Subject: NEW:  "The Union of Opposites" (1/3) by L. Howell
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative

Title: The Union of Opposites (1/3)
Author: Linda Howell
Email: bookdal@bellsouth.net
Class. and rating: VA, G
Spoilers: Mentions of episodes here and there.	
Disclaimer: The Xfiles and its characters belong to Fox, 1013, CC, etc.
In other words, they don't belong to me and as a result of this tragic
circumstance, I will not make any money from writing my stories. Not
that I would anyway, but I can dream!!! 
Author's Notes: This is a sequel to "The Defining Myth." That story was
told from Mulder's perspective, and this is the same time period seen
from Scully's eyes. Thanks to all those who sent feedback. You are the
reason this exists. I hope you enjoy it. Let the games begin again!

The Union of Opposites (1/3)
by Linda Howell

	I will not love him. 

	This is my mantra. 

	Each time he needs me. Each time he leans on me. Each time
those hazel eyes look into mine, searching for a truth I do not have,
these are the words I repeat to myself, "I will not love him."

	I am a liar, of course. I love him more than I have ever
loved, more than I thought I could love. Ironic, isn't it? The one
thing I want is the one thing I will never have.

	Why? It seems simple, but it is truly complicated. Life and
memories are a dangerous combination. They are shrines built in honor
of one another, therefore painful memories make a painful life.

	And for me, Fox Mulder is pain.

	In truth, we are Abelard and Heloise, those doomed lovers of
centuries past who, in the heat of their passions, forgot to consider
the outside world. He was a philosopher. She was a lady.  He was mind.
She was body. They met underneath the canopy of life and were bound
together by circumstance. They loved in secret and they were punished.
From then on, he spent his life in a monastery, trying to atone for
their crime. And Heloise? He was her one true love, so she followed
his example and entered a convent. There, they spent the rest of their
lives writing letters to the memories of what was. They were damned to
the same hell, yet they clung to every flame as if their union
resolved all of life's mysteries. They died apart and loved together.

	They were a union of opposites.

	Is this my fate? To be surrounded by the truth, yet never
being able to touch it? Feel it? Experience it? Will I spend the rest
of my life in the shadow of Mulder's guilt?

	At times, I want so much to walk out that door. I look at it,
measuring the distance between me and the freedom it offers, but still
I remain. I stay because I am Scully, and he needs Scully, if for
nothing else than to share the grief that he has inherited.

	Every so often I glance down at my hands. It's perverted, but
there is a part of me that expects to see a gold ring. I feel married.
Married to a man and his mission. Chained to a memory that I never
experienced. Damned to hell I cannot see.

	I can't help but stare at his poster on the wall. It brazenly
announces, "I Want to Believe." And most people, when they see us, say
"There goes Mulder and Scully. He's the believer. She's the skeptic.
Yeah, Mulder chases aliens and Scully chases him."

	But they are wrong. A believer does not "want to believe," he
already does. And a skeptic does not tread a path without an end. They
are wrong. We are simply Mulder and Scully, the union of opposites.
	
	Even through my thoughts, I can feel his eyes. They're staring
at me, examining me with a curious intensity. What is it now?
	
	I look down at the case file I am holding, but it means
nothing. The words are blurred, the details obscured by a repressed
compulsion to stare back. What are you thinking about now Mulder?

	Aliens? Conspiracies? Me?

	A masochistic wish comes to me and I ask him.
	
	At first, his eyes shoot away from me. A pain, unlike any
other, dances across his face, and I know that I am in his mind. I am
there laying on a cold, concrete floor with blood flowing from my
head. I am weakened and slowly dying of cancer. I am gone, lost to a
strange light in a long ago night sky. Or I am here, separated from
him by the dense forest of words that should be explored, but never
will be.

	Yes, I'm there, as always. Repeated like a line from a Blake
poem, "She played and she melted in all her prime, And the winter
called it a dreadful crime."

	Of course, he'll say it's the case. He will wipe all traces of me from
his eyes like a cleansing snow. And like the spring, he'll offer the
work as both his hope and his excuse. I am familiar with this dance;
I've heard the music many times before.

	His eyes return to mine and he surprises me by saying that it is not
the case. 

	Maybe this is it. Maybe we will get past this incredible hurdle
blocking us. It seems as if our lives have culminated into those
memories of that fiery night on the dam. We are burning together. But
all I want is to be Mulder and Scully again.
	
	Well, if he is not thinking about the case, then what is going through
his mind? I am nervous so I prompt him with "Then what?" 
	
	But he dismisses it and me.

	He has to answer me. I can't let this chance go by. I need to heal. 

	A part of me wants to tell him that I am having dreams again. They
began at Christmas with Emily. Strange, convoluted images impale me with
conscious and unconscious desires. But one revisits me almost every
night:

	In the dream, I am standing on the cliff of an unknown mountain. The
sun is setting in the distance. A light breeze blows around my body. I
feel safe and comfortable. I notice that there is a figure approaching
from the horizon; his shadow melds with mine and I see it is Mulder. He
wears the relaxed smile of a content man. He places his hands in mine,
but as I look down I see that they are fused together. I try to let go,
but I can't. Then, in horror, I watch as our bodies move closer until we
are consuming each other. I wake up just before our eyes meet.
	
	And my first thought is, "I will not love him."

	My second thought is, "I cannot leave him."

	These are my mantras. 

End (1/3)

The Union of Opposites (2/3)

	Like always, Mulder is hurting. 

	I hear his words resounding through the small confines of our office.
Once again, we visit the graveyard of his guilt. He is sorry. Hell, he
is always sorry. I try to let him know that his regret is unnecessary,
but it only serves to make him angry. He wants to say something, but now
I am not sure I want to hear it.

	He begins to speak again. The steely edge of aggravation pierces
through my haze, and I find myself listening as he condemns me for
trying to be reasonable. I have lost so much because of him, he says.
But he underestimates his power. I have not only lost time and family; I
am close to losing myself. He is right. The quest has become mine, but
he is mine, so I assign no blame. I am Heloise, and I'll follow him into
time.

	But he blames me. I can hear the anger in his voice; I can see the
resentment in his eyes. He blames me because I make him love someone
other than Samantha. It seems that Mulder likes his ghosts too much.
Sam. His father. His childhood.  His truth. He can place those mementos
on a shelf in his mind, scrutinize them like any good philosopher, and
still be able to walk away at the end of the day. But I am real. I
breathe. I talk. I live. I am not an idea that he can consider and
discard.
 
	As he finishes his tirade, I reach to cover his hand, but he pulls
away. I don't know what else to do. Sometimes, it is as if we are bound
to our roles. And somehow, I won the part of strength. 

	In actuality, I need him. I can count the number of times when he has
allowed me to see his need, but I have followed his example and kept my
silence. And after five years of being here, I realize that I am not who
I was when I first walked through that door. 
	
	I am Scully now. And that girl who fell in love with the crusader and
his ideals? Well, she is an echo of forgotten wishes with only one
address. The pages of my journal. I write for her every night like
Heloise in a secluded convent, erecting fantasies from the scraps of
reality, hoping against hope that tomorrow he will find the answer. Yet
knowing in my heart that the answer does not exist. 

	Welcome to the contradiction, Dr. Scully. 

	Listening to him now is a tedious chore. But I let him go on. He wants
to purge the poisons from his system; I will not stop him nor will I
look at him. I am not strong enough to pretend that he can't hurt me. 

	"Do you know why I love you?"

	That question and all of its consequences ricochet off my mind. 

	After all these years, he said it. Why?

	As he continues, I sense the onslaught of the epiphany. I killed the
aliens. I killed his faith. I am the secret lover who paved the way to
hell. And he wants to know if I have what I want.

	No, Mulder. I am still writing letters to my imaginary soul. 

	And you?You are still playing hide and go seek with memories and
ghosts. 

	Now you proclaim that I am more important than the truth.

	Ah, Mulder. I still will not love you. 

	But I promise, I will not leave you.

	What else can I do?

	These are my mantras.

End (2/3)

The Union of Opposites (3/3)

	Now, Mulder is impatient. But he will wait.

	When I look at him, I see a poem written to me from the world, and I
wonder what it says. Did Heloise understand Abelard's poem? Or did she
spend her life in search of its meaning? 

	I can't think. My thoughts are jumbled because something is going to
happen. I can feel it inside me. I have never told Mulder, but I think
he knows.  He senses that I know things, but what he doesn't realize is
that I know too much for it to be a coincidence. 

	And I know something is going to happen.

	I need to be home. Away from him. Away from this. 

	He is upset. His awkwardness tells the tale of a man who risked
everything for what he wanted and then discovered that sometimes
everything is just not enough. Ah well, there are times when even the
philosopher has to admit that the answers don't exist.

	I recognize that he doesn't want me to leave, but he recognizes that
I'm going anyway. The only thing he asks of me is a reaction, and I give
it to him.

	"Mulder, I listen to you. I follow you. I love you. But I am tired. I
am tired of your guilt and your `quests.' But it seems that this is my
fate. I am destined to this journey, and sometimes I just want to be
someone else. Do you understand? I feel like a pawn in a game that has
no rules. And every time I turn around, I lose. I don't want to lose
anymore, so I'm going home."

	I touch him before I leave because I need to feel him for a moment.
Heloise needs to taste the wax of the sealed letter. Scully needs to
caress the flesh of her phantom lover.

	"Good night, Mulder."

	I'm going home to write my letters.


Later on....


	. . .I am standing on the cliff of an unknown mountain. The sun is
setting in the distance. A light breeze blows around my body.  I feel
safe and comfortable. I notice that there is a figure approaching from
the horizon; his shadow melds with mine and I see it is Mulder. He wears
the relaxed smile of a content man. I expect his touch, but this time he
stands back. 

	"Scully? Let me tell you a story."

	I smile, "Okay."

	"Once upon a time there was a hero. He came across a princess who lived
in a castle made of ice. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever
seen, so he asked for her hand and got her heart. But an evil spirit
took her away, and the hero was forced to wait forever for her return.
Yet, he never gave up hope that she would return."

	"But Mulder, I came back."

	"I know, Scully. Just remember that the hardest parts of any journey
are those paths you walk alone."

	I listen to the breeze as it chimes. It is like bells in the distance.
I lift my hand to his face, but the dream evaporates to the stillness of
my bedroom.

	And the phone is ringing.

	I pick it up, "Scully."

	"Agent Scully? It's Skinner."

	"Yes, sir?"

	"Agent Scully. Mulder's missing."

	For one brief moment, the vision of a lonely man wraps itself around my
mind. He is standing on the top of an unfamiliar mountain, searching a
long ago night sky for something or someone. 

	But now, I am there. He is gone. And we are the union of opposites once
again.
	
	My first thought is, "I will not love him."

	My last thought is, "I cannot lose him."

	These are my mantras.

End (3/3)

Author's notes: Whaddya think? Does she love him? Should this continue?
Let me know.