From: Snowslut Date: Tue, 03 Apr 2001 03:28:28 GMT Subject: REPOST (new):The True Threshold (1,2 of 2) Source: atxc Title: The True Threshold Author: Snowslut (Snowslut@home.com) Archive: Wherever, just let me know so I can marvel. Rating: PG Category: I think there should be a new one: "Season 8 Re-Writes" Spoilers: General season 8 thus far and beyond, although I've been trying hard to remain spoiler-free, so any resemblance to events on the show from here on out is purely coincidental. Summary: Zip ties and duct tape for Season 8. Disclaimer: Although I feel some authors should have gotten paid for their hard work in keeping us entertained during the long draught, ain't none of us gettin' no dough. I do have to admit that writing fiction is a hell of a lot easier using characters graciously provided by Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, Gillian Anderson, David Duchovny, etc. Author's notes: At end. Feedback: Keeps it coming! Soundtrack: "How to Disappear Completely" by Radiohead, from the album Kid A, and "You Were Right" by Built to Spill, from the album Keep It Like a Secret Kathodos The life we spend on this earth can take many forms. There are those who live primarily in the physical realm, pushing their bodies to go faster and farther, finding joy in the boundaries of muscle and bone. Some live the life of the mind, weaving inwardly through the struggles and triumphs of intellect and imagination. For most death brings an end to both lives simultaneously. There are those who suffer a blow to only half of their existence, and are forced to continue on. If the damage is not too complete, one can expand to live fully in either realm. But some are trapped with one half lost and one half lingering; the soul suffers, and can do nothing but cry for an end. ---------------------------------------------------- To know, and not to act is in fact, not to know. ---------------------------------------------------- Scully sits at the window in the spare room of her mother's house to catch the sun, although she doesn't feel it. The landscape outside fades and blends with her visions, the silence within the room growing and extending as if she were deaf. She feels thin, transparent, anchored down by the weight of her womb in the center. This is what she had sought out instinctually: peace, quiet, simplicity, the calm after the storm. A place to reflect, put to rest, and start again from absolute zero. --------------------------------------------------- She woke up in a hospital bed and knew immediately, before she knew where she was, that something was wrong. Not wrong, but missing. The constant presence in the background of her senses, that she had gotten used to like the hum of a heater, had been switched off, and its absence yawned loud and ominous. Terrible visions had welled up out of it, but at least it was, she had come to hope, some sort of connection to Mulder. The fear of the unknown had been replaced by the fear of losing what was known. Scully wanted to go back to sleep to try to recapture the connection like a lost dream, but of course it didn't work; reality hit hard in the form of Agent Doggett bearing a get-well card. The gesture almost made her laugh - if Mulder had done that every time she ended up in the hospital, Hallmark's stock prices would rival Microsoft's. Inward laughter faded into stark desperation as she realized that Mulder was indeed gone, and that this man before her was to be the official solution for his absence. There was no comfort in the sanctum of their office the next day. Agents drifted in and out at will, seemingly with Doggett's permission, but more intent on gawking than on gathering facts. Finally Scully cleared the room with a few sharp words. She hoped Doggett would leave too, but he behaved as though he were settling in. Some tactless idiot had carted the headstone down to the basement with the rest of the evidence, and there it sat, a huge cold monolith, an anchor dragging her down into a sickening pit of fear. She sat staring at it while Doggett shuffled papers and called cronies. Could he really have kept this from me the whole time? Or did someone plant this so I'd stop looking? "What are you thinking?" Doggett rasped. Her thoughts came back to the room, and to the problem of how much trust she could give him. "You'll probably find this out, if you haven't already, but several years ago I was abducted. While I was gone Mulder picked out a headstone for me with my mother... Maybe he just wanted to spare me the trouble," she trailed off. "Sorry... I'm thinking I'm missing something here." His grating voice immediately put her on the defensive. "I mean, I lost a partner on the force in New York, but I didn't pick out his headstone. I never even met his mother 'til the funeral." "What are you saying?" "It just seems a little strange." Of all the strange things about them he had to pick the one she was least willing to reveal. "Agent Doggett, I don't like being interrogated about my personal life. I haven't done anything to warrant investigation." "I didn't mean it that way." He backed down, and she began to think she had overreacted, but he continued to look at her with that damned hard-nosed investigator expression on his face, furrowed and piercing. " 'Personal'... just so I'm clear on that, this is personal, isn't it?" She swallowed and cast her eyes down to the floor, and said with quiet vehemence: "Yes. It's personal." He considered her admission. "Well, I just want you to know, I'll do everything I can to find him." "So will I." ------------------------------------------------------- Her mother comes to check on her again. Her tentative voice breaks the silence gently, and slowly she comes back. The intrusion is not unwelcome; Scully recognizes the importance of a tether to reality. "Honey, you should really eat something. Let me make you some soup." Eating seems a chore made remote by her reverie. A part of her wants to just let it go, give up to passive resistance, but her will is still there: *the choice is already made for you - you can't deny it*. "Okay, Mom. I'll come down," she says automatically. The words echo in her head for a moment and suddenly latch on to the grief. *come down... come down... when will you come back down?* She stands stricken and her mother recognizes the sign and rushes to hold her arm. "Oh, honey, it's okay. It's okay. You can let it out." But she can't. The well of tears has dried, even though the source still aches to be heard. -------------------------------------------------------- Scully had dealt with the shock and grief of nearly losing Mulder before, but she had always had a way to fight back, some reason to get up and shake off the paralyzing inertia and press on. Now she did not know what to do. As Doggett had said, even if they find the ship, then what? Knock on the door and shout, "FBI" ? The few dots they had on satellite pictures were the last trace, and hadn't been seen since, despite constant monitoring by the Lone Gunmen. The skies were empty and barren. Kersh's "manhunt" ended as arbitrarily as it began, no further explanation other than that Mulder must have disappeared under his own volition and that resources were needed elsewhere. Scully could see that it was more likely because there were other cases that could be solved more easily, with more positive publicity; Kersh had learned that too much involvement with them would bring nothing but embarrassing questions he couldn't answer. It didn't matter: she was better off operating under the radar anyway. Alone and reckless, she cast about blindly for any sign of a path, any hints of what she had tried so hard to dismiss before. What she got was not what she wanted. Mulder's cell phone records had sat in a file in her desk, kept out of sight but eating a hole in her mind. Finally she flew to Raleigh with a picture borrowed from the "manhunt". She went to the funeral home that had made the arrangements, went to the doctors who had signed off on the records. Every time the same question: "Is this the man you saw?" And every time the same, unambiguous answer, "Yes." She came home with the crumpled pieces of paper bearing his likeness, the question repeating changed to "How could he?", stabbing every time at her heart. She took off into her work. Now when her loss rose to the surface of her consciousness it was chained to the hurt, and guilty anger. Frohike called one night to check up. "How did your appointment go today?" *What does it matter?* "Oh, fine. Everything's good." *As far as they can tell, which doesn't mean much.* "That's good." She could tell he wanted to ask further, but knew better. "Hey, I got some good news. We found a potential mole at the Green Bank radio observatory in West Virginia. He may be willing to divert the big momma dish to coordinates we give him during his shift." Scully had to smile. These guys were like bloodhounds, so eager to chase down any lead, and their enthusiasm was almost catching. She was grateful to have them on her side, just as they were grateful to help in finding their hero. Frohike was the one designated as her spokesperson for regular checkups; Langley had a certain lack of tact that had caused her to cry once already, and Byers was still, she suspected, slightly afraid of her. But they were all comforting, a connection that wasn't too painful. As she listened to Frohike go on about bandwidths and trajectories, suddenly a fear struck her. *What if they knew?* It was unlikely, but the thought needed to be explored, another thread sticking out of the snarled knot of this mess. "Frohike, I need to ask you something." "Ah, sure. Anything." It was hard to put her fears into words, as if by saying it she made it more real. "Did Mulder ever say anything about being... sick?" "Uh... sick?" She paused to collect herself. "Terminally ill." Frohike seemed genuinely floored. "Uh... no. No. He never said anything like that." "Can you think back to any hints he may have given, things you may have disregarded at the time?" Scully had reviewed every waking moment with him and she hated to recast her memories in a suspicious light. Maybe Frohike could be more objective; maybe Mulder would have been less careful with him. "Did someone lead you to believe that? 'Cause they may be just trying to put us off the trail." He was instantly indignant and she wanted badly to join in. "I thought so too, at first... now I'm not sure." "Well it doesn't make much sense. I mean, for sure he would have told you." The sudden fresh blow brought the tears again. She clutched the phone and tried to regain control. Frohike realized what he had said and began to apologize profusely, but she stopped him: she couldn't blame him for coming to the same conclusion she had. ----------------------------------------------------- She wakes suddenly and she is cold. Shaking, bone-rattling cold, with hints of dark suffocation that linger even after she's fully awake. She tries to go back to sleep but can't get warm under the down and flannel. What should be precious unconsciousness is instead a deeper slide into fear. She creeps downstairs to make some tea and spends the rest of the long night looking out the picture window at the stars. ------------------------------------------------------- She dreamt of Mulder's fish. She had gone to his apartment to feed them. There were many more than in waking life, schools of tiny, sparkling creatures arcing through the large and gloomy tank. When she was standing near with one hand on the lid, it shattered suddenly as if hit by a bullet and the wave of water and fish poured out onto the floor. She tried to scoop them up but the floorboards curled up and they slipped through the cracks. She yanked on the boards and they disintegrated in her fingers, wet and rotten. The hole revealed a narrow, dark stairway leading down into a secret room under the apartment. Scully started to climb down, but water rose up suddenly from the hole and swept around her, the crashing force carrying her out into the hallway. She woke up suddenly in his bed and stumbled out to verify the fish were still there. One had died, and she was hit with a grief disproportionate to its tiny body. She scooped it out of the tank and examined it reflexively, as though its body would reveal the secret of how to keep the rest of them safe. It was late and she thought she should go back to her apartment, if only to get a fresh change of clothes. She gravitated toward this place as she always had, seeking out a connection with its owner even though he wasn't here, unconsciously keeping his space alive. On the way down the sidewalk she caught sight of a shadowed figure in a car down the block. She slowed to look more carefully, then sped up to make sure. As she jogged past her own car she saw him turn, then hunch down and start the engine. The glimpse of profile was enough to ignite instant rage: it was Krychek. She had her gun in hand and was shooting at the car, now peeling out, before she realized what she was doing. Ineffectual sparks flew off the trunk and bumper. "Goddamn you!" she shouted, marking which corner the dark BMW now squealed around. She fought to calm down and figure out what to do next. She had to find out why he had dared set foot near here - hadn't he done enough? Was he now following her? *What did he know about Mulder?* She ran back to her car and pulled out in front of a truck in her scramble; she barely heard its long honk. The corner led to a busier street, four lanes wide and chaotic on a Saturday night. She wove through schools of bar-hoppers and drug dealers, people out cruising with thumping bass, only scanning for a match to the goal pictured in her mind. She was nearing several possible entrances to larger, faster veins through the city and tried to guess his path. Which one would he take? Or would he stop somewhere to hide? A low-slung convertible pulled out leisurely and drifted into the lane she was rocketing down. Instinctually she hit the brakes hard and yanked over onto the sidewalk a foot before slamming into its bumper. There was a sharp thump as the front wheel hit the curb. In a daze she looked around after the sudden stop in motion, and saw that the sidewalk was empty of people or objects, and that after barely a pause the traffic continued on beside her tilted vehicle. The realization hit and she broke down in sobs, for the lost chance at a lead, for the danger to her child, for the awful, crushing desperation of her quest. -------------------------------------------------------- Her mother must be worried. She can tell by the tone in her voice, by the increased frequency of her coming to check on her. She wishes she could relax. "Dana, honey... why don't you come to the grocery store with me. We can get some of that protein mix you wanted." "Okay." She thinks she should probably say more to make Mom stop looking at her with that cautious expression, but the one word has to be forced out of her tight throat. She can't remember telling Mom she wanted anything. Her joints feel stiff as she rises from the chair. Vaguely she thinks back to her medical training for anything that may cause this during pregnancy. The light in the store seems far too bright, the colors garish and unreal. People rush around her like water, their faces standing out momentarily like pictures in a file as they glance her way. "Honey, are you all right?" Her mother has stopped in the middle of the aisle. She swallows and nods. "Yeah. Just... I don't feel like walking so fast, okay?" Her mother gives her the look again. Was that such a strange request? "Of course, honey. I'm sorry." They continue down the aisles, her mother putting all kinds of things in the basket, Scully just looking at the parade of labels. They reach the end of canned goods and turn towards the refrigerated sections. At the end of the aisle is a low refrigerated bin with various meat cuts wrapped in tight plastic. Her mother begins picking through the pile. Scully can't stop looking at the raw hunks of flesh. A spasm of nausea takes hold of her stomach; the nameless fear she fights in sleep comes suddenly to the forefront of her mind. "Mom take me home." she whispers in a tiny voice her mother doesn't hear. She seems so far away. She's suddenly alone, and the meat is rotting, bursting out of the plastic, flies and worms cascading over the surface. "Mom!" She finds her voice and cries for rescue. She's brought back by her mother's firm hand on her arm. "Dana, it's okay. I'm here, baby." "Please take me home." ------------------------------------------------------ The day of the funeral was gray and formless. It was, in the end, just as she had always imagined it, had dreamt or hallucinated it, many times before, but the dream had gone on far too long this time, and the fact that it was actually happening was an inconceivability she couldn't absorb. Death for either of them had been like an old, surly dog they had grown used to living with: he had often snarled a threat, had even taken a bite, but they had come to believe he would never really attack with enough ferocity to tear the life from them. "Fox William Mulder..." she only caught his name from the priest's meaningless words. She stood there looking down at the hole they were lowering him into. *It's not right it's not right it's not right* The people there were deferential to her, as the grieving widow, but she couldn't even acknowledge them. *This isn't how it's supposed to end* She had been speeding along in reckless desperation all this time and had now run into a brick wall. *I can't do this alone* It took everything she had left not to jump down there and chase after him one last time. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------- Anodos -------------------------------------------------------- "No creature can attain a higher grade of nature without ceasing to exist." --------------------------------------------------------- "The problem of the hero... is to open his soul beyond terror to such a degree that he will be ripe to understand how the sickening and insane tragedies of this vast and ruthless cosmos are completely validated in the majesty of Being." --------------------------------------------------------- She hasn't tried to leave the house since the grocery store. Her mother hasn't tried to make her. She thinks she may have an appointment next week, and wonders if she'll make it. The safety of the house isn't really a comfort anymore. The fear grows stronger, suffocating from within, permeating everything she knows of the outside world. She talks to her child to keep the fear at bay. *You'll be all right, sweetie. You have to help me be strong now, but I'll snap out of this soon and we can start a new life.* In her mind she says these words, even while wondering if they will be true. She wishes she could just let it go, let it all out in a river of tears, but they won't come. She knows she's exhausted from trying so hard to keep herself together, but there's no rest at night. She asks Skinner to come see her. When he comes to the door he looks at her the same way he did when she had cancer. "Dana. How are you." He says it automatically even though the answer is obvious. She leads him to the living room before she answers. "Um... not good, sir. That's why I asked you to come." "What is it?" "I, um... I'm not really dealing very well with... with this." Her voice is shaky and small. "No one could be expected to. You have a right to some down time." *Not this far down* "I know, sir, but... It seems to me I'm not... reacting normally." "What's wrong, Dana?" She clasps her hands to keep them from trembling. "I'm afraid," she whispers. "Of what?" He is so concerned, and she knows he'd do anything for her, but she can't admit the source of her fear, can't let the terrible darkness out in the open. She takes a deep breath to try to collect herself; the reflection of her round belly in the hall mirror catches her eye. "Just promise me something." "Anything." "Promise me you'll protect my child if anything happens to me." He looks confused now as well as worried. "You know I would, but what are you afraid of?" She closes her eyes against the awful possibility, but it's still there. "I don't know if I can stay sane enough to..." He comes close to take hold of her icy hand. "You'll be all right. You've been through a lot. It's normal to feel like this, and it *will* pass," he says as though trying to impart strength to her through his words. It does not reach her. "I don't know... It's so terrible..." she lets out. "I know. What happened to Mulder was an awful thing. But he's not suffering any more..." "*Yes he is!*" she shouts, and the tears finally come. "What do you mean?" Skinner retreats back from her outburst. Maggie Scully rushes in from the kitchen, glancing a warning at Skinner. "It's all right, honey. Try to calm down." She sits protectively on the other side of Scully. "I can still feel him. He's not gone," she chokes out in between sobs, hiding her head in her hands. Her mother and her boss shoot alarmed looks at one another over her head. Maggie is the first to respond. "I know it's hard to accept. I went through the same thing when your father passed on. But you've got to believe that Fox has gone to a better place..." "No no no... " The anguish in her voice pierces them both. "I wish he would, Mom, but he's still here..." She collapses back on the couch. Skinner gets up awkwardly and clears his throat. "I should be going. I'll.. I'll call tomorrow." Maggie gets up with him and follows him to the door. "What was that about?" she half-whispers, anxiety straining her voice. Skinner looks at the floor with pursed lips. "I think she's afraid she's going insane." Maggie turns back toward her daughter, now huddled in a fetal position on the couch. She hesitates, wanting to ask, but afraid. "Do you think it's possible?" He sighs heavily and glances out the window, composing his thoughts. "I've known your daughter a long time, Mrs. Scully. In that time she has suffered through more than most people. But she's also one of the strongest people I've ever known. I've seen men go crazy from witnessing too much, but I don't think Dana has reached that point." *Yet,* he finishes silently. "Well... perhaps I should take her to see someone..." "That would be a good idea." As he drives home Skinner thinks about what he said. If she's not crazy, then what is causing her mental state? ------------------------------------------------------- She passes the days one step at a time. She cuts out the unnecessary steps until she's left with the bare minimum: get up, eat, shower, dress. It doesn't get any easier. Her mother wants her to see a different doctor, probably a psychiatrist, although she doesn't say. She knew this was coming; Skinner probably said something to her mom after his visit. Maybe it's what she needs, maybe they can help. She tells herself this, even though she knows that medical knowledge about mental illness lags far behind that of the fields she's used to putting her trust in. She's more afraid they won't find anything wrong with her. Her fear is old and buried deep within her self: that things are not as they should be. It has been with her since she was a child. She can remember being frightened by a malfunctioning clock at school suddenly running backwards; to her it was a sign of impending disaster. In her time with Mulder she has learned to confront her terror and deal with it, but she has seen little but evil come of the anomalies they've encountered; where he has eagerly sought out the unnatural, she has clung to what undeniable facts she could to ward off the sense of a precipitous slide into chaos. Then one day the call comes. She doesn't notice until her mother approaches with softer steps than usual. "Dana, honey, that was Mr. Skinner on the phone. He'd like to come see you." Her careful voice betrays her apprehension. "Oh... okay." "He has something he needs to tell you." Even through her curtain Scully can sense something coming. "What is it, Mom?" "He'll be here in a little while, honey. Just relax." Skinner comes to the door rumpled and precipitant. Scully makes her way down the stairs slowly, not eager to receive another blow of bad news; but Skinner projects a strange air of excitement. "Scully. I wanted to let you know as soon as possible." He lays a hand on her shoulder. She can only look up at him and wait. "Certain information has come to light which leads me to believe... that is, we think that... you were right about Mulder." The words stun her. She blinks up at him through a haze of tears. He's still speaking, but she doesn't hear him. The sudden weight of realized horror drags her to the floor. *Oh God, what have they done to you?* ---------------------------------------------------- *So, this is the man.* Doggett studies him from a respectful distance. He feels guilty for doing so, then shakes it off; why should he? This man has been the focus of his life for many months, and he has a right to study the physical presence that goes with the profile. He looks about as bad as you'd expect for a man who's come back from the dead. He's still slightly blue around the edges, the scars are more livid, and his breathing is a ragged, whistling, erratic mess. But the fact that he's even doing it on his own is a miracle, or so the doctors say. They seem thrilled with his progress. Doggett looks for any sign, any outward clue that this man may be some sort of Messiah. No halo, no rays of light, no celestial music. He wonders how Mulder will feel when he wakes up, being a subject worthy of investigation by his own department. He realizes suddenly that he's moving slightly, and his eyes are opening. Doggett comes closer to check. Mulder's eyes drift around for a moment, then fix on him. He blinks slowly and tries to speak but the harsh whisper that comes out doesn't resemble any words. "Hey. Mulder. Nice to see you awake. I'm special agent Doggett." Nice non-threatening introduction to help him get his bearings. Mulder stares at him a while longer, then he makes another attempt. "Where...sssScully." Oh boy. He should have been prepared for this. "She couldn't be here right now, but she will be." He hopes Mulder doesn't remember his half-lie later. Mulder seems to think about this answer while he searches the rest of the room. He doesn't buy it. "Where is she," he scratches out with more emphasis, looking directly at Doggett with unmistakable animosity. "She's okay. She'll be here later." The EKG machine begins to beep more rapidly. Doggett is actually glad Mulder can't get out of bed; he would have had a fight on his hands. "Who are you." "I'm her par... I've been working with Agent Scully while you were gone." No good way to phrase that. He wonders if he should just leave; he doesn't want Mulder to get too agitated. Skinner comes in and saves him. "He's awake, sir," Doggett offers by way of explanation. Mulder seems to relax. He looks up at Skinner, expecting him to clear up the confusion. "Mulder." Skinner says his name simply, conveying a vast relief. "Where is she?" he asks rather than demands. "She's at her mother's house." "When is she coming?" A true one-track mind, thinks Doggett. "She'll be here as soon as she can." Skinner's tone is almost fatherly. "She's been through a lot while you were gone." "How long?" "Five months." Mulder closes his eyes at this; Doggett recognizes the feeling of being robbed of time. "Do you remember anything?" Doggett asks as a matter of course. Skinner shoots him a warning look. "Don't worry about that now, just rest." Skinner gets up to go, but Mulder's weak hand stops him. "Is she okay?" Doggett can see him get more tense with each millisecond before Skinner answers. "There is something you should know... just after you were taken, Scully found out that she was pregnant." Mulder closes his eyes again, but this time with a faint smile. "And... well... none of us were expecting you to... come back." --------------------------------------------------------------- *It's gone.* Scully sits at the kitchen table while her mother makes scrambled eggs with cheese, just the way she likes them. *Mulder's alive.* She can smell the melted butter in the pan and the toast getting slightly burned in the toaster. There's a faint ache in her stomach which may actually be hunger. *Is it real?* Her mother's expectant smile catches her eye now and then. It's the first day of kindergarten all over again. The horrible dark fear is gone, but what is taking its place is not quite clear yet; she's being ushered out into the light too quickly. She wonders if it's akin to what her baby will feel on being born. "Dana, do you want some tea?" "Sure, Mom." Her guilt weighs heavily at delaying this so long. It's been ten days since Skinner brought the news, and he called today to tell her that Mulder's awake and asking for her. In the past nothing could stop her from rushing to his side after some brush with death, but the true threshold is proving harder to cross. The sudden absurd thought comes that she should call him on the cellphone before she goes to the hospital to make sure: "Are you really there? Is it really you? Are you going to stay?" In the airplane she looks down on the forms of civilization imprinted on the earth. It's easy to imagine what it will look like when they're all gone: the green covering restored, water making its headstrong, lazy way through where it will, small animals blending with the flora. In a deep sense she sees that this force of life will continue its course, ultimately unaffected by the small folly of her species or that of ones from without, the great wheel turning over tiny stones. The vision is comforting and disturbing at the same time. In the car on the way to the hospital she's carried along like a leaf in a stream. She's glad her mother offered to come along; she feels unreal and insulated from the process. Skinner meets them at the main entrance with an uncharacteristic embrace. "Dana, how are you feeling?" She can't even begin to convey it, so she just shrugs her shoulders with a small smile. The details of the hospital provide a familiar context. She's done this so many times before, and she tries to pretend that this time is no different. The door of the room looms up large and she stops at the entrance. Mulder is there. He moves. He turns his head to look at her, and speak her name; she can see hope shining in his eyes. Time slows as she crosses the floor to the bed and lays a hand on his face. The scars there, and the familiar feel of his hair, link the vision to reality. The vision blurs and she panics for a moment, thinking it's all being taken away again, but then she realizes she's only crying. The connection closes in an ineluctable instant. Relief so heavy it feels like pain floods through. She can feel his hand on her head, hear his voice trying to reassure her. Tears wash over her as though they'll never stop. *It's true he's here he's alive I'm alive we're alive* Amidst the cataclysm she thinks that if everything came to an end now, it would be enough. -------------------------------------------------------------- They begin the work of rebuilding their lives during Mulder's convalescence and the remaining months of Scully's pregnancy. To her it seems sometimes as though they'll never be able to live a normal life, with their memories of the depths in the background, but these memories serve also to remind them of how wonderful it is to simply live. The moments when their old camaraderie comes back to the surface sustain her. "I missed the world series, didn't I?" he asks while sorting through piles of papers, cleaning out his apartment. "Yeah, but don't worry. I taped it for you." This brings a broad smile, and she thinks back to how the possibility of seeing that smile again was her reason to keep living. He dumps a load of files in a garbage bag. "There's nothing like birth and death to make you get your priorities in order." She thinks at first that Mulder has lost interest in the struggle that used to consume him, and she's alternately relieved that he won't be drawn into danger and concerned that he's throwing away too much of who he is. "What are your priorities now?" He looks up in mild surprise. "Just to take care of our little family." The word makes her smile, but still she wonders. "Are you ever afraid of... the forces we used to fight?" He comes over to embrace her growing form. "You shouldn't be afraid anymore. I think this is what we were meant to do; this is why we survived." She knows the truth of his words. "Maybe this is our fight now." ------------------------------------------------------------ Author's Notes: This piece was influenced and inspired by the book The Hero With A Thousand Faces, by Joseph Campbell. I'd like to think CC has read it too. The quotes are from that, except for the first one; that quote came from the back of the directions for a bicycle tool! If anyone knows where it's from, please let me know. My original self-imposed deadline for finishing this story was today, April 1, 2001, since tonight is the episode in which they finally get around to Mulder's return. I wanted to fill in some of what I thought were gaps in the show thus far this season, but I hate to compete directly with the show, so I was hoping to get this done before "actual" events made it irrelevant. (It didn't help that I decided to try to learn how to type properly midway through.) But this is the wonderful world of fanfic, where anything can happen, so I hope even if things end very differently, whoever reads this can appreciate this story independent of the series. Thanks to all who e-mailed about my first story. This is for you! From snowslut@home.com Tue Apr 3 17:39:39 2001 Date: Mon, 02 Apr 2001 03:14:49 GMT From: Snowslut Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: The True Threshold (2/2) by Snowslut [ The following text is in the "ISO-8859-1" character set. ] [ Your display is set for the "US-ASCII" character set. ] [ Some characters may be displayed incorrectly. ] Title: The True Threshold (2/2) Author:Snowslut All the rest is at the beginning of part one. Anodos -------------------------------------------------------- No creature can attain a higher grade of nature without ceasing to exist. --------------------------------------------------------- The problem of the hero... is to open his soul beyond terror to such a degree that he will be ripe to understand how the sickening and insane tragedies of this vast and ruthless cosmos are completely validated in the majesty of Being. --------------------------------------------------------- She hasnt tried to leave the house since the grocery store. Her mother hasnt tried to make her. She thinks she may have an appointment next week, and wonders if shell make it. The safety of the house isnt really a comfort anymore. The fear grows stronger, suffocating from within, permeating everything she knows of the outside world. She talks to her child to keep the fear at bay. *Youll be all right, sweetie. You have to help me be strong now, but Ill snap out of this soon and we can start a new life.* In her mind she says these words, even while wondering if they will be true. She wishes she could just let it go, let it all out in a river of tears, but they wont come. She knows shes exhausted from trying so hard to keep herself together, but theres no rest at night. She asks Skinner to come see her. When he comes to the door he looks at her the same way he did when she had cancer. Dana. How are you. He says it automatically even though the answer is obvious. She leads him to the living room before she answers. Um... not good, sir. Thats why I asked you to come. What is it? I, um... Im not really dealing very well with... with this. Her voice is shaky and small. No one could be expected to. You have a right to some down time. *Not this far down* I know, sir, but... It seems to me Im not... reacting normally. Whats wrong, Dana? She clasps her hands to keep them from trembling. Im afraid, she whispers. Of what? He is so concerned, and she knows hed do anything for her, but she cant admit the source of her fear, cant let the terrible darkness out in the open. She takes a deep breath to try to collect herself; the reflection of her round belly in the hall mirror catches her eye. Just promise me something. Anything. Promise me youll protect my child if anything happens to me. He looks confused now as well as worried. You know I would, but what are you afraid of? She closes her eyes against the awful possibility, but its still there. I dont know if I can stay sane enough to... He comes close to take hold of her icy hand. Youll be all right. Youve been through a lot. Its normal to feel like this, and it *will* pass, he says as though trying to impart strength to her through his words. It does not reach her. I dont know... Its so terrible... she lets out. I know. What happened to Mulder was an awful thing. But hes not suffering any more... *Yes he is!* she shouts, and the tears finally come. What do you mean? Skinner retreats back from her outburst. Maggie Scully rushes in from the kitchen, glancing a warning at Skinner. Its all right, honey. Try to calm down. She sits protectively on the other side of Scully. I can still feel him. Hes not gone, she chokes out in between sobs, hiding her head in her hands. Her mother and her boss shoot alarmed looks at one another over her head. Maggie is the first to respond. I know its hard to accept. I went through the same thing when your father passed on. But youve got to believe that Fox has gone to a better place... No no no... The anguish in her voice pierces them both. I wish he would, Mom, but hes still here... She collapses back on the couch. Skinner gets up awkwardly and clears his throat. I should be going. Ill.. Ill call tomorrow. Maggie gets up with him and follows him to the door. What was that about? she half-whispers, anxiety straining her voice. Skinner looks at the floor with pursed lips. I think shes afraid shes going insane. Maggie turns back toward her daughter, now huddled in a fetal position on the couch. She hesitates, wanting to ask, but afraid. Do you think its possible? He sighs heavily and glances out the window, composing his thoughts. Ive known your daughter a long time, Mrs. Scully. In that time she has suffered through more than most people. But shes also one of the strongest people Ive ever known. Ive seen men go crazy from witnessing too much, but I dont think Dana has reached that point. *Yet,* he finishes silently. Well... perhaps I should take her to see someone... That would be a good idea. As he drives home Skinner thinks about what he said. If shes not crazy, then what is causing her mental state? ------------------------------------------------------- She passes the days one step at a time. She cuts out the unnecessary steps until shes left with the bare minimum: get up, eat, shower, dress. It doesnt get any easier. Her mother wants her to see a different doctor, probably a psychiatrist, although she doesnt say. She knew this was coming; Skinner probably said something to her mom after his visit. Maybe its what she needs, maybe they can help. She tells herself this, even though she knows that medical knowledge about mental illness lags far behind that of the fields shes used to putting her trust in. Shes more afraid they wont find anything wrong with her. Her fear is old and buried deep within her self: that things are not as they should be. It has been with her since she was a child. She can remember being frightened by a malfunctioning clock at school suddenly running backwards; to her it was a sign of impending disaster. In her time with Mulder she has learned to confront her terror and deal with it, but she has seen little but evil come of the anomalies theyve encountered; where he has eagerly sought out the unnatural, she has clung to what undeniable facts she could to ward off the sense of a precipitous slide into chaos. Then one day the call comes. She doesnt notice until her mother approaches with softer steps than usual. Dana, honey, that was Mr. Skinner on the phone. Hed like to come see you. Her careful voice betrays her apprehension. Oh... okay. He has something he needs to tell you. Even through her curtain Scully can sense something coming. What is it, Mom? Hell be here in a little while, honey. Just relax. Skinner comes to the door rumpled and precipitant. Scully makes her way down the stairs slowly, not eager to receive another blow of bad news; but Skinner projects a strange air of excitement. Scully. I wanted to let you know as soon as possible. He lays a hand on her shoulder. She can only look up at him and wait. Certain information has come to light which leads me to believe... that is, we think that... you were right about Mulder. The words stun her. She blinks up at him through a haze of tears. Hes still speaking, but she doesnt hear him. The sudden weight of realized horror drags her to the floor. *Oh God, what have they done to you?* ---------------------------------------------------- *So, this is the man.* Doggett studies him from a respectful distance. He feels guilty for doing so, then shakes it off; why should he? This man has been the focus of his life for many months, and he has a right to study the physical presence that goes with the profile. He looks about as bad as youd expect for a man whos come back from the dead. Hes still slightly blue around the edges, the scars are more livid, and his breathing is a ragged, whistling, erratic mess. But the fact that hes even doing it on his own is a miracle, or so the doctors say. They seem thrilled with his progress. Doggett looks for any sign, any outward clue that this man may be some sort of Messiah. No halo, no rays of light, no celestial music. He wonders how Mulder will feel when he wakes up, being a subject worthy of investigation by his own department. He realizes suddenly that hes moving slightly, and his eyes are opening. Doggett comes closer to check. Mulders eyes drift around for a moment, then fix on him. He blinks slowly and tries to speak but the harsh whisper that comes out doesnt resemble any words. Hey. Mulder. Nice to see you awake. Im special agent Doggett. Nice non-threatening introduction to help him get his bearings. Mulder stares at him a while longer, then he makes another attempt. Where...sssScully. Oh boy. He should have been prepared for this. She couldnt be here right now, but she will be. He hopes Mulder doesnt remember his half-lie later. Mulder seems to think about this answer while he searches the rest of the room. He doesnt buy it. Where is she, he scratches out with more emphasis, looking directly at Doggett with unmistakable animosity. Shes okay. Shell be here later. The EKG machine begins to beep more rapidly. Doggett is actually glad Mulder cant get out of bed; he would have had a fight on his hands. Who are you. Im her par... Ive been working with Agent Scully while you were gone. No good way to phrase that. He wonders if he should just leave; he doesnt want Mulder to get too agitated. Skinner comes in and saves him. Hes awake, sir, Doggett offers by way of explanation. Mulder seems to relax. He looks up at Skinner, expecting him to clear up the confusion. Mulder. Skinner says his name simply, conveying a vast relief. Where is she? he asks rather than demands. Shes at her mothers house. When is she coming? A true one-track mind, thinks Doggett. Shell be here as soon as she can. Skinners tone is almost fatherly. Shes been through a lot while you were gone. How long? Five months. Mulder closes his eyes at this; Doggett recognizes the feeling of being robbed of time. Do you remember anything? Doggett asks as a matter of course. Skinner shoots him a warning look. Dont worry about that now, just rest. Skinner gets up to go, but Mulders weak hand stops him. Is she okay? Doggett can see him get more tense with each millisecond before Skinner answers. There is something you should know... just after you were taken, Scully found out that she was pregnant. Mulder closes his eyes again, but this time with a faint smile. And... well... none of us were expecting you to... come back. --------------------------------------------------------------- *Its gone.* Scully sits at the kitchen table while her mother makes scrambled eggs with cheese, just the way she likes them. *Mulders alive.* She can smell the melted butter in the pan and the toast getting slightly burned in the toaster. Theres a faint ache in her stomach which may actually be hunger. *Is it real?* Her mothers expectant smile catches her eye now and then. Its the first day of kindergarten all over again. The horrible dark fear is gone, but what is taking its place is not quite clear yet; shes being ushered out into the light too quickly. She wonders if its akin to what her baby will feel on being born. Dana, do you want some tea? Sure, Mom. Her guilt weighs heavily at delaying this so long. Its been ten days since Skinner brought the news, and he called today to tell her that Mulders awake and asking for her. In the past nothing could stop her from rushing to his side after some brush with death, but the true threshold is proving harder to cross. The sudden absurd thought comes that she should call him on the cellphone before she goes to the hospital to make sure: Are you really there? Is it really you? Are you going to stay? In the airplane she looks down on the forms of civilization imprinted on the earth. Its easy to imagine what it will look like when theyre all gone: the green covering restored, water making its headstrong, lazy way through where it will, small animals blending with the flora. In a deep sense she sees that this force of life will continue its course, ultimately unaffected by the small folly of her species or that of ones from without, the great wheel turning over tiny stones. The vision is comforting and disturbing at the same time. In the car on the way to the hospital shes carried along like a leaf in a stream. Shes glad her mother offered to come along; she feels unreal and insulated from the process. Skinner meets them at the main entrance with an uncharacteristic embrace. Dana, how are you feeling? She cant even begin to convey it, so she just shrugs her shoulders with a small smile. The details of the hospital provide a familiar context. Shes done this so many times before, and she tries to pretend that this time is no different. The door of the room looms up large and she stops at the entrance. Mulder is there. He moves. He turns his head to look at her, and speak her name; she can see hope shining in his eyes. Time slows as she crosses the floor to the bed and lays a hand on his face. The scars there, and the familiar feel of his hair, link the vision to reality. The vision blurs and she panics for a moment, thinking its all being taken away again, but then she realizes shes only crying. The connection closes in an ineluctable instant. Relief so heavy it feels like pain floods through. She can feel his hand on her head, hear his voice trying to reassure her. Tears wash over her as though theyll never stop. *Its true hes here hes alive Im alive were alive* Amidst the cataclysm she thinks that if everything came to an end now, it would be enough. -------------------------------------------------------------- They begin the work of rebuilding their lives during Mulders convalescence and the remaining months of Scullys pregnancy. To her it seems sometimes as though theyll never be able to live a normal life, with their memories of the depths in the background, but these memories serve also to remind them of how wonderful it is to simply live. The moments when their old camaraderie comes back to the surface sustain her. I missed the world series, didnt I? he asks while sorting through piles of papers, cleaning out his apartment. Yeah, but dont worry. I taped it for you. This brings a broad smile, and she thinks back to how the possibility of seeing that smile again was her reason to keep living. He dumps a load of files in a garbage bag. Theres nothing like birth and death to make you get your priorities in order. She thinks at first that Mulder has lost interest in the struggle that used to consume him, and shes alternately relieved that he wont be drawn into danger and concerned that hes throwing away too much of who he is. What are your priorities now? He looks up in mild surprise. Just to take care of our little family. The word makes her smile, but still she wonders. Are you ever afraid of... the forces we used to fight? He comes over to embrace her growing form. You shouldnt be afraid anymore. I think this is what we were meant to do; this is why we survived. She knows the truth of his words. Maybe this is our fight now. ------------------------------------------------------------ Authors Notes: This piece was influenced and inspired by the book The Hero With A Thousand Faces, by Joseph Campbell. Id like to think CC has read it too. The quotes are from that, except for the first one; that quote came from the back of the directions for a bicycle tool! If anyone knows where its from, please let me know. My original self-imposed deadline for finishing this story was today, April 1, 2001, since tonight is the episode in which they finally get around to Mulders return. I wanted to fill in some of what I thought were gaps in the show thus far this season, but I hate to compete directly with the show, so I was hoping to get this done before actual events made it irrelevant. (It didnt help that I decided to try to learn how to type properly midway through.) But this is the wonderful world of fanfic, where anything can happen, so I hope even if things end very differently, whoever reads this can appreciate this story independent of the series. Thanks to all who e-mailed about my first story. This is for you!