***************************************************************** This author's e-mail address has changed to: rn500@usa.net ***************************************************************** From: "rn500" Date: Thu, 30 Sep 1999 23:00:47 -0400 Subject: REPOST: "Run" (M/S UST) One more month to go. I thought I had it beat. No post-finale story outta me this year, no sir! I was gonna be *strong* this time. *Sigh* My muse had other plans for me, I guess. I am helpless before her. ~~~~~~ Title: Run Author: Linda Phillips (rn500@usa.net) Rating: PG Category: V / Angst / UST Keywords: M/S UST Spoilers: Biogenesis Archiving: Gossamer - yes; others just let me know Completed on: 9/26/99 Summary: Scully finally decides that the good of the one outweighs the good of the many. A post episode story. Disclaimers: The X-Files and it's characters belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Television. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ If I closed my eyes, I could almost be rocked to sleep by the gentle motion of the train. Almost. I *have* slept since we boarded. Morsels of sleep, here and there, snatched by my body when it could not be vigilant for one more moment. But not tonight. Tonight, I watch. He sleeps the sleep of the haunted, of someone who has seen the other side and come back condemned with the vision. He grips the blanket, tugging at it, pulling it off again and again as he mumbles and wrestles with the unseen. Occasionally he is still, his troubled words replaced by soft breathing. Only then can I close my eyes and rest. I pull the curtain back a bit from the window and watch the darkness go by. In a few hours it will be morning, and we will leave the safety of the train. We will search for a woman, a scientist named Anita Renaldi. I learned of her while in South Africa, and I believe she has a piece of the puzzle that hurled us into this journey. She is not expecting us, and I doubt that she'll be happy to see us. But it's the only clue we have to follow right now. Mulder calls out sharply, startling my heart into skipping a beat. There are usually no words to his outcries, but I know he's not calling to me - it is the invisible men who still torment him that he confronts. He moans again and I go to him, taking his hands and urging him back to the present. He mumbles and tries to pull away for a moment, then opens his eyes and blinks. It takes a few seconds until he sees me and remembers where he is. "It's all right," I say, smoothing the damp hair back from his forehead. "Go back to sleep." "You should sleep," he mumbles. "Not yet. I'm not tired yet. Another hour maybe, then I'll wake you." "Sure?" he asks as his eyes close. "I'm sure." In a few moments his hands relax and slip from mine, and I return to my watch near the window. The drugs in his system are still wearing off, even after five days, and he tires easily. I don't know what they were giving him in there, but I doubt that I could find it on a drugstore formulary. But he's coming back. He's almost Mulder again. When I came back from South Africa to get him, he was nearly catatonic. But, by then, I had an idea of what I would find when I returned. I went prepared. I enlisted the Gunmen, and the three of us managed to spirit Mulder out of that hellhole. I only shot two of the supposed "guards", although I was primed for more. We wound up in a small motel where we hid out until we could board the train. And now, we run. We've rarely left the compartment in the four days that we have been traveling. I haven't seen any indication that we were followed, but by now it's second nature to look over our shoulder. On the second day, we had to switch trains in Chicago, and we would have been hard to miss even if there *was* no one looking for us. Mulder was still so inanimate, barely sentient to what was going on around him, that I found myself leading him around like a child. I shake my head a little at the picture - the little redhead in the long coat guiding the tall dazed-looking man around the station. I finally found a corner booth in a diner where we waited out our layover, me with my back to the wall and eyes on the door, Mulder alternately staring at the table and glancing at me. I ordered food for us, and Mulder picked at his sandwich. Mine sat untouched. I wonder why. I pull my knees up and lean my chin on them, my eyes again drawn to the dark world passing by the window. I've spent many hours in this chair over the last few days, and at times it's been a breathtaking view. We've passed the mighty Mississippi River, scorched deserts and awe-inspiring mountains - something I might have enjoyed in another life, another time. Now they flicker by as if I'm watching a travel film. Mulder has slept through most of it, but now and then he too pulls back the curtain to gaze out. I watch him and see his eyes mimic the hollow feeling inside me. There are lights in the distance, perhaps another small town, looking like many of the others we have sped past. I can't help but think of what it would be like to be in that town now, snug in a safe house and a warm bed. A choked laugh escapes me at the thought. I could never be like them, I know, even if I wanted to. Not now. It's too late. Right now I don't think my own mother would want to recognize me. I felt no remorse when I shot those two men at the hospital. I only wounded them, as I planned to do, but even as they writhed in pain I had my finger on the trigger. It would have been easy, this time. The words were in my head, I heard them... 'do it... do it...' I thought of Mulder screaming incoherently. I thought of them trying to make me believe he was mad, making *him* believe he was mad, hoping they could hide him away and keep the truth from both of us. It would have been easy, just to pull the trigger another fraction of an inch. But I didn't do it. I won't let them rob me of what humanity I have left. But there was one thing for which I was not prepared - Diana Fowley, keeping watch outside of Mulder's room. My stomach heaved when I saw her. I did not attempt to hide myself, hoping that she knew nothing of the commotion that had just occurred outside the unit. Her eyes widened as she saw me approach. "Agent Scully!" she said, feigning concern. "Where have you been? He's been calling for you." Before she could make a move I had my gun aimed between her eyes, and the object of her concern suddenly changed. "Don't do this, Dana," she said. "You don't know what's at stake here." I've never hated anyone more. "Mulder's life is at stake here," I said through clenched teeth. "That's all I need to know." I had her take off her jacket and drop it to the floor, then step out of her shoes. I frisked her quickly and found no hidden weapons. "That way," I said, nodding toward a janitor's closet. She walked slowly toward it, keeping one eye on me. I opened the door and motioned for her to step inside. "Dana..." "Get in!" I cuffed her hands around a large pipe. That's when she started. "Dana, listen to me - you don't have to do this! You don't understand - we can help each other..." I pulled out my secret weapon - a roll of duct tape. Carefully, I tore off a piece. "Scully, wait!" I looked her in the eyes. Those empty, dark, deceitful eyes. "Don't call me that," I told her. The tape fit perfectly. I tore off another piece, smaller this time. Her demeanor changed considerably as I brought it up to within an inch of her nose. Her breath came in short, panicky bursts as she tried to move her head away, but I grabbed her chin in my hand and held it still. She stared at me, trying to keep some semblance of dignity in her panicked eyes. "Isn't there anything that you love?" I asked her finally. I stuck the tape to the pipe before I left her there. I unlocked the door to Mulder's 'room', and found him huddled in a corner, his head resting on his drawn up knees. "Mulder? It's me - it's Scully." He lifted his face to me and I nearly cried. I went to him slowly, careful not to frighten him. His skin was ghostly pale, dark smudges beneath his eyes, and he stared at me vacantly. "Mulder - " I touched his arm gently. He didn't move. "I'm going to take you out of here, okay?" He just looked at me. "Do you understand?" I asked. Again, no response. I took his hand and tugged on it. "Come with me, Mulder. Come with me." He stood, holding my hands unsteadily. Quickly, I helped him dress in the clothes I had brought. Frohike was at the rear entrance with the car when Mulder and I made it out. I gently pushed Mulder into the back seat of the car and onto the floor. "It will just be for a minute, Mulder," I assured him guiltily. I could sense his fear and confusion. "Just until we get past the gate." He watched me with wide eyes as I shut the car door, but he didn't say a word. As soon as we got out of sight of the guard I had Frohike stop the car, and I jumped out. I climbed into the back seat and pulled Mulder up beside me before we took off again. He kept looking at me, and I took his hand and squeezed it hard. "It's okay now, Mulder." I touched his cheek. "It's going to be okay." He blinked, then leaned his head onto my shoulder. I held him there against me until we reached the motel. And again, we run. I glance over at his still form, and wonder how much more of this we can take. I am afraid. And I think he knows just how scared I am. I'm afraid there will be no going back this time. I will not deny what I've seen - although I've seen countless things that look like truth before becoming lies. But this time, it was not just my eyes that convinced me. I had listened to my guide, Ayize, as he interpreted the tales the natives told. I watched their faces as they spoke. Many times I've seen the fear of those who are uneducated, unworldly. I've seen their eyes widen and their bodies quiver with fright as they tell the legends of demons and dragons and monsters from another world. But *these* people - they were not afraid. They told their stories as a fact of their life, as something that they know and have always known. The beings came from above long before their father's father's father, leaving their teaching and their marks and their vessel before they disappeared beneath the earth. Simple as that. I believed them. And I believed *him*. And I knew what I had to do. Suddenly I feel him watching me, and I look over to see the glint of his eyes in the darkness. He extends his hand, and I rise to take it. I sit on the edge of his reclined chair and try to smile, trying to make him believe it will be all right. He squeezes my hand harder. He moves away from me in the chair and pulls back the blanket. I hesitate a moment - just for a moment - before I lie down beside him. I lay on my side, my head on his shoulder. Even through our clothes I can feel his warm heartbeat against my back. My eyes well up, stinging the dry, tired lids. He pulls the blanket over us, holding me to him. He brushes my hair back carefully, tucking it behind my ear again and again. He wants to say something - he's been trying to all day. I know what it is, yet I don't approach the words either. He wants to tell me 'thank you'. He wants to say that he loves me. The same things I have so often longed to say. But how can words be adequate for him and I? They would say less than nothing. We barely fit together on the narrow recliner, but I can sleep now. He won't let me fall. I let myself drift to the feel of his fingers across my temple, slow and soothing, and it tells me what I need to know. Before I sleep I turn to him, tucking one arm in front of me and the other around his waist. He pulls me close, and I hear him sigh before the sway of the train car lulls me into nothingness. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ End Comments to Linda at rn500@usa.net Hopelessly Romantic X-Files http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Station/2978