From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 21 Apr 2001 05:31:28 -0000
Subject: Regeneration (post Three Words) by AnnaRan
Source: direct

Reply To: annaran@wi.rr.com


Title: Regeneration (Another missing scene/Three 
Words)
Author: AnnaRan
Email: annaran@wi.rr.com
Spoilers: Three Words
Keywords: MSR, vignette
Rating: R, language
Feedback: Please!
Summary: Mulder gets help from an old friend.
Disclaimer: These are not my characters but belong to 
Chris Carter, 1013 and Fox. No copyright infringement 
is intended.


"What we look for beyond seeing
And call the unseen,
Listen for beyond hearing
And call the unheard,
Grasp for beyond reaching
And call the withheld,
Merge beyond understanding
In a oneness
Which does not merely rise and give light,
Does not merely set and leave darkness,
But forever sends forth a succession of living
things as mysterious
As the unbegotten existence to which they return."
(Lao Tzu, The Way of Life)

Regeneration

When his shoes hit the black pavement of the park's 
joggers path his body takes over so his mind can 
think. It's a routine that even three months 
underground couldn't change. 

"Be careful what you pray for." Shit. That was mean 
even for a recently cold dead guy. He knows why he 
said it. It's because of the way she looked at him. 
There's too much amazement and wonder in her eyes and 
he wanted to dull it. To pop the bubble she's got 
surrounding him. He's tried to put himself in her 
place but he can't or maybe he's afraid to. He knows 
she'd be questioning this Lazarus thing, looking for 
purpose and meaning. He's not ready to do that. 

He remembers when Skinner told him about his near 
death experience in Vietnam. "I was afraid to look 
beyond that experience," he had confided. "Mulder, 
you. . .you are not."

 Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The word beats in perfect 
rhythm with his pounding heart and feet. The night is 
cool and foggy. His skin is sweaty. And he feels once 
again like he did in the hospital--cold and clammy--
not quite human, a modern day Frankenstein wandering 
the country in search of. . . fucking what? He feels 
like a wind-up toy that's spun itself out in a circle 
and now lies spent on its side. Always the circles. He 
lives and works circles. "The bullet that was fired 
eight years ago, a magic bullet that's been going 
round and round." He speaks in fucking circles. 

These thoughts are suddenly too heavy for his body to 
carry and Mulder sits down on a fog soaked park bench.  
He wipes the sweat rolling down his face with his t-
shirt and throws his head between his legs. He thinks 
about the dream now because it's not a circle. It's 
linear. In it, he's moving fast down a long corridor. 
His pace is confident and strong and just as he gets 
through the doorway, he runs headfirst into a glass 
door that stops him cold. Through the glass he sees 
Scully, but she is an eagle circling and waiting for 
him to get through the door. He looks down and sees he 
is a snake. And he's suddenly afraid of the eagle, 
afraid of where she may take him. Mulder rubs the back 
of his neck with his hand and sits back on the bench. 

It is then he sees the old man sitting next to him. He 
doesn't remember him being there when he sat down, but 
in his state of mind it's possible he didn't notice. 
Since he appears to be sleeping, Mulder takes a longer 
look. The man's chin is on his chest and his long 
white hair covers the sides of his face. His brown, 
leathered hands are clasped in his lap and he's 
wearing the clothes of a Native American. There's 
something familiar about him. Mulder leans over and 
gently pushes the man's hair back. 

Albert Hosteen. "Impossible," he whispers out loud. 
Hosteen slowly raises his head and turns toward 
Mulder, laying a brown gnarled hand on his leg. 

"Twice the Earth Mother has returned the FBI warrior 
man." Hosteen's kind smile breaks through the 
blackness of the night like a full moon. He ignores 
Mulder's blank stare and continues, "God speaks in a 
small voice. You must stop the internal dialogue to 
hear. You listen with the ears of a warrior who hears 
only the battle, and you search with the eyes of a 
hero who does not wish to follow the path."
 
"That's a lie." Mulder is no longer dazed but angry. 
"I've spent eight years risking everything to follow 
the path to the truth."

"Yes, it is true you have searched out there," and he 
gestures with his arm outstretched and his palm up, 
"but you have not returned to search here, and he 
circles his hand back to rest over his heart."

You mean pray? Mulder asks incredulously.

"It will help you find the truth path and soften your 
return. The FBI woman has already been given your gift 
to give. The name of that gift is no secret to you--it 
is love. But you must protect that gift from all who 
wish to harm it, for your love has brought the spark 
of life that will kindle the spirit of a dying world." 
Mulder closes his eyes and rubs his forehead.

"Go to the FBI woman now. She is already farther along 
the path of truth.  Remember, the snake is bound to 
the earth but the eagle flies in the heavens."

The weight of Albert's hand on Mulder's back causes 
him to sink to his knees on the damp ground. He 
doesn't know how long he stays like this but when he 
looks up, Scully is standing above him. 

"Are you alright, Mulder? she asks already stooping 
down to check his pulse. 

Mulder glances at the bench behind him and then gets 
up. "I must have fallen asleep."

"On the ground? In the park?  Mulder, it's 3 am. What 
were you doing out here?" The worry has gone from her 
face and she's obviously irritated.  

"Running and thinking. Having visions and praying, I 
guess." He could be an ass sometimes.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He notices beneath the 
long black coat she can no longer button that she's 
still wearing her pajamas. She looks cold, confused 
and tired. 

"Come on." He places his hand on the small of her 
back. "Let's get out of here." 

They walk back to his place in silence. At his 
apartment door she hesitates, "Still want me in 
there?"

"Scully, listen, I'm sorry for the things I said 
before. I. . .," he hesitates and takes her hand in 
his, ". . .I left here tonight to run in the park and 
clear my head, and instead I traveled to another 
place."
 
"Another place? Instantly, she reaches up with her 
other hand and feels his head. 

"A place I found long ago in the hogan on the Navajo 
reservation. . .a place I had forgotten about. I guess 
I needed reminding." His voice is so low she has to 
step closer to hear him.

"Reminded? How?" 

"Albert Hosteen." Scully inhales slowly in order to 
exhale her own memory of Albert Hosteen.

"Come in. I'll tell you about it." He holds the door 
open for her.

The apartment is cold and dark, but it doesn't matter 
tonight. He's ready to rebuild a fire that's been cold 
too long. Scully had told him once, "Not everything's 
about you, Mulder," and she was right. Almost. He sees 
it now. Everything's about her and this. . .their 
child. His eyes fall on the old Navajo blanket she had 
wrapped herself in the first time she came to his bed. 
If only unconsciously, he wants to believe he had 
sensed the significance of that. God, he hopes so. He 
can be so thick sometimes.  

Scully takes her coat off and tosses it on the couch. 
He reaches for the blanket, wraps it around her body 
and pulls her close. She looks up at him and he kisses 
her until she pulls away to rest her head against his 
chest. 

"I love you, Scully," he whispers. 

"I love you too, Mulder." She takes his hand and leads 
the way back to his bedroom, the blanket sliding off 
her shoulders just inside the doorway.

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