From: Creyente Date sent: Thu, 5 Mar 1998 16:46:17 EST Subject: "Undulation" 1/1 "Undulation" By Kristin Pohaski February 23, 1998 Summary: A faith shaken and strengthened and closure to things left unseen. Category: V, A Rating: It's clean. PG. Spoilers: Redux II Keywords: Cancer, post-Redux Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and "The X-Files" do not belong to me. Bet you coulda guessed that. They belong to Fox, 1013, and Chris Carter, the Master of Yuppie Morbidity. And I use that term affectionately, I assure you. ;) I intend no copyright infringement and am not making any money from this. Feedback is greatly appreciated. Send it to Creyente@aol.com. Thanks!! "Undulation" "You'll say don't fear your Dreams It's easier than it seems You'll say you'll never let me fall from hopes so high But never is a promise And you can't afford to lie" -Fiona Apple, "Never is a Promise" The sound of her breath is still magical to me. One week after pulling Scully from the edge of a bridge that, if crossed, would surely allow no return, I still find myself checking her, watching her from a distance, losing myself in the cadence of her breaths and the small movements of her body as she crosses a room. And now she sits here before me as I struggle to find a way to put into words the weight that I feel pressing in on me from all sides, like an animal enclosed in a pen. "I don't know what to believe." I watch her, gauge her reaction. I can read her like a well-loved book, and I watch as a gamut of emotions play across her eyes. She doesn't understand. I've been a fool, and she is the living, breathing proof. In gaining the one thing that I wanted most in the world, winning the cure for the disease that ravaged her small body, saving the one person that I truly need on this earth, I lost my faith. Years of hopes that I now know to be false, years of searching in the dark for a light that was never there, torn down by a computer chip no more than an eighth of a square inch in size. Her cure, my salvation. My foolish beliefs exposed. I saw my sister that night. That it was her, I am sure of. I could have followed them, could have refused to let go, but she had asked me to. "Let go, Fox," she had said, though I don't think she knows the weight that those words held. Instead of following my holy grail that night, I found myself at her bedside, confronted with the terrifying reality of her own mortality, her fragility, her weakness. She looked so weak, bathed in pale moonlight, unaware of my presence, but with me in spirit nonetheless. My partner, my Scully. Lying there on her deathbed because of me, because of my quest for a truth that was far from what I expected it to be. For all these years, I've believed these lies, these beautiful lies. My belief borne of desperation and loneliness, until she joined me in my quest. She didn't know that it would be her downfall. I watch as she studies me, entrapped in those orbs of blue, their familiar fire returned. Her inquisitive spark, the flicker of her strength, those things returned with the death of an invader that I brought to her. I see her struggle with the weight of my confession, but I don't try to explain or justify my words. She will find her own way, as she always has. She has found the way for both of us throughout this journey, her very presence my saving grace more times than I can count. She and I are entwined in a way that I don't think I'll ever fully understand. And though I know she knows what I'm thinking and what I'm saying, knows every little quirk and bit of body language, she doesn't feel the hopelessness and defeat that course through me now. Letting go of a years old crusade is not an easy thing to do, as I must now. I am confronted with a greater truth, one that, quite shockingly, frightens me more than any little green man ever could. That all of this, that all of the pain that not only Scully but all of the others who have suffered like her, could be planned to the finest detail and inflicted with a merciless brutality by a member of our own race, of our own kind, a human, if you can call him that, shakes me to the core. We've seen evil in human manifestations before; in Donnie Pfaster, in John Lee Roche, in Robert Modell; but the evil that these dark, invisible men breed and set free in the world eclipses all of them. I see the my faith now in shimmering waves and shadows, distorted but still there, while I have only a glimpse of an undulation of truth. I feel myself fall into it, floating in it, glimpsing at pieces of the puzzle and wondering what is truth and what is deception. I long to clear the shadows and waves away. But for now, she is safe from it, here under my watchful eye. I hesitate to leave her each evening since she went into remission. I don't think she understands the gift that she gives to me simply by breathing, living. Being. She tethers me to the world of sanity, keeps me fighting. But now I have little left to fight for beyond a trite fight for "justice". I can't even recall her telling me that her cancer was in remission. I do recall sitting at her bedside in stunned silence, the message not quite hitting me. And a moment later I had my hands on hers, feeling a mixture of emotions that I had never experienced before and never will again. To know that she would live, that she would survive, thrilled me. No words were spoken between us as we leaned closer to each other. Neither of us dared break the spell of the moment with mere words, something that we had never needed to communicate anyway. Her fingers entwined themselves in mine, and I felt the skin of our foreheads touch in an almost-prayer. A thanks. I don't know how long we stayed there, forehead to forehead, soul to soul, listening to the sounds of each other's breathing. We found healing in the moment, but not closure. She doesn't know how badly I wanted to grab So I find myself here with her tonight, sitting with her in her apartment, starting to tell her the list of things. Telling her now that I need her like never before, that I don't know which way to turn or who to trust. Have I been lied to all along? Or was that a lie in itself? Bill Scully asked me if it had been worth it. I never answered the question, and now I find myself asking it again. Was it worth it, Mulder? Was it worth risking Scully's life? Was it worth risking your own? Are you still willing to do that, day in and day out, living on a blind faith? Finally, she speaks. "What you're saying is..." she begins. I nod. She knows. She feels it too. "You might give up this fight?" My eyes duck away from hers. "Unacceptable." My eyes find hers again, confusion playing across my face. "Scully, I've told you what I've seen, what I've discovered." I said it slowly and deliberately. "It's a lie. All of it." "No, it's not. I'm proof of that. I won't let you abandon your faith, Mulder. You've come so far on it." "Look where it's gotten us." Of course, on some level, I want her to argue with me, to convince me that I'm wrong. "Five years, Mulder. What we've found, isn't that worth anything to you? Hasn't it meant anything to you?" She looks wounded, and my heart cracks. "It's meant everything to me, Scully." Quietly. Reverently. Honestly. "Then why would you abandon a fight that's only half done?" "I can't believe in those things anymore. I've seen the truth. I don't believe." She looks at me with a small smile, a wisdom that goes beyond her somehow. "Yes you do. You never stopped believing. It's just harder now. And nothing that's worth fighting for is ever easy, Mulder." I watch her with respect, watch as she fights me for yet another time in our partnership. "I'm not willing to give up this fight, Mulder." If she was trying to get my attention, she has it. Yes, she's told me that she loves her job, that she wants to work with me. But I cannot at the moment remember a time when she so openly acknowledged her involvement in my... our... quest. "There is a fight to be fought here, Mulder. And whether it's little green men or just little men playing with a lot of power, we're the ones who have to fight it. And you believe. As do I. We believe in what we're doing. And we'll go on." Her eyes study me as I feel myself beginning to crack and break. "It's hard, Scully," I manage. "I know." Her hands are on me now, and I feel her draw me into the circle of her arms. Mine encircle her in return, and we hold each other, comfort each other, and draw on one another's strength. I wonder that this is the first time I've held her since Before. "You're strong, Mulder." "You're the strength, Scully." "I'll never know all the answers. I don't know the how and why of all of this. But I'm not going to let you fall, Mulder. As you held me up these last months, I'll be here to hold you." I consider her offer, consider her words. As usual, she's right. "Then I'll go on," I say almost questioningly. "Yes." I draw away from her now to watch her, to appreciate the miracle of her very life. I ask the question timidly, nearly afraid although I already know the answer. "Will you go come with me?" She smiles a gentle smile and takes my hand. "Yes." I know that she will. And as she promised, she will be there. Scully is my healer. And I know that if the flame of my faith flickers, she will keep it from blowing out. But if it should, Scully is the match that will rekindle it. She'll never let it die. She is my light. END Feedback is VERY MUCH appreciated!! ::::whimpers:::: Creyente@aol.com. Author's note: My many and heartfelt thanks to Annie Sewell-Jennings. Without your support (and kick-butt editing jobs) I would never get a thing done! Your encouragement and friendship mean the world to me, and not a day goes by when I don't think myself lucky to have you for my best friend. We see each other as we see the light of falling stars: distantly, but with a clarity and beauty that can only be seen by one who would look closely.