cruel. She had learned much about people, both guilty and innocent, from sharing the many cases with Mulder in the last few years. Of course, she'd done her share of psych reading in med school but, there was absolutely nothing like the experiences she'd seen as Mulder's partner. Certainly, Schnauz and his way of dealing with the "unruhe" had taught her much. She had seen madness keenly in razor sharp clarity to a conclusion, too close and horrible for both her and Mulder. Only she knew *her* howlers came out at night. Oh, how she wanted to believe now. For his sake, his sanity, for his very life. He couldn't stop it by himself. He had to know. He had to believe he was not alone. In her mind's eye, she reached for him. The impetus of her wish to reach him prompted her to leave the solid backing of the car which had supported her as she watched him. She walked over to him. She had walked around, not wanting to startle him, finally approaching him from behind until she was standing by his side. She watched him looking at the photographs. He'd been staring at them for what seemed like an eternity. The one of Sarah had been torn in two. She knew who. She knew with complete certainty who'd been holding both pieces until the very last end. She swallowed the growing lump in her throat. "Mulder?" It took him a moment to find himself again. Ah, there it was. His centre, that core which defined him as Fox, allowed him to play it out as Mulder. As he looked up at her, where did he begin with Fox and end at Mulder? Did it really matter? Of course not - never to Dana Scully. He closed his eyes. Lost again momentarily in his thoughts, he sent a prayer to whatever God would bother to listen. His thoughts crying out for one. Mixed with the need of identity and belonging. Instinct and familiarity. The feeling of oneness and purpose, united in destiny and fate. He had before him a glimpse of someone who had ... waited for him. He wanted to believe Melissa Ridell would wait. He wanted to believe Melissa Scully would wait for her sister. He wanted to just turn back time. Just to Chilmark, if he could. Just to the time before Samantha was taken away. When his family was safe and whole. Please. If time could stand still. But here and now, the following truth did set him free. He would never have known Dana Scully. Not in this lifetime, anyway. He had watched her die. Apparently twice in past lives. Faced with images of actually losing Scully, her spirit and her life had been devastating. In this life, he'd already been frightened quite enough, barely scraping by after those awful long months in the fall of 1994. But, push and pull, the images of him and Melissa were equally strong and just as compelling. Strange ... how could Cancerman have been ... when ... he would have been a very, very young man ... God dammit! The inconsistency with intuition. What the hell was going on? He opened his eyes again and sought out her eyes. What she saw was his struggle for truth and need denied, wrapped in agony, lying naked in his steady gaze. What she saw hurt her deeply. Frankly, it took all of her control to not just lean into him for comfort, for the both of them. Instead, she looked at him, her eyes gentle with concern. "Mulder, let's go home." He nodded without a word. He took one last look at the pictures before he inserted them into his shirt pocket. Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes briefly and opened them again, looking out to the reddish-orange shades and the end of a day. He breathed deeply, inhaling the scent, the pollen and the grass of the surrounding fields. It was beautiful. He began walking towards their car, ahead of her. The end of this case. How *did* he know where to find Vernon Ephesian and his wives. Melissa Ridell. Sidney's identity. All the documentation would be put into an "X-File," complete with its own identification number. But an explanation towards resolving any solution would never come. This case would remain unexplained. He knew he'd be adding this one to the ever-increasing store of his overwhelming dream cache. Jesus. He looked down at his partner, suddenly thankful he was very much here in this life. Returning to the present, what he thought about now was the overwhelming debt he owed her. It seemed as if the cases they were on didn't kill her, he'd almost always end up owing her. He stopped in front of her. "Scully?" He looked down at her face, so open to him ... Impulse won him over. "Would you think any less of me as your friend if I told you that I've secretly longed for you from the first day you walked into the office?" "Mulder, I take back what I said about the Flukeman. What I really did not need was the sight of BAMBI Berenbaum." "Touche'. But aside from all that, there's just one thing." "Yeah?" Her voice came out a little uncertain, hesitant. "Smart *IS* sexy. After all these years, Scully, you of all people should know that by now." He turned away from her and stepped into the driver side of their vehicle. A hint of blush shot up her cheeks and she waited a moment in the cool evening air to lessen the effect before she stepped into the car. He started the car and they looked at each other. Behind the dull and haunted look in his eyes, the grin was catching. They both knew he was hiding. She'd let it fly for the time being, just to try and get past all this. It was enough for now. There would be more than enough fear and anger to work out when they returned home. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ They arrived back at Dulles very early the next morning. No more than ten words were exchanged from the time they left the state of Tennessee. They were both exhausted in every way. Somehow, they had implicitly agreed to head back to Mulder's apartment, though again, no verbal exchange took place. She wanted to make sure he'd be all right and he needed her to be there with him for a little while. They stood in his darkened apartment, facing each other, wordless for minutes and stretching into miles of silent conversation. Finally, perhaps a thought or even a stray breath prompted Mulder to speak. "I thought ... I felt it ... after all I've seen and experienced, I thought this could have been an opportunity to bridge the gap. I thought I had the chance to know what it was like in past lives. Some of the events that I seem to recall don't make sense and yet, a part of me knows that Melissa was in fact Sarah and I had been Sullivan Biddle. But the real fact is that I tried to save her ... And I failed ... I ... I confused instinct for belief." Some of the last words Melissa Ridell said to him still hung in the air, draped over him. So close. So like him. So like him. The way she had said those words broke his heart. This is hard for him, Scully knew. She nodded for him to continue. "But I was wrong. I should've known better; I have all this training and I threw it all out in favour of what I wanted to hear. What I needed. I really needed to know. I needed to be the one ... to save her. I thought it would be different this time." "Mulder, no." His head shot up with the memory of Pusher. It's never been about you. Don't do this to yourself." "You've forgiven me." His words were abrupt and seemed to ignore her words; yet, his tone said otherwise, containing hints and memories of Modell. "Please tell me how to forgive myself." "I can't, I don't know how. If I could, I would ... believe me ..." He walked over to the couch to lie down. He felt numb. He closed his eyes, wishing he might never have to open them again. "Are you going to be all right?" "I'll be fine, Scully." "No, you won't." At that, he opened his eyes and shifted his head, surprised, to find her crouched next to the couch, her breath warm and reassuring on his face. Her unique scent, distinct and Scully, sent a small charge of energy into his body. She made him feel alive. He looked into her eyes, daring and challenging her to continue the unwitting lie. "I know, Mulder, because I've lied to you before." She ran her fingers lightly through his hair. "Oh really? A hint of a smile graced his lips. She nodded, sadness creeping into her eyes. So much lost time, hiding from him when he could see it all anyway. So much lost time, as he ditched her all those times for her own protection when they should've been together instead. But this was no time for recrimination. "I've learned to follow you because your instincts are true." She stopped a beat. "There is no one like you." "Funny. I was about to say the same of you." He looked so sad. "I'm sorry ..." She held his cheek against the palm of her hand. It was now that she desperately wished her father could've met the man before her. She thought Ahab would have liked him. His face wore an oddly mixed expression - it wasn't quite the wry Mulder smile but it wasn't exactly a frown either. He looked at her and held her palm against his face for another moment. "You should go home, Scully. Don't worry about me; I'll call." Scully nodded in reply. "I'll see you tomorrow. We'll have paperwork to go over. Try and get some sleep." She looked him over, her eyes passing over his face, trying to detect the untruth and finding none. She got up, trailing her hand down his arm and leaving his fingertips. Scully picked up her coat and opened the apartment door. But then, she stood for a moment in the open doorway and his heart seized at how lonely she seemed to look right there. She turned around to face him. He wondered what was wrong. He sat up, pulling his legs from the couch and onto the floor. "Scully?" "I wanted to tell you. You're not alone. You'll always have me." This. Hers was the voice of reason, compassion, determination, courage, loyalty and ... And ... She could barely see him nod. She didn't need to. She kept her gaze on him and walked out, closing the door in front of her. She left, knowing he'd have to deal with some things on his own. He'd call when it was time. His eyes didn't leave her until she closed the door. He felt comforted, listening to the distinctive pace of her footsteps, her heels clicking against the hallway floor, echoing down the walls as she headed towards the elevator. Echoes from the past. He couldn't seem to escape echoes, empty rooms or empty promises. Apology for policy. Denial. Elimination in favour of redemption. But wasn't this precisely what his father wanted his son to avoid? He was just getting answers from his father after all those years of hating him and loving him. What could he do? The man was his father and all he wanted in the end was forgiveness from his son. If he only could've granted it to him sooner. Any of the answers he wanted seemed to dissolve into the mist. He would've given a part of his soul to have had his parents meet Scully -- wait, didn't she tell him she'd met his mother? At his father's funeral? Christ, what a time that was. A wishful memory to bide that time. Another echo to bounce off memories which seemed to fill the many chambers of his mind. He was so tired. All he wanted to do was sleep. Now if only his brain could be convinced to comply. He stretched his legs out on the couch and took a deep breath. He yawned (thank God for little miracles) and folded his arms behind his head. There were mysteries and untold stories left unspoken. Good and evil, a free rein through a movie of images, each so telling in their unique way. Michelle Bishop. The names of Darlene and Ruby Morris. The ani ... no ... the woman in Atlantic City. A vision of Samantha in her thirties, the touch of her so real, her blood, though XT and green, coursing under her skin. Her touch warm next to his skin. Lucy Householder. Yes, Kristen Kilar. Even his mother. He couldn't even save her but perhaps his father had furthered his own salvation by trying to keep her out of the business of "merchandise exchange" and perhaps saving her to holy providence. Well, how the hell could he, Spooky of all people, explain how his mother who suffered a devastating stroke had suddenly came back to him? He couldn't. Melissa Scully. Dear God, Margaret Scully. Many of the women of the last four years. But lately, his thoughts always came back to one. Always one. Now, it seemed appropriate to find his centre in Scully. Yes, she did take her own little notes, as he had accused her once. But how times changed. Those notes, her reports contained the truth. The essence that spoke volumes about Scully. There was absolutely no false pretense. The truth and nothing but the truth. He felt absolutely secure in the knowledge and passion emanating from every word and detail contained in her reports. Science and objectivity. The foundation upon which their partnership was built. Trust, truth and freedom. A conversation on a rock came to mind. Anchors aweigh. He closed his eyes and tried to find bliss in the black. Are we ever prepared to understand? Let the facts stand for themselves, they said. But just the ones we want you to see. Who remained to break the lies? Who cares? Show me. Don't tell me. And there, in the dark recesses, the hidden corners and the forbidden memories, a voice; a light, spring breeze floated above the murky background. In you, I will plant a seed. A garden will grow in a field once barren, to bring life from whence there was none. I will cherish this garden for all of my hope will wish upon you the fruit of my labour. To you, I promise you my loyalty, My soul and my life. I love you, now and always. the little noise of comfort, the silent setting of the sound of his own breathing. The voice in his head. The voice so warm, so familiar yet distinct and ... distant. For now. He wanted to believe. Fox Mulder slept. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Somewhere in the distance, two women were talking, discussing a topic rather animatedly. "It's rather disgusting how he always seems to lead her around." The first woman shook her head, the long curls lifting gently in the breeze. "What's even worse is how she always follows. I mean, I thought my brief time with them would've taught them a thing or two about expressing their feelings to each other." The second woman nodded. "Seeing what you've told me, I'd have to agree. My God, I've known granite slabs that have more give than she does." "You don't know my sister." "No, I don't. Pity." "There'll be time." "Yes." An older strong yet distinguished man quietly approached the two women at their table. "Melissa? You ready to go? Melissa Scully looked up at her father, glad for the opportunity to have a one-on-one lunch with him. They now met every day, making up for lost time. She looked over at the other woman. Melissa Ridell smiled and nodded knowingly. As she watched the other leave with her father, she knew and could feel that she would never be the one. Hopefully, in time, the two who remained behind would figure it out. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Please address all comments to . First posted to alt.tv.x-files.creative on Sunday, November 10, 1996. Reposted after revisions to atxfc at 1645h UT on Monday, June 16, 1997. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ -- Henry Lee http://aries.phys.yorku.ca/~lee/home.html Dept. of Physics & Astronomy E-mail: lee@aries.phys.yorku.ca York University, 4700 Keele St. Phone: (416) 736-2100 x66391 Toronto, Ontario M3J 1P3 Canada Fax: (416) 736-5516