From: ISCCDancer Date: 20 May 1998 05:46:37 GMT Subject: NEW: Outside of Time VA, MSR (The End) Classification: VAR Rating: PG (for the angst) Spoilers: Anything through The End Keywords: implied MSR, Diana Fowley, angst Summary: My take on how Mulder may have dealt with the events that happened in "The End," and how he (and Scully) may have reacted post-fire - but just a little bit past the end of the episode. Archive: If anyone wants to archive this, I'd be flattered, just let me know first. Notes: WARNING! First attempt at fanfic ahead. Feedback appreciated - I'm really curious as to whether this seems in character, mostly for Mulder, since it was kind of an attempt to get inside his head. I should be writing a final paper on the iconoclastic controversies in the Byzantine Empire - instead, I end up with fanfic. Don't tell my professor! :-) Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and anyone else mentioned in this story don't belong to me, I'm just borrowing them for a bit. Please don't sue, I promise to put them back right where I found them as soon as I'm finished with them :-) ************************************************************************** Outside of Time, by Emily of Waco One of the advantages of having a higher than normal IQ was the ability to retreat into those mostly unused parts of the brain, where no one else could follow. From the time he was a child, he had little blocks of "missing time," but his weren't from any kind of alien abduction. He would be sitting there thinking about something, and it would build and build until suddenly it got so big it would seem to explode! ...and he would find himself sitting there in his darkened bedroom, where the sun had been shining only minutes...no, hours before. After Samantha, it became more frequent. In his own little corner of time, outside of normal time, she was still there. He liked living there, because the guilt couldn't catch up with him. His little cerebral world, where he was in control, and no one suffered and no one got taken away and he could just sit there forever and not hurt ...not feel. Somewhere between that world and the tangible one, the thought formed in his mind, I wonder if Gibson does this to get away from the voices ...maybe his brain has enough space so he can just stay there forever ...no, otherwise, why would he want to come back at all? He had been over at Scully's, going over the EEG scans with her again, making sure that their presentation of the facts - the *proof* - was as airtight as they could make it. She'd seemed a little preoccupied, but she told him she was just concerned about Gibson. She always seemed to bond with the kids - he kept back a bittersweet smile at the thought. Someday, when all *this* was over, he hoped she'd get the chance to raise her own kids. The thought made him attack the work before him with a new vengeance; the sooner they had answers, the sooner Scully could have her life back. He pushed away the thoughts that maybe having the answers - knowing the truth - would take them deeper into the darkness...what if Krycek had been right, and *they* were planning...he didn't want to know what, not right now. Focus on the task at hand; don't think too much; withdraw from what you don't want to consider... And then the phone rang. The message was brief - Gibson was gone. Within seconds, he and Scully were out the door, on there way to the supposed safehouse where the boy had been kept. The guard was dead, and Diana... Years ago, seeing her lying like that would have destroyed him. But that was before, when he thought he meant something to her. Yeah, he did mean something - he was a means to an end, someone with whom she could explore outrageous theories, someone to talk to about the paranormal, who wouldn't laugh her silly, but who would embrace the possibilities. But ultimately, he refused to play the game. He wanted to dig deeper, not just observe the out-of-the-ordinary. When he started using these theories to explain decades old unsolved cases - well, specifically, when he did so in spite of subtle reprimands from his superiors - she urged him to tone it down, to publicly go along with them to salvage his career. In essence, to deny who he was, so as not to offend those above him. He couldn't do that, and she couldn't live with his decision. She got international terrorists; he got the basement ...and Scully. When Diana was asking him about his work earlier, she was making it clear that she wanted to come back to her little hobby. But he could smile and brush her off, because at that moment he realized that he didn't need a partner who would verbally agree with his odd theories, who would let him get away with just scratching the surface. He needed someone to make him work, to validate his beliefs. He needed a Scully, simple as that. And so he could interact with Diana as an old friend, with no longing, and no regrets, because he had what he needed. So when he saw Diana being loaded into the ambulance, and heard her prognosis, the sadness that settled over him was one of regret that yet another friend was being punished for his beliefs. And he felt more than a little guilt, because his first reaction was a wave of relief that Scully hadn't been the one guarding the boy, that she had been safe with him, where she belonged. The rest of the images were blurring together: the shooter's death, the wrapper from the Morleys, the encounter with Spender. And then he was on his couch, and Scully was there with him. He didn't have to try to convey his sense of betrayal to her; she was inside his head more so than any psychic kid could ever be. She understood both his rage and his sense of helplessness that someone they should have been able to trust, someone in the Bureau, would be allowed - aided even! - to help *them* ...*THEM,* the shadowy group that was everywhere he turned, just waiting for him to mess up so they could swoop in for the kill. And when waiting became too tedious, they became proactive - hurt his partner, kill his father, hurt his partner some more, destroy all the evidence, hurt his partner some more... but what they hadn't counted on was that the more they hurt Scully, the stronger and more determined she became. They had tried to take her away before; now, according to the message she had relayed from Skinner, they were going to try again. - Oh, Scully, maybe you should just give in...step away from me so they'll stop hurting you... Over and over, the refrain kept coming back to him: I should have seen what they were trying to do...I walked right into it...If I'd been more patient I could have prevented this... He would disappear into his mind-world, then resurface to find that she was still there, in her own pain, but not demanding anything from him, just as he wasn't demanding anything from her. She just stayed because she had to. That was one thing he didn't have to think about - he could feel the cord that was binding them together, that was keeping her here, that was pulling him back and keeping him from drowning in his own mind. Looking at her, she, too, was miles away - maybe it was all that was keeping her afloat as well? "We can still fight this...even if they do separate us. We've done it before." It didn't matter which one of them spoke; it was both, it was neither. It just had to be said, an affirmation that there was still something to hope for... This time it was his phone. No information, just get over to the Hoover building right away. From that point, nothing was clear. His limbs trembling from the adrenaline rush, his heart feeling like it was going to burst from his chest. Stumbling down the stairs.... and then finally... the office ....he knew where he'd been, but not how long he'd been there. It was still dark outside. Still emerging from his subconscious, he thought that if he listened hard enough, he could hear the shards of his heart as they clattered to the burnt floor of the basement. And then real sensation began to register. Hands on his arms, a head buried against his chest. The shaking of a body clinging to him. Amidst the ashes of his life, a glimmer of hope was coming from this little red-headed beacon. She held him and wept, for him, yes, but also for herself, for a quest that had become a part of her as well. At that moment, he knew that his shadowy opponents may have won this battle, but they'd just lost the war. By taking so much from Scully, by using her pain to hurt him, they had made his quest hers. Mulder had his belief; Scully provided the proof. Together they had the tools to not only find the truth, but to expose it as well. The fire in this office hadn't been started merely hours ago, but close to six years ago, when Dana Scully had first been sent to invalidate his work. This fire destroyed barriers and reservations, and melded to strong people together, making them stronger in the process. He could feel the remnant of the smoke burning at his throat and eyes, and was almost overwhelmed again at the enormity of the work that lay ahead. It wasn't going to be easy to rebuild what had been lost, but it wasn't impossible either. He was still drawing in ragged breaths, trying to decide if he was ready to face staying in the tangible world when he felt her stir, trying to compose herself. "Mulder, there's...nothing we can do here...right now. " Mulder I can't face this right now. " Let's go..." He surfaced again in the cab she'd called; neither of them was up to driving anywhere. He felt a momentary panic as they pulled up in front of his apartment and she just sat there. Surely she wasn't planning to leave him alone right now?... his little seed of hope began to wither away ...and then she slowly reached for the door handle. Her eyes met his, pleading, and it dawned on him that she needed him just as much as he needed her right now. And they were inside his apartment, clinging to each other for strength, finally, as the dawn began to break, releasing themselves into an exhausted slumber on his old couch. Two separate bodies, two souls fused together by fire. ************************************************************************** Send all feedback to: ISCCDancer@aol.com -Emily of Waco