Date: Wed, 22 Dec 1999 18:02:13 -0500
Subject: Message (1/1) by RM
Source: xff

Title: Message
Author: RocketMan >lebontrager@iname.com<
Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No fringe is
intended. 

SPOILER::: Premier of Season 7

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Message
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She can't stand his stare, the cold deadness of the soul and the bulge
of his sleep-deprived eyes. She wants to lean over and close his eyes,
but that would be too close to shutting his eyes for good, too similar
to putting him to rest.

"I'm not giving up on you, Mulder. You have to hold on for me."

Once again, no response, no flicker of life through those eyes, that
stare. She is starting to cry now, letting the tears drip slowly from
her cheeks. Biting her lip, Scully looks away, towards the doors,
blinking rapidly to clear her vision. A face is peering in at the
windows, a cold hard glare of eyes and long thin nose. 

Scully's eyes narrow and Fowley backs away, disappearing into shadows
and remoteness, leaving Scully to wonder if she'd even seen her.

As soon as the woman is gone, Mulder's fingers squirm in her own. Scully
glances down, hope flaring fast in her heart, and sees Mulder's eyes
concentrating on her. Actually focused and unwavering, lips slack and
face pale white, but still alive in spirit, still with her.

"Mulder?"

His throat works, his neck strains, but nothing comes from his lips, not
even groans. She knows intellectually that the medication he's been
given keeps him from any real muscle control, but it makes her hurt to
see him this way, inert and powerless.

"Mulder, I'm here now. I'm not leaving. They're going to throw me out,
but I'll get back in here, I promise."

He blinks and his head rolls and his fingers move in her palm, tracing
patterns with his nail. She feels the rough movement of his jagged nail
like a body deprived of touch for too long.

His head wobbles in a shake, and she reaches up to stroke his cheek, to
touch his forehead and dirty lanks of hair, to caress some part of him
that is still, somehow, hers.

A scratch at her leg makes her glance to his fingers, moving with
purpose it seems, moving around on her thigh in designed, specific
patterns.

"Can you write?" she asks, hope filling her throat to choking, tears the
same.

Mulder's eyes roll and she bites her lip and takes the chance, unsure
whether she is simply wishing on clouds and stars, or really sensing
something from him. Maybe he had been wary of Fowley's presence and
wanted to make sure they were truly alone.

Some hopes are not for you. . .

She hears the man's voice in her head, but with the slight variation
that makes her want to cry with fear. How can she help him, how can she
possibly make him well from this?

His hand suddenly tightens on her knee, bringing her eyes down to meet
his, to see such a spark of conscious, a flame of Mulder, that she has
to smile and lean forward to kiss his forehead. He knew, somehow, that
she needed reassurance.

His fingers scrabble across her thigh again and she nods and reaches for
the pen in her pocket, placing it in his fingers. She searches for
paper, for a napkin, something for him to write on, but she feels the
pen tip on her hand and glances down.

He is writing awkwardly on her palm, bold blue letters. She has always
had a preference for blue ink even though most official forms require
black. She carries it around because she likes to be ready.

"L," she whispers, overjoyed.

He writes the next letter, then the next, and she watches his eyes
concentrating on conveying his message, the intensity of emotion and
need on his face. She wants so badly to yank the pen from his fingers
and have his lips move and tell her everything that has happened,
everything she never thought she'd want to hear. Aliens, power, and the
government.

She glances down at a tap on her leg.

Love U.

She blinks and tears swell into her vision like a mighty river, raging
and raging with the floods of fear and love and sorrow. Unconsciously,
her tongue licks her lips and she hears herself again saying, he's not
dying.

But it's in her head and her lips say instead, "I love you too, Mulder.
You're going to hold on, you're going to be okay. I'm going to cure you
just like you cured me. Got it partner?"

His fingers link through hers and she leans across his feeble, thin body
to kiss his lips, lightly and swiftly, gently and sorrowfully. She is
crying and her tears wet his dry, cracked cheek, her grip on his hand is
crushing his two broken little fingers. His good hand comes unsteadily
to her cheek, collapses on his chest, inert again. She looks up and his
eyes are dead again, far away, lifeless.

She doesn't know if he will make it. She doesn't know anymore. She
prays, after everything that she has seen, she needs to believe in God
even more.

She prays that his message will come from his lips next time.

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end
adios
RM