From: "Diadem" <diadem@cwcom.net>
Date: Mon, 2 Oct 2000 19:45:31 +0100
Subject: NEW!  Three Months (1/1) by Diadem
Source: xff


Title:  Three Months (1/1)

Author:  Diadem

Category:  V, UST/MSR

Rating:  G

Feedback:  Diadem@cwcom.net   I'm not going to beg.  
     Oh, alright then... pleeeease?

Archive:  Gossamer, yes, others please let me know where

Spoilers:  One Breath (post ep)

Disclaimer:  Mulder and Scully do not belong to me.  They 
     belong to CC and the nice people at 1013 and Fox, who 
     let me play with them sometimes.

Notes:  I seem to remember there is another story out there 
     called Three Months.  From what I remember of it, this story 
     bears no resemblance to it whatsoever, but if you wrote the 
     story and are unhappy with my using the title as well, please 
     let me know, and I'll change it.

     Thanks as always to Nic for the beta.  She's pretty good at it 
     when she's not swanning around in England :o)  Oh, and 
     thanks also for the line I shamelessly stole... :o)

For Sheila, for being there.


  Three Months (1/1) by Diadem

I was exhausted.  The lights had gone out a few moments earlier, 
just minutes after my mother and sister had been ushered from 
the room.  I was glad of the peace.  I don't mean to sound 
ungrateful, 
I can't imagine what they have gone through these past three 
months.  
Three months.  I've been gone for three months, and I don't know 
any better than they do where I've been.
     Waking up in the hospital wasn't too scary in itself.  When I 
was forced to utter the cliched "where am I?" I was reassured, and 
soon afterwards I was transfered to a private room.  Seconds 
later, before I was even tucked under the covers my mother 
rushed in, closely followed by Melissa.  I was glad to see them.  
I know about hospitals, but it's worth so much to have people 
around that care about you when you're on the receiving end of 
the treatment.
     But then the bombshell struck.  Three months.  And I couldn't 
remember a second of it.  I remember the struggle in my 
apartment, 
the darkness of the trunk of Duane Barry's car, and then his 
shouting 
on top of the mountain.  A brief flash of brightness, and then 
nothing.  
An intensive care ward, beeping, and a gradual ascent back to 
consciousness.
     And then, a few minutes before Mom and Melissa left, Mulder 
arrived, peering around the door as though he wasn't sure he was 
supposed to be here.  I was surprised he hadn't been here sooner, 
questioning, despite my inability to give him the answers he 
wanted.  
But all I got were a football video and my cross.
     My cross.  He kept it for three months, without knowing if I 
would 
return, wondering if I had met the same fate as his sister had all 
those years ago.  He is still searching for her.  How long would 
he have continued searching for me?
     The cross is on the bedside cabinet.  I reach across and pick it 
up, watching the way it glints in the pale light filtering through the 
window from the nurses' station.  I watch the reflected light play 
over the blanket as it spins slowly, round and round.  This little 
piece of jewellry holds so much meaning for me, sentimental as 
well as being the symbol of my faith.  I'm not sure whether my 
partner realized its significance when he held on to it for all that 
time, but now it means something else as well, although for the 
moment I can't quite put my finger on what.
     A particularly bright sliver of light catches my eye, and I 
suddenly 
realize that the door to my room is open.  I must still be groggy; 
I would never usually miss something like that.  I turn my head, 
licking my dry lips, to see Mulder standing in the doorway, 
sheepishly tucking his FBI ID back into his jacket pocket.
     "I guess I don't need to ask how you managed to get them to 
let you through," is my only greeting.
     "I guess not," he replies, and sits gingerly on the edge of the 
chair nearest the head of my bed.
     I reach across and flick on the lamp.  It illuminates little but the 
patch of pink wall directly above it, but it's a start.
     "I like the decor."  Mulder can never get to the point.  I've only 
known him a year or so, but this was one of the first things I 
noticed about him; his ability to skirt around the issue.
     "It goes nicely with my hair."  What more is there to say?  I've 
spent my life avoiding pink, and here I am surrounded by it.  My 
comment earns me a half smile and a quirk of his eyebrow.
     Neither of us says anything for a few moments.  He left in 
something of a hurry before.  I suddenly realize how little I know 
about what's going on.  Is he still working on the X-Files?  Maybe 
he has a new partner.  Maybe he's here to tell me he's glad I'm 
Okay, and he'll maybe see me around.  A lot can happen in three 
months.
     I try my best to sound nonchalant.  "So how's things?"
     It's hard to gauge his reaction in the dim light.  I can clearly 
see him shrug, though.  To be honest, I'm not really feeling up 
to taking the initiative when it comes to conversation, but this 
means a lot to me.
     "My mom told me you helped her out a lot while I was gone.  
I want to thank you for that."
     "It got harder."
     Me being gone, or helping my mom?  He wasn't really making 
much sense.  I briefly wondered if maybe he was drunk, but I 
couldn't detect the smell of alcohol.  "I'm not sure what you mean,"
I tell him, straining my eyes to see his expression through the 
darkness.
     "I went with her to pick out your headstone, Scully."  He moved 
suddenly, standing up.  "I didn't think she would have told you, but 
I thought you'd want to know.  I didn't want to go with her, but I 
thought I should.  I kept trying to persuade her it was too soon, that 
it wasn't necessary.  I knew you'd come back, but she needed 
closure."  He pinched the bridge of his nose, as though he had a 
headache coming on.  "I'm sorry."  And with that he turned and 
opened the door.
     I was stunned.  But then, three months is a long time.  I had 
to admit that I would probably have done the same thing.
     "Hey!"  I couldn't let him leave, I couldn't.  Did he think I would 
be angry, that now, after everything we'd been through, I would 
reject him, for helping my mother through what must have been 
the hardest three months of her life?
     He turned, slightly, and glanced back at me.  I held out my 
hand 
to him, hoping that I could bring him back with a simple gesture.
     To my relief he gently closed the door again, and walked back 
towards me.  He took my hand and sat, not on the chair this 
time, but on the bed, by my side.  He closed both of his hands 
around mine and just watched me, tiny fragments of light making 
his eyes sparkle.  I realized there were tears on the verge of 
falling.  I squeezed his hand as best I could, wanting him to know 
for certain that I was back.
     "I thought I'd lost you."  He frowned slightly, and turned my 
hand over in his.  "I knew you'd come back, but I was so afraid 
you wouldn't want to come back to me."
     I suddenly realized that my cross was still entwined in my 
fingers.  Mulder started to untangle it as I spoke.  "Of course I 
came back, Mulder.  I need to know what happened.  I need the 
answers now more than ever."
     "But if you had never started to work with me you wouldn't 
need the answers at all."  He had worked the necklace loose, 
and it now dangled from his fingers.
     "True."  I watched the cross spin, the light dancing across 
its shiny gold surface once again.  "But I wouldn't give up all 
those months of work, Mulder, not even if I could go back to 
the beginning and make the choice to refuse the assignment.  
I've been here a year..." I stopped myself.  It would be near a 
year and a half now.
     "You should quit."  I barely heard him.
     "No."
     "Why?"  He was still holding one of my hands, and I could 
feel him begin to shake slightly.
     "Because I don't want to."  I reached across and caught 
his chin, turning his head, forcing him to look at me.  "Am I a 
weak person, Mulder?"
     "Far from it."  His gaze dropped down to the bedcover.
     "And am I of sound mind?"
     "Ten times sounder than I am."  The bitter irony in his 
voice brings a lump to my throat and tears to my eyes.  
     "Then you need me, Mulder.  I can't abandon you."  I let 
a tear escape.  He won't see it in this light anyway.
     "I do need you, Scully, more than you know," he told me, 
his voice hoarse.  I noticed tears running down his cheeks 
as well.  "But you don't need me.  You don't need all this.  
You need your family, a stable job, a nice husband, a couple 
of kids--"
     "No, I don't," I interrupt.  "Mulder, have you ever stopped to 
consider what I want?  Not--" I jumped in, seeing the answer 
forming 
on his lips, "Not what you think I need, but what I want?"  He 
shook his head.  "Because what I want is to stay with the X-Files, 
if it's still possible.  And what I need, Mulder, is you."
     "If only you knew..." he breathed, bringing my hand up to his 
mouth, placing a light kiss on my fingertips.  He held them there 
for a moment, then released my hand and took hold of the end of 
the chain he still held.  "Lean forward," he instructed me.  I did as 
I was told, bowing my head as he reached around my neck and 
fastened the clasp of the necklace.  The tiny gold cross nestled 
once again in the hollow of my throat.  It felt like a missing piece 
of me had been returned.  
     And I realized, as I raised my chin to look at Mulder again, it
had.
     I laced my fingers loosely through his.  It was a moment I 
wouldn't forget, whatever drugs they had me on.
     We stayed like that for a minute or so, before he pulled away 
and stood up.  I panicked, thinking he was leaving, and cried 
out.  It wasn't something I would usually do, but under the 
circumstances I think I was permitted a slight slip of character.
     "I'm right here," he assured me, running his fingers through 
my hair.  He settled in the chair again, and took hold of my hand 
once more.  "You need to sleep," he told me.
     I yawned my agreement.  I could feel my eyelids beginning 
to droop.
     "You'll be here?" I asked him.
     "I will."  It was a simple statement, but I think we both felt 
the full impact of what he was promising.  I let my eyes closed, 
but tightened my grip on Mulder's hand.  He squeezed back.
     And in that moment I knew I had truly come home.

End (1/1)

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