Love, fate, and a whole lot of unspoken truths separate our heroes after the events of The Sixth Extinction…
The Healing Waters: Prologue
September 2000
Jasper, Alberta
Fox Mulder closed his eyes and lifted his face to the early morning sun, feeling the warm rays caress his skin with a skillful lover's touch. At the same time, the light breeze that ruffled through the leaves on the tree branches overhead made the hairs on his arms stand on end. The opposing sensations were decidedly appropriate for his mission of the day. In his fingers he held a small box, inside which was a gold band that he had neither seen nor touched in over ten years. It was time to perform a simple ceremony with it.
He opened his eyes to the unbounded majesty of the Rockies in the not too far off distance, set against a solid blue sky with nary a wisp of cloud. The mountains reflected off the clear emerald water that lapped rhythmically in front of him, the magnificence that was the aptly named Lac Beauvert. Literally beautiful and green. His eyes traversed the edge of the lake to the large cabins standing adjacent to the golf course. He settled on a specific ground level, end unit suite. He closed his eyes once more, searching his memory for that idyllic image of the woman he had left sleeping on the king size bed over an hour ago.
Just as he finished recreating in his mind the picture of the familiar pale face settled comfortably against the white pillows, he felt his world begin a slow spin backwards in time. Back to a time when the gold band had been around his finger.
"I don't want it back. Keep it."
"Why? What would be the point?"
"Consider it a talisman, a symbol of sorts. That's what it really is, anyway, isn't it?" "Well, right now, it's a symbol of something that's not true."
"That can always change."
"We've been all over that —"
"Hear me out. I'm asking you to keep it as a symbol of what you deserve. I've known a side of you that thinks you have to keep paying the price, from here to eternity, and it's just not true."
"What do you mean?"
"Let this be a reminder to you that there's someone out there who loves you the way you deserve to be loved. Keep it until you find her. Will you do that? On the day that this lucky woman realizes what she's got, maybe you can have a ceremony with it. Toss it into the river, bury it in the park... burn it in a bonfire. It'll be a sign that you've found what you want. Let me leave you with that, at least."
"Talk about dramatic endings..."
"There are no endings, Fox. Just beginnings. And you and I, we'll have another beginning someday."
"And what makes you say that?"
"Life is all about love and fate. I love you; I know you don't believe me, but that hasn't changed. And maybe, just maybe, you're fated to be with me."
"Well, I think I'm fated to something, but I'm not sure if that's it. I know what you mean, though... I have this feeling that we'll cross paths again. Who knows — maybe even as adversaries." "We could never be that."
The sound of a distant splash broke through the quiet stillness of the morning, bringing his world spinning back to the present. Birds chirped noisily above him. He heard voices from someone making a room service delivery to a nearby cabin.
Mulder opened his eyes and looked down into his hands in puzzlement. The box was gone.
* * * * *
Truths Untold
October 1999
Washington, DC
"Dana?"
Someone was calling her. It was a very familiar voice, but where was she?
"Honey, are you sure you should be driving around?" It was her mother. She was at her mother's house. In the front foyer.
"I'm all right, Mom, just a little preoccupied. I'm sorry, I'm in a bit of a rush."
"What were you saying about Fox being in the hospital?"
"I have to go to South Africa, Mom —" Ignoring the question, it was like she was on a mission and had no time for details.
"South Africa? Why? Dana, what's going on? You're not making sense." Not only that, Margaret Scully was having a difficult time even establishing eye contact with her daughter. "It's a long story and I have no time. I — I just need you to be there in case something bad happens and I'm not back yet."
"What do you mean? Come inside —" She tried unsuccessfully to lead her daughter into the living room.
"I don't have time, Mom, he's in the psych ward and they don't know what's wrong with him... he can't speak and he's uncontrollably violent."
"What? How — how did this happen?"
"I don't know. I was in New Mexico... I'd only left him for the day —" And he called that Fowley woman instead...
"But Dana, I don't understand — what's in South Africa?"
"Maybe my only lead. He first showed signs of strange brain activity when he came into contact with something that was brought over from there. I have nothing else to go on. I have to find out where this thing came from and why it's doing this to him. The doctors say if something isn't done soon, what's happening inside his brain is going to kill him."
"And you're leaving?" Experiencing a momentary sense of detachment, Scully realized that she had never seen her mother quite so dumbfounded.
"Mom, I can't help him here."
"But you can be there for him."
"That's not going to make him better."
"Is that your responsibility to him, Dana? To make him better? What if you can't?" That simply wasn't an option.
"I don't know what else to do..."
"What would he want you to do? Honey, if I understand you correctly, you're saying that he may not be here for you to come back to —"
"No! I mean, that's not my plan...that's why I need your help."
"What do you mean?"
"I need you to call this person tomorrow morning and tell her who you are." She pressed a folded piece of paper into her mother's hand. "I've left her messages in every way possible but she's on shift right now; I can't get ahold of her. She'll be able to keep you posted as to Mulder's condition. If she tells you it's time — and you know what I mean, Mom — you have to call his mother for me."
"Good Lord — why hasn't she been called already?"
"He doesn't want her to know."
"Dana, how can you possibly know this if he can't speak?"
"I'm saying his FBI file has strict instructions not to call his mother. Ever since her stroke, he's... I'm his emergency contact. And I'm not supposed to call her unless his life is in immediate danger." "And you don't think this qualifies? We're talking about his mother."
"I know, Mom, I know. It's not time yet. But I know that can change tomorrow or the next hour. I don't plan on being gone long, but it's going to take two days just to get there and back. I could be gone a week and I don't know at this point if I'm going to have any way of contacting you. I need you to do this for me, Mom. Mulder needs you to do this."
It was never Margaret Scully's intention to deny what her daughter implored her to do, whatever the request. And doing anything she could to help out her partner was also a given. But somehow she couldn't help but think that Dana was going about it in all the wrong ways at this most critical of times. She would never forgive herself if something were to happen while she was gone.
"You know I'll do anything for you, honey. But please remember — there are times in your life when it's right to do what your heart says, not what you feel obligated to do."
Scully's resolve not to cry in front of her mother — because she knew it would reduce her to that elemental child inside of her — gave way as soon as she fell into her mother's arms.
* * * * *
She started at the sound of something clattering in the next room.
She was no feeling her mother's warmth. She opened her eyes and found herself in what seemed like unfamiliar surroundings. In the darkness, Dana Scully blinked away tears, feeling the wellworn surface of soft leather beneath her cheek. She could smell its signature scent, intermingled with a comforting masculine fragrance that she did find familiar — she was stretched out on Mulder's couch.
In a second, she was able to collect herself and remember that she had heard a noise in the next room. She threw off the jacket that she had been using as a cover and quietly made her way to the doorway of Mulder's bedroom. The nightlight that was plugged into the outlet near where she stood bathed the room in a soft warm glow reminiscent of candlelight. She wondered briefly when Mulder had started sleeping with a nightlight on. As she looked in, she could tell that he hadn't much changed from the last time she had checked on him. His left arm was dangling over the edge of the bed, however, and Scully could see that he had flailed about somewhat in his sleep. The sound that she had heard had obviously been that of the plastic pitcher and cup crashing down from his nightstand. Luckily there hadn't been much water left in either of them.
Standing there in the darkness of his apartment, she was reminded of her last conversation with him just before all proverbial hell broke loose. When she called here and a familiar-sounding woman had answered his phone. How many agonizing hours had she spent since then, trying not to dwell on whatever it was that had possessed him to call Diana Fowley that day? She still didn't know what had happened here that night before he was taken to the hospital and ultimately sent into the psych ward. Had Diana helped him like she said she did or did she somehow initiate the whole chain of events? Scully supposed that she would never really know. Maybe Mulder remembered, but it wasn't like she was going to ask him any time soon.
She heard him muttering and ventured into the room, approaching his bedside quietly. She wondered if his temperature had gone up and moved her hand forward to touch his forehead. She was totally unprepared for and surprised by the way he suddenly latched onto her wrist.
"What are you doing?" he said harshly, gritting his teeth and applying even more strength to his hold on her.
Scully took a deep breath and was about to answer until she realized that he was actually asleep. She willed herself not to struggle, not to make any sudden attempts at yanking her arm away. After a brief moment of silence, she leaned in close and whispered into his ear.
"Mulder, it's me. I'm not going to hurt you. You're having a dream."
It took some time for the vise grip on her wrist to relax. When it did, Mulder opened his eye s and stared up at her listlessly. For a second, Scully thought he had returned to some semi-catatonic state. A few moments later, however, he dropped his hold on her and turned his head away.
Scully knew about the emotional swings that sometimes plagued patients after brain trauma. If this was the extent of it, then it was an encouraging sign. Nothing violent, at least. That part of it was gone and hopefully gone for good. Not that she had ever really thought that Mulder could be violent towards her, but after what she had witnessed in the psych ward, it was a frightening possibility that she was glad she wouldn't have to consider any further.
"Sorry."
"Don't be." She sat down on the side of the bed and turned slightly to place her hand over his chest on top of the covers.
"I didn't know it was you."
"Mistook me for one of those other women who come wandering through your bedroom?"
He turned back towards her and managed a half smile, a heartwarming sight for Scully despite the incredibly haunted face it occupied. There was definitely some real emotion behind those dark eyes; what she saw was not just the confused synaptic misfirings of a recently overtaxed brain. She had a good idea of what it was that he had just been awakened from. That oddly remorseful combination of guilt, regret, and fond remembrance mirrored in his eyes was something she had come to recognize instantly. It was his Diana look.
It was obvious that the woman would continue to trouble them both for some time to come. And the worst part about it for Dana Scully was that she didn't even have the option of hating her with the same passion as she had had just ten days ago. Unfortunately, sometimes death does that. Extinguishes passion. Buries truths as much as it exposes lies.
As if following her train of thought, Mulder reached for and clenched the fingers of her hand tightly in his, once again seemingly oblivious to the force of his grip. Scully flinched ever so slightly, but kept her focus on the wall in front of her, concentrating on a discolored patch of paint.
"Where've you been, Scully?"
Was his tone just a touch accusatory? She couldn't decide whether she would be more surprised if it was, or if it wasn't.
"Up the coast at a bed and breakfast. I told you; I took two days' leave for some R & R..." "Well, no, you didn't exactly tell me. You left me a message."
"You didn't answer your phone."
"I was here. You knew I was here. I'm off work; why'd you call my cell?"
"Habit, I guess, Mulder. What is it, you don't believe me about where I've been?"
It felt stranger than strange to be sitting here on his bed, in the darkness of night, feeling the need to piece together things that weren't broken. It hadn't been Scully's plan to make it seem as though she had run out on him, but she could understand all the reasons why he would think so. All the same, she had merely acted on behalf of her own well-being. For once in her life.
"I'm just wondering what else it was."
"What else would it have been?"
"I have no idea. You've been different —"
"Different?"
Mulder raised himself up onto his elbow and leaned towards her. He caught and held her gaze in the dim light of the room.
" Different. First of all, I've barely seen you, Scully. Five days recovering in the hospital and I saw you twice. You show up at my doorstep for a brief moment — completely blow me away with your behavior — and then I get a message telling me you're gone for two days. You're telling me that's normal?"
Well, Scully thought to herself ruefully, they had apparently not taken anything important out of his skull; he was still as sharp as ever.
"Mulder, I spoke with your doctors. I made sure you were okay to be by yourself —" "Scully, you're not assuming I missed your medical attention, are you?"
Fortunately, he didn't look as exasperated as he sounded. He continued to stare at her in silence for several seconds. Scully wanted to say something, but didn't know what. Having him be alive and well was her number one priority; she wasn't about to apologize for that. As for the rest of it, she just wasn't sure she could trust herself to discuss it now.
"I missed you. That's all," he finally said, reaching for her hand again. "I've had too much time to think, and no one to share those thoughts with... not to mention I've been worried about you." "Worried about me? Why?"
"Because I thought you were a bit overwrought the other day and by the time I could think again, you were gone. Why do I get the feeling you've been avoiding me?"
"Don't be silly, Mulder. You left me with a lot of paper work at the office...I didn't exactly carry your load when all this started happening and taking off for five days clear across the world didn't help. I had a lot to catch up on —" She stopped talking, mainly because she heard how unconvincing her words were, even to her own ears. However, as the seconds wore on, the questioning silence that hung in the air became oppressively heavy. She pressed forward, trying it from a different angle. "Mulder, when you were in the hospital, your mother was there the whole while. I thought it would be nice for the two of you to share some quality time alone. God knows your mother shouldn't have to visit you in the hospital just to get some quality time with you."
Mulder eyes dropped as he tried to imagine what it must have been like for Scully to contact his mother. He remembered having a heated conversation with her over his new policy a couple of years ago when they both updated their respective wills. She hadn't entirely agreed with his logic or his reasoning, but in the end she had agreed to his terms.
"Thanks for calling her, Scully. I know that couldn't have been pleasant."
She didn't want to relive those moments any time soon either. "Did you two get a chance to talk much?"
"No, not really. It's not our style, I suppose. She did most of the talking, bringing me up to date with what's happening with friends and relatives that she keeps in touch with." His words were tinged with a melancholic tone of resignation, despite the fact that he had brightened up somewhat with the recollection of his mother's visit. Scully watched the varied emotions play over his face as he continued, "It's a bit strange between us; I must admit... I love her and I know that she loves me, but mom and I — we both seem unable to deal with the fact that precious time has passed. Continues to pass. Neither of us really knows how to pull what's left of this family closer together. Then again, I don't even know if that's necessary or if she even wants it. She seems fine with her lot in life."
"Did you ask her about your disappearance from the hospital?" Scully asked gently.
"Yes. And she told me as much as she knew, or as much as she wanted to tell me. But I really think it was one of those moments in life for her where you really don't have much of a say in what happens. I was dying. Someone told her that I could be saved. What's a mother to do?"
Scully squeezed his hand in a gesture of understanding.
"Anyway, before she left, I promised to go up and see her for Christmas. Got any plans over the holidays, Scully?"
"Not as yet. We usually don't get all that settled until Thanksgiving. I heard Mom mention that we should all go out to California this year."
"Oh. That should be nice for all of you.... Speaking of your mom, thanks for telling her to stop by; she made me feel embarrassingly fussed over. You never told me she makes such a mean chocolate pecan cookie."
At the mention of her mother, Scully suddenly recalled what she had been awakened from, just a few short minutes ago. She got the distinct feeling that she had missed out on something that her mother had been trying to tell her in her moment of distress. Mulder caught the immediate change in her, even in the semi-darkness.
"You don't look rested, Scully."
"I don't feel rested."
"Well then, that begs the question of, what does R & R stand for in your book?"
"I thought it would be good to take a couple of days to re-energize, to think about everything that's happened. To find my own space again and clear my head. But the fact is, I still feel so confused that I don't know if a six month sabbatical would even do it for me."
"Welcome to my kingdom, Scully."
"You don't feel this way."
"How do you know?"
"Because I know. Because you don't have this desire to fight what you see with your own eyes...you're not like that. You want to believe. Me? It's like I see it and I want it not to be true. Or maybe I want it to be true and it's not and I can't believe that it's not."
"Listen to yourself, Scully. You've progressed. You now seem to be fighting yourself just as much as you've ever fought me... " Seeing that she was genuinely disturbed, he added, "Hey, I don't mean to make light of it. But you've been through a lot, and it's okay to feel confused." He paused and frowned slightly, suddenly uncertain about whether or not they were on the same wavelength. "What exactly are we talking about anyway?"
"You name it... the possibility of alien life and where along the scale my own faith lies. And the sixty-four thousand dollar question is, how much more wrong can I possibly be about everything else in between?"
"Scul —" He threw aside his comforter, swung his legs over the side of the bed opposite to her and stood up, all much too quickly. He grimaced as the pain lanced through his head. “— Ow!"
She was by his side in an instant. "For heaven's sake, Mulder... You've had brain surgery. And you've been lying here since before seven and it's now one-thirty in the morning — you can't just bounce out of bed like that. Why is your bandage off, by the way?" She eased him gently back down into a prone position.
"I didn't need it anymore. Did you say it's one thirty?" He looked around in sudden confusion, as if only now noticing that it was dark throughout the apartment.
"Yes. What time did you think it was?"
"I didn't think it was any time. Just — if I've been out since before seven and it's now one thirty, what are you doing here, Scully?" He shifted himself up into a sitting position again and snapped on his bedside lamp. They both squinted against the sudden offending light.
"You left me a message, remember? To come over tonight as soon as I got back. I haven't even been home yet. But you weren't answering your phone nor your door, so I let myself in." She took in the fact that he was fully dressed — jeans and socks included — and frowned. "I assume you only meant to have a brief nap or something... but you weren't having an easy sleep and your forehead felt hot. I thought you might be coming down with something."
"So you're just waiting on me?"
"No, as a matter of fact, I fell asleep on your couch."
"Scully, you don't have a pillow or blankets or anything —"
"I'm fine, Mulder."
"Not that there isn't plenty of room in this bed, too — unless you think I might be contagious." "Well, I don't know if you actually have anything, but that wouldn't have been appropriate." Mulder's face fell. "Appropriate?"
The word hung between them like a hospital bed curtain. Not allowing much privacy on either side, but a solid barrier in any case. Seeing his reaction, Scully immediately regretted having used it. But all things considered, she didn't have much left with which to censor her thoughts before voicing them. At one-thirty in the morning, this was likely as good as it was going to get.
"You mean like doctor/patient appropriate? I've got news for you, Scully, I'm not your patient. And I'm okay now, aren't I? Last I checked, I hadn't transformed into something so hideous that you can't bear to touch me again. Least I hope not. And it's not even like I'm suggesting that you should crawl under these covers and jump my bones or anything like that."
Normally, a twinkle in his eyes or a certain inflection in his voice would tell her that he was putting her on, but this time there didn't seem to be anything to indicate that he was really joking.
"So what are you suggesting?"
"Forget it." He sat up straight and swung his legs over the edge of the bed again. This time he sat still for several seconds. "I guess I was just expecting something else. Something more. Hell, maybe even you were expecting something more..." He glanced over at her quickly and decided that he really didn't want to pursue that line of conversation. "Look, Scully, I'm not really myself right now; this was probably a bad idea. I don't think we should be talking now."
"Well, it's way past time to decide that."
He got up and started to pace slowly but deliberately beside his bed. Scully suddenly noticed the dark circles under his eyes; he certainly appeared to be less well than when she had seen him just three days ago.
"What's up Mulder? You don't look much rested yourself."
"I haven't slept much since I left the hospital. They must have had me on something while I was there, to help me sleep."
"You should have let someone know —"
"I don't want any more medication, Scully. And it's not like I don't sleep, just not restfully." "What do you mean exactly?"
"I keep having these dreams that seem so vivid as to be real. And they're not normal random dreams, they're repeats of dreams that I've had before, or they're dreams about actual past reality."
"Are you having nightmares?"
"No. Not really, anyway. But I'm constantly reliving parts of the past two weeks in my head every time I fall asleep."
Scully felt a shiver run up her spine. Did he just imply that that didn't constitute a nightmare? "Are you cold?"
"Just a bit...I can go get my jacket —"
"Get under the covers, Scully. Please. Make yourself comfortable, I'm going to get some water. You want anything?"
"No thanks."
Hesitating only briefly when Mulder paused to make sure that she was following orders, Scully pulled back the blankets on the left side of the bed and climbed in. First time for everything, as the saying went.
As she settled back against the pillows, she found her thoughts drifting back to Diana Fowley again, to their last conversation. As a last ditch effort, she had tried to appeal to her supposed love for Mulder, telling her that she should do for him what he would do for her in a second. At the time, she thought that Diana had no nerves for her to hit, and was angered by the other woman's quick dismissal of her plea. She remembered pursuing Diana out into the hall after her unceremonious exit, grabbing her by the arm and spinning her around. Scully subsequently let loose with an accusation of how her method of "thinking" was failing Mulder, how it would guarantee losing him forever. She hadn't been expecting an emotional response...
"Don't lecture me about loss, Agent Scully. If fate had even given me half of another option, I'd still be his wife. That's not something that's ever going to be possible again. So don't you dare tell me that I don't have his best interests at heart."
Scully peered out into the darkness beyond Mulder's bedroom door and considered the irony of the moment. How many answers still remained hidden out there in the dark? How many would forever remain so?
Her own amazement in check once more after that revelation, Scully had in turn been surprised by the depth of feeling that she saw in the other woman's eyes.
"I can tell how much you guys really talk. You think I'm the devil's disciple but you really don't know anything about me, do you? How black and white is your world, Agent Scully? I could deliver him into your arms and you'd still think I had ulterior motives. So how about we stop wasting my time and you can let me get back to what needs to be done?"
Scully had largely ignored her outburst at the time, especially when it appeared as though she hadn't succeeded in changing her mind in any significant way. In fact, she had hardly given the encounter a second thought until Skinner informed her of Diana's death a few days ago. For some reason, she wanted to be the one to tell Mulder. It hadn't worked out like she'd expected, however, as she thought back to that afternoon; how she had been so uncharacteristically overcome by the situation when she appeared at his door. It was somehow made worse by seeing his smiling face under that ridiculous Yankees cap. She was suddenly overcome with feelings for him, regret for Diana, confusion over Diana's past relationship with him, and uncertainty regarding their own future. The battle to hold her words and thoughts together was lost before she could even begin to fight.
She had meant to comfort him, not the other way around. It wasn't her turn to grieve and she shouldn't have been there to take when she should have been the one to give. And in the end, she had also meant to kiss him on the lips but something inside her redirected her aim at the last second. No wonder Mulder was perennially confused. And for quite possibly the millionth time, she couldn't blame him. Over a year later, she was still at the helm of a relationship that she didn't quite know which way to steer.
Diana was dead, but one thing hadn't changed. Dana Scully still had many questions that she wasn't ready to ask. And many feelings that she wasn't ready to deal with.
* * * * *
Mulder stopped just outside the doorway to his room, remaining hidden in the shadows. He found himself experiencing a sudden spell of dizziness as some sort of twisted reverse deja vu overtook him at the sight of Scully in his bed. Another dream versus reality moment. Except that he was in the bed — his deathbed — with the image of Scully — young and beautiful still — approaching him. He was reflecting on what had been a surprisingly full and satisfying life, and was amazed that he had not thought about her more over the years. Seeing her again made him realize what she still meant to him. But then suddenly she was admonishing him. Accusing him. And then just as suddenly she disappeared as the world around him began its final descent into an incontrovertible hell.
"No..." He leaned back against the wall and slid downwards slowly. He eventually hit the floor with a dull thud, more than enough to shake him out of his momentary lapse.
"Mulder?" Scully was out of the bed in a flash.
"I'm okay."
"What do you mean, you're okay? What was this?"
She took the miraculously unspilled