From: MystPhile Date: 11 Apr 2000 18:28:06 GMT Subject: NEW:Speak to Me by MystPhile, MSR, post-all things TITLE: Speak to Me AUTHOR: MystPhile@aol.com Distribution: Gossamer, Ephemeral, Spooky, Xemplary, yes. Others, please inform. SUMMARY: Post-all things, Scully is introspective. Category: V, Post-ep, MSR Rating: PG-13 Spoilers: Through all things Disclaimer: Property of 1013 Feedback: Welcome at MystPhile@aol.com WEBPAGE: Thanks to Beaker: http://members.xoom.com/MystPhile/ And at Galia's http://galias.webprovider.com/mystphile.htm And at Xemplary <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< My fork flashed as I shoveled salad into my mouth, not tasting the food. I wasn't really paying attention to anything. I might have been a car parked beside a gas pump, except that my hand and jaws were moving so fast. At least a car has to stop to refuel. But not Scully, real-life Roadrunner. "I'm not wearing any pants right now." I paused long enough to look up and focus briefly on Mulder, babbling endlessly about crop circles in a country outside our jurisdiction. My fork continued to dart as I told him I wasn't going, that I was still busy with the autopsy he had me do. "The autopsy you had me do." Why did I phrase it that way? The fact is, I was doing my job, and Mulder is not my supervisor. How have I managed to lay off responsibility for my own actions on others, so often, without ever realizing it, so very, very often? My delusions continued. Mulder was disappointed at my abrupt refusal. As he left, I asked him why he was always running, chasing the next big thing, why he couldn't stay still. Oh, God, what a case of projection. I am the one who has spent years running, refusing to stay still long enough to ponder the reasons and consequences for my actions. I have spent much of my life walking, or running, away. Missy told me that, years ago. And she was right. She knew about Daniel. Mulder turned before slamming the door. "I don't know what I'd be missing," he told me. Yeah, that's me, too. If I do take the time to think, it's about what I might be missing: the life I'd dreamed of, the "normal" that doesn't really exist. Why have I been so afraid to stop and see what *is* in my life? I am guilty of all that I accused Mulder of, living my life like a hamster circling an endless wheel. I have been acting like Daniel, convinced that some much-needed element is missing from my life, but doing nothing to reach out and take it. Ten years, he said, he has been near me without acting. Why should I find that so surprising, I who have so often refused to act but sat back and blamed my own choices on others. "The autopsy you had me do." Bullshit. "I do it all for you, Mulder." Double bullshit. Grow up, Dana. You're nearing forty, for Christ's sake. <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< I kept running, running both in the sense of avoidance and in maintaining constant motion. I rushed to the hospital, found that Daniel was there, and I *hid* from Maggie. How often have I hidden? How much have I hidden through the years? I left, refusing to wait until Daniel was awake---"Tick, tick, Scully." How old he looked, sleeping. Time had not been kind to him, he with his injured heart. My own ached as I looked down on the man who had been such a powerful force in my life, whom I saw as partly responsible for the path I had trod. I was still laying off the responsibility, still on the run. Even when Maggie called me, I said I didn't know if I had the time to visit Daniel. Then Mulder called, and I was surprised, having lost track of time. What do I have, really, but time? Time that I am wasting, have wasted. "Speak to me, Scully," Mulder intoned into the silence on the line. Those words came back to me, much later, in my dream, when I was talking to myself. I really need to talk to myself more often. I sometimes think I lost that self at twenty- five, while retaining her youthful dreams about what a life is supposed to be. Now I know: I can stop feeling guilty about not achieving what I wanted at twenty-five; I have moved past youth into middle age, and I get to choose what *I* want. Daniel muddied the issue, however. He treated me as if not a day had passed, as if time had frozen. He even called me in to perform as his student, proud of my answer as if I had been a well-trained parrot. He loosed his mind games, again. The very ones I had spent so many years trying to shake: that I wasn't practicing *real* medicine, that the FBI had nothing positive to offer me---"It wasn't a reason, it was an excuse." Inexcusable, really, that he should foist his opinions on me, both then and now. He needed a young, bright girl who would agree with him and admire his brilliance, be the satellite to his sun. How different from Mulder, who goes through ritualistic complaints but truly does want---and need--- a counterforce. He has never wanted anything but the truth from me and would never want me to do or say anything I didn't truly believe. So unlike Daniel, who told me what to think---the FBI could not possibly be a passion like medicine; that *he* is what I secretly hope for; that I was all he lived for, although he failed to approach me in those ten years, even though his marriage had ended. Was he lying? Had he had a string of bright-eyed, gullible young conquests through the intervening years? I know that Mulder would not hang back waiting for fate to drop anyone he really valued into his lap. He would leap to the chase with a passion that outshines all Daniel's medical fervor. (Even if Mulder's version of the chase involved bogus English crop circles). Daniel called the healing ceremony a voodoo ritual, just what I would have thought, being his protg. "Of course, it didn't work; don't be absurd," he sneered. Still mired in delusion, he seemed to think that we could pick up where we'd left off. Didn't he know that I was not that innocent young girl and he was not the all-powerful authority? His feet of clay were fully exposed by now. I had spoken to Maggie. How cruel Daniel had been to two young women, his daughter and his lover, not to mention his wife. The moment I knew of his marriage and his 16 year-old daughter, I ended the relationship, tearing my heart, riddled with guilt. Now, I see his role in that ugly minuet all too clearly. I was twenty-five; he was fifty and in a position of authority. It was his obligation to do what was best for all, not make me feel ashamed for refusing to put his family through hell. I thought I would save his family by walking away. Who affects whom? It's all a mysterious circle. No matter what I did, he was going to leave his family, and they were going to suffer. My leaving did nothing to change that, yet the guilt stayed with me for years, coloring all my relationships, all my decisions. I was more affected than he. His family was more affected than he. He had the comfort of being famous, authoritative, and brilliant, and having that image reflected constantly back at him from the eyes of generations of med students. He didn't need people, just their adulation. Who affects whom? I have thought for so many years that Mulder affected me, changed and challenged so many of my beliefs, cost me so much of the normal life I still dreamed of. Yet, I have affected him, in a major way. I have been his lifeline, his touchstone. He would be perhaps dead without me, or living a far different life. We can't collide with others without leaving an imprint. I am part of everyone I have met and/or loved. And they are part of me. <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< "Maybe you know less than you think," Maggie told me. Yes, Maggie. We were both taken in by the Great Man, and even ten years later, I was still caught in his web, briefly. How does he do it? I walked away, he said, causing him to shut down from his family. What bullshit, blaming me for his actions, all the while giving me that soulful stare. I could still see him as he was ten years ago, vigorous and charming. When he walked into a room, everyone stood and saluted, on some psychic level. He was so powerful, a font of wisdom, the strong, benevolent healer. The truth is so different from that image, the truth as seen from the betrayed eyes of a sixteen year old, abandoned by her father. But he still exerted a pull. He kept touching my hands, clinging. All the feelings came pouring back. He must have been the first man I truly loved---mindlessly adored, I suppose. I have never been able to turn love off like a faucet, and I had always carried an unmended rip in my heart from when I wrenched myself away from him, thinking that doing so would save his family. And the guilt, of course. That I would fall for a married man and still have so much regret and reluctance when it came time to do the right thing. But he could still make me cry. "You have a life," he told me disingenuously. "I don't know what I have," I confessed. After ten years of confusion, I was presented with the opportunity for closure, and I was still floundering and tearful. "What do you want?" he asked me. "I want everything I should want at this time of my life," I answered. Now what the hell did that mean? Who was I channeling? Confucius? I was ripe for a mystic experience, and I got one. Thank god, whichever one is in charge. <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< "You may want to slow down," Colleen told me upon our first, awkward meeting. A surprisingly perceptive remark. How did she know that I'd been running for years? Well, I had done better than slow down. I had come to a stop so abrupt it almost hurled me through the windshield. Seemed I had a guardian angel who forced me to stop and pay attention, in the process preventing me from being pancaked by a huge truck. Who *was* this figure, I wondered. After the blind panic of Daniel's cardiac arrest, I was drawn back to Colleen, to her knowledge and serenity. Entering her house, I was enthralled by the harmony, the balance, the stillness. No hamsters here, just people who can take some time out to check into their feelings. Look into their hearts. Daniel's heart was injured; he was a man who had acted without heart, so to speak, and he was now paying the price. Mulder always acts from the heart. Right or wrong, his actions come from the heart. His arteries are probably crystal clear. Colleen's words entered my own hardened, half-dead heart. When we hold on to shame and guilt and fear----it makes us forget who we are. Amen, sister. It was time to locate the essential me again, the one I had left behind, at least some parts of her, the parts that feel the most intensely. The parts that were too delicate, that bruised too easily, that might become too emotionally involved and entangled. My heart needed a transfusion---of feeling. Colleen spoke of her previous life, cut off from the world and her self. I bowed my head, filled with envy. *Her* cancer had taught her something. Everything happens for a reason. <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< Daniel was in a coma, I was told, driving me into the street and back to my guardian angel, spirit guide, or whatever the hell Missy would have called that figure. Another near accident---there are no accidents, everything happens for a reason, intoned Colleen's voice---and I entered the temple. There my life altered. Time stopped. At last. Silence descended. Peace permeated every cell of my body. I saw and accepted my life. The losses: my father, Missy, Emily, a time when I had unfortunately sealed my heart instead of taking on the healing pain, embracing it. The threats: the cigarette man and the shadow figures who stole the future I had once dreamed of, pocketing it as casually as a pack of cigarettes. The experiences, the people: My mom, Mulder, Mulder and me, several images of Mulder and me. He is primary. He held me when I had cancer, after Penny died, a time when my heart actually did open and face the impending losses. He is intertwined with me; we will never part. But this is my life. Even when I have opened up, as in my talks with Karen, I have focused on Mulder. When I wrote my journal in the hospital, it was to Mulder, almost apologizing for dying and not continuing the quest. He is there, he is important, and I need to face that importance, stop running from it, stop vilifying him in subtle ways, playing the martyr to the boundless enthusiasm which will always be a part of him. But *I* need to choose the next steps in *my* own life, take responsibility for my acts, as Daniel clearly needs to take responsibility for what he's done. The buck stops here. My vision came to an abrupt halt with Daniel's heart pumping, his eyes popping open. My eyes popped open, my own heart pounding at the exhilaration of my experience, in which I had faced---finally---and accepted the elements of my past and present. Faced, accepted, welcomed, embraced. These people and events made me who I am, and they will determine who I am in the future. The peace, the silence, the blessing that cushioned me in that isolated moment in time---indescribable. Time stands still. All is perfect, just as it should be. We accept what is. I looked up. Buddha's eyes, previously closed, in my recollection, were now open. So were my eyes. <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< "I'm not the same person, Daniel. I wouldn't have known that if I hadn't seen you again." I almost ran from the encounter that took ten years of my past and set it all straight---who did what to whom and how little difference it makes at this moment. Magically, I chased down the figure who had made me stop and who had saved my life. Of course, it was Mulder. I was having a mystical day, and because of that, I did not hesitate to tell him about it. Over tea, we talked for hours, about real things that really mattered. About us and our own lives. My heart was now open. "What if there were only one choice," I mused. "Signs along the way to pay attention to." I thought back to the dream I'd had as the phone woke me, me standing over my dying body, which was mouthing, "Speak to me." I was speaking, at last. To Mulder and to me. It felt so goddamned good. I couldn't believe it. To feel that good is truly relaxing. It felt as if all the tension of the years had drained away and I melted bonelessly into the couch. The hamster sleeps. Mulder was wonderful, listening, questioning, so delighted, obviously, to be taken into my confidence at last. We had hoarded away so many little nuggets, never willing to risk full exposure. As my eyes closed, he was deep into the wonders of fate, "one wrong turn and we wouldn't be sitting here together at this very moment. Says a lot, a lot, a lot. . . ." <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< I think I must have drifted off at about 9, exhausted by my discoveries, lack of sleep, and constant running around in a state of emotional crisis. But Mulder's couch is hard, and by 11, my achy neck asked me to rub it, which I woke up to do. I stretched, noting that Mulder had covered me and disappeared, and rose, reaching toward the ceiling to chase the cricks from my back. I headed for his room to tell him, if he was awake, that I was leaving. It was dark. I remembered his whirlwind trip to England and assumed that his jetlag had felled him. I stood in the shadows by his bed, ready to leave but feeling no inclination to rush away. It struck me that I was finished with running away. Or maybe I was just dazed from napping at such a strange time. "Scully?" I squinted, but could see nothing but a vague outline. "I didn't think you were awake. I assumed the jetlag caught you." "No," he murmured in a scratchy voice. "I've been thinking of all you told me. How many decisions it takes, or even non- decisions. A lot of the time, we don't even realize we're deciding. We just act, without thinking, and the path changes." I perched on the side of his bed and thought about what he'd said. "At first," I said slowly, "I thought that would apply more to you. Acting without thinking, I mean. But the more I've thought about the last few days, I see that I . . . I tend to attribute feelings or actions to you that are really mine." He hoisted himself up on his pillow, his feet brushing my thigh. "If you really did that. . ." His voice trailed off. "What?" There was a long silence. "I don't think you're ready to go there." He sounded sad. What a jolt the last few days had been. I felt like a different person, someone who was not being dragged along by life but was ready to take charge and act. If this moment was what my whole life was leading to, then why not seize the moment. God knows, much time had passed since our initial meeting, so much hesitation, misunderstanding, and fumbling, as we took turns running from our deepest feelings. I had decided to stop running. My dream had commanded me to speak. I did. I reached out and squeezed his foot. "Care to define 'there'?" My voice was low and throaty, and my hand moved up to his ankle. There was a rustle as he rose from the pillow and a hand clamped to mine. He turned my hand over and kissed my palm. I thought my skin would ignite. I could feel every atom of his lips as his flesh made contact with mine. Time stopped as I savored the warmth. Eventually, my other hand moved to the nape of his neck, playing among the soft, downy hairs. He felt perfect. His lips lifted. I felt abandoned. His voice was very near now, soft and low. "'There' means 'here,'" he rumbled. "In my bed. But not if you're not ready," he added. "We have time." Time. Yes, we had time. Time to spend a wondrous night exploring each other, opening our hearts and minds and spirits. I knew now that everything, including all the losses and the horrors, had led to this moment, and I was ready to embrace it, and him. I stood up and started throwing my clothes to the floor, and soon, I lay within the cradle of his warm body. It was a beautiful night, full of reverence mixed with passion and discovery. We also talked a lot, as is our wont. I discovered that we've managed to accept each other, warts and all, hanging onto just enough illusion to avoid being disillusioned. It was really, really right, these magic moments when for once we were both paying attention. <<<<<<<<<<<<<<< Time passed, though. Too fast. And eventually I told Mulder I had to leave and get ready for work. His jetlag, abetted by our hours of activity and conversation, at last took its toll, and in the short time it took me to wash up and get dressed, he fell into a deep sleep. He looked beautiful. Even though I hadn't realized it, this was exactly what I wanted: Everything I should want at this time of my life. END Feedback most welcome at MystPhile@aol.com. Thanks for reading.