From: Tisha Englund Date: Wed, 19 May 1999 15:08:56 -0500 Subject: NEW: Their Guidance (1/1) Title: Their Guidance (1/1) Author: Letitia Englund (tisha@itascasoft.com) Spoilers: Gethsemane/Redux/ReduxII Rating: G Classification: V, A Keywords: Mulder/Scully, Cancer Summary: Mulder's train of thought as he contemplates whether to take CSM's deal. Disclaimer: No infringement intended or profit gained. 'He' and 'She' are property of 1013 and Fox. Archive: Please do. Author's Note: Mark Snow's beautiful score for ReduxII was the inspiration for this piece. Their Guidance (1/1) The room was stilled with silence. The sensation of it overwhelmed him as he entered, and he was tempted to walk right back out. The agitated buzz of the hospital hallway made a much better companion to the anxiety of his emotions. But, as it had been for five long years, the attraction of his exact opposite was far more powerful than the urge to run the other way. He proceeded into the room. The door closed softly behind him, guarding against the turbulence of activity outside. He was thankful for its muted protection, for he sensed something here tonight that would tolerate little disturbance. He expected this third party to be death, waiting silently in the wings. In fact, he had counted on it. However, this particular night had invited a different sort of guest, a companion unfamiliar to him. This unexpected visitor was a delicate sense of peace. Its presence hovered uncertainly in the air around him. He tiptoed carefully across the room, aware that the slightest misstep could alter its tentative decision to stay. His eyes stole ahead of his feet to find the reason for this late night excursion. He smiled briefly at the gentle moonlight pooling around her as she slept. And slept. A sudden panic rose from the depths of his soul as the seconds passed and she did not stir. He realized belatedly that the peace might have come because death had already arrived and left, taking the life right along with it. The more he thought about it, the more that fragile line dividing sleep and death began to blur. He desperately searched for any sign that would differentiate between the two; his heart racing madly until, exhausted, it simply stopped. The moment stretched to fill an eternity and was heavy with the guilt and regret that were ever present in the hidden corners of his soul. But finally, as his eyes began to water with the strain of watching her, he was rewarded with a barely perceptible breath. And with the gentle rise and fall of her chest, he remembered how to breathe again. He had come here to speak with her, to hear her voice of reason amidst the chaos that was overrunning his life. He had planned to bring her back from the realm of senseless dreams to make sense of this twisted reality. He did not wake her. He could not wake her. Asleep, she looked so beautiful. The paleness of her face could easily be attributed to the moon; the dark shadows under her eyes only a trick of the night. No, he could not look into those sad, tired eyes and share news so devoid of any hope. Yet he remained where he stood, unable to leave her side. The magnetism that inexplicably drew them together was stronger now than ever before. He was pulled to touch her, carefully moving a stray strand of hair behind her ear. It was a simple gesture he'd seen her perform for years, but with a nonchalance he could not imitate with his trembling hand. This small action did not rouse her, and he was simultaneously relieved and disappointed. Standing before her, his eyes aching to dance with hers, he berated himself for his selfishness. It wasn't enough that she was alive, he wanted her awake. It wasn't enough to let her deal with her own struggle with life; he needed to throw his problems on top of hers. But the truth of the matter was, he had come here in search of direction because only she could give it to him. No one else had walked down the dark path they had poured five years into exploring. No other soul could possibly possess such courage, loyalty, or profound intelligence. Before she had entered his life, he'd been a wanderer. Set in motion by a desire to find what he believed he had lost, he'd found himself trapped within a maze of shadows. He never really understood the omnipresent darkness he had stumbled into. He never even bothered to try. He had been content to grope his way along random routes to uncertain destinations, fueled only with the need to search. Until she made him comprehend how cold, lonely, and desperate his world had become. She had entered the darkness with a burning intensity that forced him to see things he had never seen before. He'd been drawn to her fire, and their combined passions eventually ignited into something so bright, the path before them became clearly illuminated. This guiding light offered much more than simple orientation. He came to perceive that the object of his quest was not the only thing that mattered in his life. There was deeper truth to be found. There was love to be shared. Yet it did not matter what he had learned, nor did it matter how far they had come. The journey was traveling full circle to end where it had begun: in darkness, confusion, and loss. Pain hit him suddenly, like a thousand tiny pins, and he sank to his knees beside her. He laid his head down next to hers, as if hoping to obtain some comfort by being nearer to her. But her close proximity only made him more conscious of her condition. The unmistakable smell of hospital disinfectant nearly erased the scent that was hers. The strength that was so much a part of her could not be felt in the fragile hand that he enveloped with his own. So delicate. So dear. The anguish that was tearing at his soul became a tidal wave that rose to engulf him. The peace was shattered with the suffering that overflowed from his mouth in silent screams. In that moment, he died countless times over the loss of her single life. Drowning within this grief, blinded by tears that fell on the sterile hospital sheets, he began begging wordlessly for her forgiveness. For the terrible things he'd done and left undone. For the lies he'd held so sacred. For the cure he had not found. For the guidance he could never give her. The lack of compassion her continued rest depicted provided his guilt with the compass he had come searching for. He thought of the truth and the offer he'd been given. Her small, frail hand in his own, he came to accept that only with Their help could he truly obtain her forgiveness. Only They could redeem his sins and give her back the life he was so close to extinguishing. He knew They would never enlighten him with the knowledge that he sought. Promises meant nothing coming from men who knew only of lies. He would force himself not to care again. He would teach himself to ignore the evils They would surely thrust upon him. It would not matter how black his soul would become, for nothing could compare to the colors he would lose if she were taken from him for eternity. He would save her in the way she so determinedly wished to save him: by sacrificing himself. "If I can save you, let me," he whispered softly into the palm of her hand. His voice quaked with tears, but he gathered his sadness back up into the well of his heart and rose. His future now charted, he left her so that the silence of peace might return. END Bumperfic Sticker: Feedback and criticism are welcomed, fed warm chicken noodle soup, and answered with fresh cyber-cookies.