From: raenright@aol.com (RaEnright) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: On The Brink-New Short Date: 17 Jul 1995 10:47:31 -0400 Okay, okay, Fish Story II is coming, give me time...anyway, until then, here is my humble offering(Gotta stay on schedule...gotta stay on schedule...) As I was conversing thru email with a friend of mine, Aviva Roller, we started speculating, and I don't want to spoil the story, so I won't say what about, but it was deep and cool. Please read through to the end, I'll explain it all then(Don't read the end first, you wouldn't want to spoil it!). And pay specific attention to the dates, or you will be gloriously confused. You might be anyway, but that's beside to point. M/S romance, warning, but no real mushy stuff. It's another downer, people, sorry. But it tells an interesting story, and I wanted to get this idea across. All characters from the show belong to the creators thereof, CC, FBS, and 1013...Brewer and Rawling are mine, though I don't see what I could do with them in the future...also, Michael and William belong to me. Once again, credits to Anik and Aviva for editing. Here we go... On The Brink April 22, 1997 Dana sat on the comforter in her bedroom. It was slightly helpful, the memories of here... She felt a light touch on her shoulder and began to cry. Heaving sobs; the kind you feel maybe twice only in a lifetime, if you're lucky. She didn't feel lucky. She cried. She hadn't cried like this when she'd thought Mulder was dead in the boxcar; she hadn't cried like this after Donnie Pfaster, she hadn't even cried like this when her father had died. Fox Mulder sat next to her, holding her tight, himself shaking with barely controlled emotion. "Shh. It's okay. Deep breath, Dana." Slowly she relaxed, slowly she leaned back against him and tried to sleep. She was so tired... Mulder felt her relax, felt her breathing steady, and laid her back on the bed. Heading for the kitchen, he noticed the mess. There hadn't been spare time or energy to clean in the last few days, but he set himself to doing it now, carefully not clanking any pots or pans, careful not to awake Dana. She wasn't sleeping as much as she should. He picked up one item, a small sort of dish. It used to be on Dana's desk. His lips curled into a sad smile as he remembered. _______________________ October third, 1995 "I can't believe this." "Mulder-" "Why? Is it the stress? Scully, please-" "Mulder, I have my reasons." She crossed her arms and glared at him. "And maybe if you'd stop storming around the office for a minute I could explain." "Okay. I've stopped." He stared back at her. "Now, can I get an explanation?" "Mulder, it's not the stress, though I'll admit it has been stressful. It's not you, though I admit *you* have been stressful." She saw him smile and continued. "But I think...that I need to move on. It's not as if I'll be moving to the moon or anything. I'll be two blocks away. Two blocks, Mulder." "But-" "I'm not done. It's not that I haven't gained anything, or learned anything. But I think it's the right time." "That's a damned lousy reason, Scully." She sighed. "I know. And it's the best one I can think of. But there are other reasons, Mulder, and I'm not ready to tell you them just yet." "Okay." He ran a hand through his hair. "I understand that this has not been an easy assignment. I understand that you have reasons you aren't willing to share for leaving. I'd like to know, however, when you *do* intend to tell me." "I'm not sure, Mulder. I'll let you know when I'm ready." Scully tapped the box on her desk. "In the meantime..." she smiled. "Help me pack?" He'd slipped, dropped the bowl as he helped her. It was the breaking point. "Jesus Christ. Holy Jesus christ." He whispered. "I'm sorry, Scully." She looked at him, and they both burst out laughing. He didn't know what else to do. She was resigning, and here he was, laughing because he'd broken her bowl. It was the stupidest thing he'd seen in his life. For some reason, it was also the funniest. __________________________ April 22, 1997 He traced the glue lines around the edges of the bowl thoughtfully before dusting it off and replacing it. Next were the plates; well, there weren't so many of those, Skinner had brought over food and he'd been too tired to do more than eat out of the container. The microwave, unprogrammable by almost everyone except Brewer, hadn't had a lot of work. Cold mashed potatoes were awful, as both Brewer and Rawling had assured him, but they filled at least one gap. Brewer and Rawling. _________________________ January fifth, 1996 She sounded tired over the phone line. "Scully." "Hi, sunshine. You sound great." "Thanks, Mulder." "Listen to this, Scully, they're expanding the X-Files." "They're *what?!*" Expanding." He couldn't keep a slightly smug tone out of his voice. "Two new agents. Partners, Alex Brewer and Paul Rawling." "That's great, Mulder." She said, more enthusiastically than she felt. "But are you sure this isn't another Krycek switch?" Silence. "Ah." "I haven't met them yet. They're moving in today. I guess I'm going to have to test them." "Do you, Agent Mulder, intend to pull the FBI's most unwanted act on them?" "Worked with you." He said, with a grin she couldn't see but knew was there. "Listen, I wanted to ask if you were doing anything for lunch today. I want them to get a good look around without me there. See what they think of me." "I'm starving." She said emphatically. "Half an hour?" "Race you." And the phone clicked. Scully smiled. -- "So anyway, they seem to be normal, rational, sensible people, from their profiles." Mulder chewed on his sandwich. "I should scare the hell out of them." "At least I know you're in good hands. I didn't think Skinner would leave you alone for long. You'd get killed too quickly." "I'll have you know I survived for a full three months without you...once." he said, hiding his smile behind a cup of soda. "And a fine job you did." She picked at her salad. "How's the job, madam surgeon?" "It's hard. I...lost one today." "Scully-I'm sorry." He reached out, put a hand on her wrist. "First?" "Yeah." She nodded. "He shouldn't have died." "It's bound to happen once in a while, Scully. I'm sorry." "Me too." ____________________________ April 22, 1997 He *had* had doubts; as to the loyalty of his new partners, not to mention the competence. But they were fine young men, who had been destined for something better than the basement den of Spooky...until, for some reason known only to them and a select few, they were sent down to him. And found the perfect niche. Brewer dove headlong into the work, a Believer at his best. The problem was that often he crossed the fine line between believing and gullibility. Which was where Rawling, a street-punk mentality with a sharp mind and gift for bad timing came in. And saved both his and Mulder's butt more than a few times. Mulder looked out the window and reflected that he really should send them thank-you notes sometime soon; right now he was distracted by the cut on his palm from the knife he'd been washing. He headed for the bathroom... And caught sight of the ring. ___________________________ March 30, 1996 "Scully...I need to know." Scully sighed over the phone and frowned. "I've told you, Mulder, I'll tell you when I am ready, not before. What brought up this sudden bout of curiosity?" He looked down at the box in his hand and swallowed. "I just need to know. I don't see any reason that would be so horrible that you can't tell me why you left!" "Fine. Fine, I'll tell you. Okay, Mulder? I'll meet you for dinner somewhere." "You want to come over here? Rawling taught me how to cook a mean burrito." "Since when do you listen to Rawling?" "Since we were in a backwater town with no fast food places and a motel with a kitchenette." "Okay, I'll see you, tomorrow night, six-thirty. And I'll tell you *then*." "Great." He knew the reason she'd left, finally it had poked through his thick skull. He *was* the reason, despite what she'd said. He just wasn't the reason the way he'd thought he was. She'd left the X-Files because she loved him. -- He wanted everything to be perfect; if this was half as odd as he thought it was, it would be a very interesting evening. Scully was prompt, as always, if a little drawn-looking. He took her coat and cleared the last of the junk off the table. "Food'll be ready in a minute." She managed a smile in return. It was off to a roaring start. __________________________ April 22, 1997 That night. She'd had to remove the ring for a while, later, claiming it was biting into her finger. He understood, and as long as he had her he didn't care if she wore his ring or not. His reflection was pale, dark circles under his eyes and a bloody rag gripped in his hand. He wasn't sleeping either, not that *that* was new for him. Brewer warned him that sleeping could be hazardous to your health, and claimed he'd never had a full night's sleep since he learned how to drive. He looked like it, too. There was a sigh from the bedroom, and he hurried back. The doctors told him it would get better, that soon she would be feeling herself again. She was so weak right now, though...he wanted to make sure she didn't wake up alone, like that first time she had in the hospital, and screamed until the nurses sedated her. At least the screaming had stopped, to be replaced with sobbing. She had just repositioned herself, her hair falling around her face as she curled up on the blanket. Someone knocked at the door. He rushed out to answer it, hoping it wouldn't wake her. It was Brewer and Skinner, as ever armed with a fresh supply of tupperware containers full of food. They nodded quietly when he gestured to the bedroom and went into the kitchen, stowing the food in the fridge. "Are you okay, pal?" Brewer examined the rag wrapped around Mulder's hand. He unwound it and began to rinse it. "I'm fine, Brewer. Just a little slip." "D'you need anything?" "No. I'm doing all right." "Are you sure, Mulder?" Skinner asked, checking the counter he'd just finished polishing. "Um...no. I do need something." He turned around. "Can you watch Dana for a while? If she wakes up, let her know you're here? I'm...I've got to go out, and she doesn't like to be alone." Skinner nodded and sat down. Brewer set out some food for dinner. He pulled on his boots, his trenchcoat. The weather matched how he felt, dismally gray and overcast. Perfect. He climbed into the car and pulled out onto the streets, carefully avoiding the larger puddles. He'd go to the hospital first, dwell on what little life he could. He hadn't been able to do that, the first few days. _____________________________ April 10, 1997 "Can you tell what caused this? I thought it was preventable."Mulder paced the doctor's office. "We did, as well. I don't understand how we missed it." "What can we do? Why did this happen in the first place?" "As far as we can tell, from her medical records, and from your own, this may have been caused by your 'branched DNA' theories. Or..." the doctor flipped through, "The retrovirus." "I never even thought...is there a way to stop it? Can we be sure it won't happen again?" "We can't be 100% positive, but we can try to prevent it from happening again. If, and I must stress this, Dana survives." "Yeah. If." Mulder ran a hand through his hair. ____________________________ April 22, 1997 "Mr. Mulder, good to see you." The nurse smiled at him. "Right this way, he just woke up half an hour ago." "Is he doing better?" "Much. We may be able to take him off the respirator soon. And then you can take him back home." She opened the door and led him into the glass lined room. On the other side were monitors, hookups, wires, machines. "Are there any...results?" He would *not* allow himself false hopes. "We recieved two rather conclusive ones today. Doctors say chance of brain damage is slim." He slumped against the wall. "Thank you. Oh, god." "That was our reaction, too, Mr. Mulder. We've all become attached to him." "We've been waiting for a long time." "I know it seems that way, Mr. Mulder. But it might be only a few weeks more." "Thank you." Life. What a gift. Maybe Dana wouldn't cry so much. Maybe she would smile for him again. When he brought Michael back, she'd be happy. He went to the next stop- The graveyard. ________________________ April 10, 1997 "Where are they, Fox? Fox!" Dana screamed."Help me, I have to find them-" "Ssh, Dana, I'm here." He soothed. Strange, he always thought she was the strong one, the one who would be able to support him if this sort of thing were to happen. And here he was. "Ssh, Dana, they're safe. Please...don't cry." He held her, or as much of her as he could around the hospital bed. "It's okay." "No, I want to see them, where are they?" "You can't see them right now, Dana, in a few days maybe." He wouldn't tell her now; no, he'd save that for a calmer time. "Are they safe?" she looked at him. He nodded. "I made sure. Brewer's here, and so is Rawling. They're watching them. Go to sleep." "Fox..." she dirfted off as the nurse sedated her again. "I'm sorry, Mr. Mulder." "No, no, it's fine. She needs the rest." _______________________ April 22, 1997 He stood at the tombstone. It was a large, granite-gray slab, like a bench. it read. <1940-1995> And next to it was the Other. The one he'd see just a week before, had stood over while the priest read the final text. _______________________ April 17, 1997 *Strange* his rational mind thought as he stood, the wind flapping around his coat. Strange that Skinner should be the one to stand by him. The older man squeezed his shoulder supportively, and he sent him a silent look of thanks. The Scullys were there, Melissa, Margaret, Bill Jr., and kin, but Skinner was the one who reached out first. His mother was there, also, but hadn't managed to survive the sight of her husband's tombstone along with the Other, and had been led to a waiting car, told to rest. He told himself that while there's life, there's hope, Michael was still alive. And the day Michael came home would make up for this day, the day Michael came home would be wonderful. _______________________________ April 22, 1997 He knelt in the moist dirt and cried, again, finding more comfort here than at his house, where his wife dreamed fitfully. The Other was smaller than the headstone of his father's, and it blurred through the tears. He would bring Michael home with him, but never William. He read the tombstone carefully, impressing every inch into his memory. So, what next? I'm working on it. Here's the stuff I couldn't say at the beginning...the whole thing started when Aviva posed the question, 'if M and S had kids, who would they take after?' to which I replied 'would they even have normal kids, after all they've been exposed to?' and that gave birth, if you'll pardon the expression, to this. There's a part two on the way, it's much less depressing, it mostly has to do with Michael's homecoming, but I'm having trouble writing it, so it may not be out for a while(who am I kidding, it may not be out at all). And I still have to work on Fish Story. Later!