Disclaimer: Characters and everything based upon the X Files, 
property of Chris Carter, Glen Morgan and James Wong, 10-13 and Fox.

Spoilers and warnings:  This story is a follow up to the stunning 
fourth season episode "The Field Where I Died".  As such, it contains 
quotes and spoilers.  Read at your own risk.

Author's notes: The quote at the beginning is from Merril 
Bainbridge's song "Mouth", one of the happiest songs I know, that 
actually made me cry while I was writing this story on my way to work 
this morning.  Yeah, that's right, I was writing while I was driving -
 gotta love those stoplights.  I wrote this story to her album 
"Garden In My Room" which I highly recommend.  It's not referred to 
in the story or anything, but it had its influences on me.  The quote 
at the end you should recognize. Thanks also to the group at M&S who 
discussed this episode so eloquently.  I hope you enjoy this story 
and that you will send me lots of lovely comments on it!

________________________
I Do Not Want To Believe
by eponine119 
eponine119@att.net
November 4, 1996
"And you will feel you're blown apart
All the pieces there will fit to make you whole
And I know where they go."
____________________________

I stood there looking down at the photographs in my hand with only 
one thought in my mind.  I did not want to believe.  With my heart 
breaking, I did not want to believe.

:::

I was powerless to do anything but watch as he rose in the field next 
to me, his chest covered only by his thin blue shirt.  No bulletproof 
vest to save his life.  And I knew he was going to die.

Worse, I realized, he wanted to die.  To be with her.  So that 
history would repeat itself.  What could I do?  "Mulder!" I shouted 
at him as I had so very many times before.  It was no use.

Cringing inside I watched.  Waiting.

No shots rang out.  He disappeared into the building.

No shots rang out.  I ran after him.


The horror and the death was incomprehensible.  Unconscionable.  
Bodies covered the floor like a thick, fatal carpet.  There was only 
one living man in the room.

I went to him, knowing that he needed me.  But for a second, I 
hesitated.  I couldn't touch him.  I could only stand by his side 
like a statue and look down at her body, her lips stained a ruby red 
by the poison she'd drunk.

Melissa.

A sharp, unexpected pain went through me.  Tears sprang to my eyes 
but I knew I couldn't cry.  I was the strong one.  I had to be there 
to pick up the pieces.

And he cried as though he had been shattered.

One arm slid across his broad back, the other hand grasped his 
shoulder.  I pulled him up.  "C'mon, Mulder," I said softly.  He did 
not resist; he leaned heavily against me, limp, and allowed me to 
lead him back through the death into the sunshine.


I thought he was sleeping on the drive back, but his eyes were open 
the entire time.  At least he'd stopped crying, except for the 
occasional broken sob he couldn't hold back.  I didn't look at him. I 
just drove faster.  Pressing on towards home.

:::

Where am I?  My eyes opened suddenly from a dream that was instantly 
forgotten and I was in an unfamiliar place.  A dark place.  With 
something hot and smooth against my cheek.

Mulder's couch.

I remembered.

I lay still a moment, listening intently, trying to pick out a sound 
that might have woken me.  I was cozy where I was.  I didn't want to 
get up.  I wanted to go back to sleep, I wanted to forget.

A flash of lightning blasted apart the darkness and a moment later, 
thunder boomed like a cannon.

A cannon.

I was awake.  I pushed myself up from the couch with my arms and 
straightened my clothes.  A steady drizzle began to beat against the 
windows and the street outside.  I stumbled through the darkness to 
Mulder.

He was sleeping exactly as I'd left him, curled fetally as though 
against a pain too intense to bear.  I stood by the bed and looked at 
him, listening to his breathing.  It was soft but  I could hear it.  
He was frowning, even in his sleep.  Dreaming, maybe.

Of her?

I straightened the blanket over him, pulling its corners down to 
cover his bare feet, drawn up next to his body.  I looked at him 
again to try to assure myself that he was all right and then I went 
back out into the living room.

I sat down on the couch and pulled Mulder's Indian print blanket 
around myself to ward off a lingering chill.  I watched the rain.  I 
didn't try to sleep.

I needed to figure out what had happened but I didn't know where to 
begin.  Alone and cold in the darkness, I felt utterly overwhelmed.  
And responsible.

I should have stopped this.  I should have taken better care of him.  
I should have pulled him away when I saw this case taking hold of him,
 mesmerizing him.

Before he lost himself to it.

How would you have done that? I had to be practical.  I knew that 
Mulder was stubborn.  That he only did what he wanted to do, everyone 
else on the planet be damned.

Everyone else including me.

Still.  I should have protected him.

How?  By being his soulmate?

I shivered.

It was all a bunch of nonsense.  Hocus pocus, the power of suggestion.
  I didn't believe in it.

But I had held the proof of it in my hands.

I did not want to believe.

Melissa's story had been unverifiable.  And Mulder's story related 
under hypnosis had been a fabrication.  A fantasy, based on what he 
had heard Melissa say.

But he'd given names and dates.  That could be verified.  That had 
been verified, by me.  Those damned pictures.

Had he loved her all this time?  Through eternity, even as ridiculous 
as that sounded?

What about me?

I almost got up to check on him again.  I didn't want to think about 
it, I wanted to run.  I was scared, sitting in this room that was so 
very much his in the rain with my thoughts.

What about me?

If he'd heard himself say that I was his soulmate, what would have 
happened?  Would his feelings for me have changed?

But he wouldn't have said it because he didn't feel it.  Because it 
had been a dream, made-up, pretend.  It wasn't real.  If he'd said it,
 he would have laughed embarrassedly and said it wasn't really true.

Why did it hurt to think it was real?

It was like a hope I hadn't known I had was crushed.  And it was 
strange.

Was I sentenced to spend eternity as Mulder's sidekick?  The voice of 
reason in his ear, telling him what he should do before he rushed off 
to do what he wanted to do?

Did I have no one of my own?

I didn't need a man to make my life complete.

But to know, as surely as one could know anything, that there was no 
one out there for me...wouldn't that make my life to lonely to even 
contemplate?

....end it now and start over...Melissa's words slithered through my 
mind.

Mulder was left lonely too, without his soulmate.

He'd tried to die to be with her.

And I'd stopped him.

I felt sick.  I didn't know what any of it meant.

His sergeant, his father.

I didn't know the sergeant had been unmarried.  I'd been too full of 
Mulder to even think of it.

His father...he had to have had a mother.

But people married without love all the time.

I'd felt a strange pull as he'd related that story - memory - 
whatever.  It had affected me.  Deeply.  My heart had begun to beat 
faster as though with recognition as he'd spoken.

But the only one I felt any connection with in that half shared 
memory was him.

I could still see it in my mind now, clearer than any movie.  The 
black night glittering with shattered glass.  A little boy and an old 
man lying in the street.

Mulder standing by, broken and helpless.

"An officer...he is Cancerman."

I shuddered violently.  I could see it, I could feel it, I could 
smell the smoke lingering in my nostrils.  Cancerman.  He'd hurt me 
in this life.

Evil comes back as evil.

Wait a minute.

Cancerman?

Died and reborn and as old as he is,  all since World War 2?

I sat up straighter and let the blanket slide from my shoulders, 
trying to concentrate, trying to see the numbers in my head.

There wasn't enough time.  Cancerman couldn't be a day under sixty.  
And even if he hadn't been worn and aged by the smoke that surrounded 
him, he'd have to be...it was impossible.  It had taken Mulder twenty 
years, give or take, to slide into another life.

There wasn't enough time.  It wasn't true.  Odds were, Cancerman had 
been ten years old at the time of World War Two.  It was a fantasy.  
Psychologically sound, with Cancerman hurting me, hurting Samantha...
but untrue.

For some crazy reason, I felt relief.  It wasn't true.  And this was 
better proof than the photos.  Numbers didn't lie.

Memory did. I knew that.

Mulder had probably gotten the names out of a book he'd forgotten 
he'd read.  I felt like rejoicing.

It didn't last long.  How could I tell him?

Intuitively, I got up from the couch and walked to the kitchen and 
poured a glass of water.  Mulder would be thirsty when he woke - 
dehydrated from the crying.  My legs felt shaky under me but I 
ignored it. I went into the bedroom.

Mulder was just sitting up.  His eyes were puffy.  I didn't reach for 
the light.  "Here," I said, handing the glass of water to him. He 
took a grateful sip with a wry grin and let out a sigh.  I brushed 
his hair back and managed to feel his forehead before he jerked away 
from my touch.  "How do you feel?" I asked.

He swallowed more water and avoided answering.

I crouched down next to the bed and tried to think of something to 
say.  Something comforting.  Something that didn't begin, "Mulder, 
it's not true."

He scooted over in the bed and patted the covers next to him.  I gave 
him a look that was slightly wary and thought that maybe I should go. 
 I shouldn't be here, what was I doing?

I sat down.  Mulder handed me the half filled glass of water and I 
set it on the nightstand.  Careful not to touch him, not even through 
the blanket he'd pulled tight across his lap and legs.  He looked out 
the window as though searching for something to say.  I watched him 
for a moment. Then he began to turn his head to look at me and I 
looked away quickly, toying with a slightly loose thread on my pants.


I could feel him looking at me and I  pulled at the thread more.  
Almost angrily.  His hand covered mine and suddenly I was very still. 
 And I couldn't breathe.  I hoped he wouldn't notice that.

"They say..." he began and his voice was rough.  I wanted to force 
the rest of the water on him, but I remained still.  "You learn 
something from every life.  When you don't, then the events replay 
until you get them right.  Scully, I -" he couldn't finish the 
thought.

I shook my head and mumbled something that didn't even pretend to be 
a word to try to stop him.

"We died together.  Twice.  We loved each other," the words were 
agony for him to say and no less painful for me to listen to.  He 
didn't hide it as well as I did.  "And I thought that meant...but she 
died in the war again this time and I didn't."
	
Not for lack of trying, I thought.  His hand tightened on mine.  I 
didn't say anything.

"Maybe it wasn't meant to be," he said.

"There's always next life."  I couldn't stop the words.  I glanced at 
him and his hurt, shocked look made me instantly regret them.  Mulder 
didn't need to be hurt by me, not now.  He could hurt himself well 
enough.  It wasn't fair for me to strike out at someone who was so 
damnably vulnerable as he was at that moment.

"No," he said.  "I learned, Scully."  He smiled even though there 
were tears in his eyes again.  He took possession of my hand, 
clasping it, threading his fingers through mine.  "I passed the test 
this time, I learned from my past mistakes.  Because of you."

I opened my mouth but there were no words.  I took a deep shaky 
breath, amazed by the light in his eyes as he looked at me.  I wanted 
to burst into tears myself.  And then I felt ashamed because I still 
could not believe.

But he needed to.  In order to keep living.  He'd had too many dreams 
torn from him in his life.  He could do without this one small truth. 
 For now.  Maybe tomorrow, next week, next year I could find the 
words to tell him without destroying him.  Maybe he would wake 
tomorrow and figure it out for himself.  But I couldn't take it from 
him.  It was not mine to take.  I could not take his belief.

He touched my face with incredibly tenderness and it startled me.  I 
looked at him and realized I was shedding silent tears.  I was cold.  
I bit my lip, trying to hold them back, but it did nothing.  After a 
moment, he put his arm around my shoulders and pulled my head down 
against his shoulder, resting it there.  I knew it was more for his 
own comfort than for mine.

I reached up to wipe away my inexplicable tears and he stopped me.  
"It's all right, Dana," he murmured.  And I let my arm drop.  It was 
all right, sitting there together.  We needed each other.  It was not 
weakness.  It was something else entirely.  Something that could go 
without a name.

The end.

"You cannot kill their love."


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