Date: Thu, 17 Apr 1997 17:30:05 -0500 From: Jennifer Maurer *new* email address: jenbird@earthlink.net Subject: "Adrift" by Jennifer Maurer DISCLAIMERS: Copyright laws? What are they? Oh, you mean those silly rules that say I could get my @$$ sued off for playing with Chris Carter's toys! *blows him a raspberry* Didn't your mother ever teach you to share? SPOILERS: "One Breath" This is meant to go along with my story "Ashore" but it still makes sense on its own. There will be one more companion story after this, "Awake," which can also stand alone, although I'd prefer you read *all* my stories. *grins* RATING: PG-13 (In my universe, where there are no censors, Mulder has a foul mouth when he's upset.) CLASSIFICATION: VRA SUMMARY: What was going through Mulder's head during his vigil at Scully's side? COMMENTS: I live for feedback: *new* email address: jenbird@earthlink.net For Sam, who held the rope. ADRIFT 1/1 "I feel, Scully, that you believe...you're not ready to go. And you've always had the strength of your beliefs. I don't know if my being here...will help bring you back...but I'm here." Her hand feels so fragile in mine. I take hold of it tentatively, somewhat surprised at it's warmth. I was expecting her fingers to be cold. Comforted by the feeling---if her hands are warm, she must still be alive---I lace my fingers through hers and enfold her small hand in both of mine. I hate the world. Maybe not the whole world. Just the bastards that took Scully from me. The bastards who fucked with her DNA and dumped her here like a broken doll. The bastards who hid her so well my three month search was in vain. God, I looked everywhere for her, I tore the world apart. Apparently not enough of it, because they returned her only when they were damn good and ready. Returned her to die. Fuckers. I lay the blame at the feet of shadow people, but I know who I'm most angry with. Myself. Three months of Scully's life are unaccounted for because I was a few minutes too late. What must have been going through her mind as she screamed into my machine, knowing rescue would come too late? I still have that tape. I'll probably keep it forever. I listen to it almost as much as I listened to Duane Barry's disjointed ramblings. Only those recordings taught me something. What do I hope to learn from Scully's cries for help? That I will never leave her unprotected again? That none of this would have happened if she hadn't been assigned to the X-Files? That she is the first person I've cared about since Samantha and I ruined her life, too? She looks so peaceful. God only knows what they did to her. Was her face contorted in fear, rage, pain? Did she keep screaming for me? Closing my eyes only brings the images into sharper focus, so instead I focus on Scully, as painful as it is to look on her in this condition. I told her mother she didn't want to live like this, and I know it's true. But I don't think I can let her go. Not now, not without a final word. A final plea for her forgiveness, absolution to soothe my guilty conscience. Please, Scully, wake up and say you forgive me, then maybe I can accept this. I glance at the clock and contemplate what I gave up to be with her here tonight. It seemed an impossible thing to ask at first. I was ready to bodily toss Melissa out my door. Surrender my one chance, so neatly set up for me, to avenge Scully's abduction? To watch with pleasure as they died in front of me? How could I pass up a chance like that? Melissa gave me her New Age song and dance. I told her she was full of crap. After she left I sat back down holding my gun, wishing I could hold Scully instead. I went back and forth...this was a one shot deal. But Melissa said Scully could go at any time. In the end, I chose to come here, to sit by Scully's side, and wait for her. To live or die. There is a new tension in the air, I'm not sure if it's just my overwrought nerves or something else. This is the first time I have allowed myself to sit still since Scully was returned. I spent so much time running around, looking for answers, that I almost forgot about the clock ticking down on her life. Now I am here...for what? The end? While part of me fears watching Scully die, I know this is where I want to be. Maybe Melissa is right, and she will know. Maybe she will never know, maybe she already long gone from this body. Either way, I will be here for her. To ease her going, or welcome her back. I scoot my chair up closer to the bed, giving myself a closer view of Scully's face. I am mesmerized. I have looked on her face for two years now but never have I had a chance to study her so closely. When I saw her, after the security guards let me back in, the first thing that struck me was the tape over her eyes. I demanded to know how they expected her to wake up with her eyes taped shut. Was there something wrong with her eyes, any damage? As far as the doctors could tell there was none. Good, I told them, because Dana will be scared when she wakes up and can't open her eyes. The looks of pity I got said it all. Even Scully's mom and sister thought I was going overboard. Nevertheless, when I leaned over and gently peeled the tape away, they looked relieved. Only their presence had kept me from trying to see Scully's eyes. I fought the urge to lift her eyelids and look upon the blue of her eyes once more. A sick idea, I know, but I wanted to see if she was in there. So much of Scully shines from her eyes. I remember the look she gave me when she'd asked me to sign her living will. Clear, measured, logical. From anyone else it might have seemed a startling request. With Scully it was another loose thread to be tied up. I'd read it, asked a few questions, and agreed, never dreaming I'd have to use it someday. Very practical of her, considering our line of work. Yeah, I thought to myself, very practical for someone who works with a lunatic. Mrs. Scully had invited me to be present when they removed Dana from the respirator. I refused. Her suggestion was kind enough, trying to include me as one of the family. Melissa's eyes had bored into my back like lasers, waiting for my response. I looked at the floor and shook my head no. As much I wanted to belong, I wasn't part of the Scully family. Mrs. Scully and Melissa were the grieving family, what kind of claim did I have on Dana? What right did I have to be there? Oh, sure, I was the *witness* to the document that let them give up hope and turn the machine off. What would it feel like for Scully? Would it be like drowning? Would she struggle for breath or just sigh quietly and be gone? Would the cessation of air pumping into her lungs shock her awake or would she linger in her coma, breathing automatically. I didn't want to witness any of those answers. In the end, I copped out and left her family alone. I huddled in the lounge, waiting. Melissa finally emerged to tell me Dana was breathing fine on her own. For now. I knew that could end at any moment. Yet I still refused to stay with her, choosing instead to chase bad guys. What would I have done if Scully had died while I wasn't there? I'd prided myself on being her avenger, but would that have comforted me in the end? The fear of returning and finding her gone drew me to her and scared me away at the same time. I didn't want to watch her die. Watching her slowly fade was almost as bad. My alternative was worse: arriving to visit and being greeted by an empty bed, the sheet stretched tight as a drum. A newly sterile environment with no evidence she'd ever been there. Whispered condolences and half-hidden looks of disappointment from her family. For awhile, when it was easier to hope, this seemed a tolerable scenario. Not anymore. I fiddle with her fingertips, noticing that her fingernails, usually kept nice, are chewed off. She must have done that, but why? I study her freckles, usually hidden by makeup. Her lips bother me, their unhealthy purple color such a contrast to her usual full mouth. I lean forward and run my thumb across her bottom lip gently. Come on, Scully, I think to myself, wake up and tell me to cut it out. I brush my fingertips across her cheek before returning my hand to hers. I stare at Dana Scully's immobile face until my eyes burn with fatigue and unshed tears. Her breathing is shallower. I think she's tired. My own exhaustion is growing heavier. I do not want to fall asleep and miss something. At the same time, I also feel that here, beside her, I may get the rest I've missed these past three months. I am so weary. My search is over, Scully has returned. It is out of my hands now, as it always was. I am lost without her but it's not in my power to bring her back. I sigh and lay my head down on the bed next to her thigh. I'm half-tempted to actually pillow myself on her legs but I don't want to hurt her. I can feel her body heat seeping into my scalp, as I imagine she can feel mine against her leg. I burrow closer to her and smell her scent, still the same. It soothes me. Before my eyes drift closed, I take Scully's hand and rest it against my cheek, my own holding it gently in place. Just in case...she won't have to move much to wake me up. What happens next must be a dream... I have not left Scully, I can feel her nearby. I am walking along a narrow forest trail, drawn forward by the smell of water...a lake. It is an earthy, mossy smell that I like. Natural, not like the hospital. Leaves and twigs crunch under my feet. I keep following the muddy trail until it ends at a dock. I put one foot out, testing the boards. Seems sturdy. As I walk out towards the water, a breeze stirs the mist, and I see her. Scully. Sitting in a boat, bobbing gently up and down. Her face is expressionless, she watches me calmly. I stride down to the end of the dock, ready to dive in the water and swim out to her. I stop abruptly at the end and reel back as if someone's grabbed me. But there's no one here but us. My eyes travel from Scully's boat along the length of the rope tethering it to...nothing. Her boat must have been tied to the dock at some point but now the ragged end is floating in the water. I freeze, afraid my slightest breath will stir up waves and carry her away from me. I fully understand for the first time exactly what Melissa meant. It literally *could* be anytime, the slightest change in the current will sweep the rope away...and her boat with it. Life is much more tenuous in this place. Where will she go? I think this is what people thought the edge of the world looked like, water stretching away into mist that blankets any horizon. Will I have to watch Scully drift backwards and drop over a precipice? Will she cry, call for me? No. I will not let her go. I can't jump in the water to save her. My splash would be too disturbing to this still lake. I sink slowly down until I'm laying flat on my stomach on the edge of the dock. I feel the need to move with stealth, as though something might rise up from the deep and grab one of us. I snake out a tentative arm. Easy now, Mulder, for once don't make any waves. The end of the rope floats slightly beneath the surface, hovering above the darker depths of the water. I slip one hand into the water. It's warm, bath temperature, and I'm surprised. I was expecting the chill of death. The water warps my hand, making it seem disembodied from my arm. Perhaps it is. I hold my breath, reach slowly further down. Almost got it. My trembling fingers reach...and grasp. Yes! I draw my arm back out of the water, a fistful of thick, damp rope clutched triumphantly. I sit up on the edge of the dock, pulling the rope back with me. I wrap it once around my fist, pulling her a little bit closer. My first thought is to leap to my feet and reel her in as fast as I can. I make myself pause. The rope seems strong enough at this end but if it snapped off the dock it may have other weak areas, too. Best, I think, to just sit and be the anchor. I feel in my heart that this is my role here. I will not force her to come back. If she tries to pull the rope away from me it will break my heart but I will let it go, if that's what she wants. My signature binds me to that promise. For now, I wait to see what Scully will do. I can be patient. I curl both fists around my end of the rope and clutch them to my chest. The mist settles on my skin, droplets bead in my hair. Is this some kind of test, to see if I'll give up and leave her? I love her and I'm staying. The sudden realization of this emotion does not surprise me here as it might have in waking life. I have left her alone too long. It is only fair and right that I should suffer what Scully has suffered these three months. If this is as close as I can get to it, fine. I will stay here until I'm drenched and shivering, if she needs me to. And she does need me, I can feel it in her steady gaze. We are both waiting. I can't believe I could actually doze off---who falls asleep in a dream?---but I am jolted back to awareness by the shifting of the rope in my hands. I convulsively clutch it tighter, afraid someone will rip it out of my hands. They can pull until my palms are bloody and raw, but I will not let go for anyone but Scully. I raise my head slowly, afraid of finding only an empty boat. Relief floods me when I see that she is still there. Scully is moving stiffly, reaching for something. She slides forward in the boat, and I see she is reaching for the knot of rope tied at the bow. My heart stops: will she untie the knot? Is she going to set herself adrift? It is the hardest thing I have ever had to do, but I sit very still. I do not try to stop her. I love her enough to respect her wish, whatever it turns out to be. This is worse than Samantha; that time, I was paralyzed, unable to help her as she floated away. No unseen force holds me down now, only my own willpower. Scully's small hands stretch past the knot and wrap around the rope. I relax my body the slightest bit---is this what I hope it is? She braces herself and pulls. It looks like a huge effort on her part but in truth she hardly moves forward at all, only rocks violently. I beg silently. I lock my arms, determined that not an inch of my end will slip away. God, I want to help her so badly but I know it's not my place. Every instinct bids me to stay still and leave this to her. She is strong, I know, but she's been gone so long. Even from this distance I see her set her jaw and pull again. The boat inches forward. Hand over hand, her determination eats the rope bit by bit, drawing it into the boat with her. I sense the eagerness in her but also hesitation; in true Scully fashion, she is going slow and cautious. I think with a smile, I stand up as she bridges the final yards of our gap, closing up the waters between us. Her boat bumps against the dock and she wobbles slightly. She looks up at me with that beautiful smile, triumph and weariness and pride showing all at once. I have never seen her eyes so blue. I smile back, my face stretching in an unaccustomed grin. I drop the rope at the last, securing it under my foot. My hands stretch out, clasp her small ones tightly as she takes the first tentative step onto the dock. Her footing steadied, she lifts her other foot from the swaying boat and stands before me, on firm ground at last. I open my arms and fold her into them, holding her tightly. Her own arms wrap around my waist, clinging to me. I kiss the top of her head, the red hair damp under my lips. Dana is home. *************** End 1/1 *sigh* Don't you all just want to melt into a puddle of 'shipper bliss? I know I do:)