Date sent:        Sat, 6 Dec 1997 21:18:30 -0600
Subject:          "Rebirth: On a Clear Night" by Meredith
From:             meredith40@juno.com (Meredith S)


Please feel free to archive anywhere with my name and e-mail 
intact. And thank you, as always, for forwarding to ATXC.


Title:      Rebirth: On a Clear Night
Author:  Meredith

Rating:  PG
Classification:    V,UST ("Look Ma, no 'A'!")
Spoilers:    Yes; this takes place during "Detour."

Summary:  Scully ponders how quickly she's fallen back into 
the same old routine -- and yet realizes things are far from 
what they used to be. 

Disclaimer:  Not mine. No copyright infringement intended.

Author's Note:   This is the first entry of a proposed series of 
stand-alone vignettes to track Scully's private thoughts during 
season 5. My addiction to spoilers tells me we are in for some 
Serious Scully Stuff this year, and I plan to be around to fill in 
the missing parts. :-) Any reassurance that you can give me 
that I haven't picked up a foolish idea would be tremendously 
appreciated. Please send any feedback or conversation to 
meredith40@juno.com (hit reply!) or 
carrie.stetz@mosby.com. Thanks so much.

Thanks to Miki for catching errors and providing one certain 
nugget of inspiration at least 6 months ago. :-)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rebirth: On a Clear Night

**********************************
"If thou beest born to strange sights,
Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand days and nights,
Till age snow white hairs on thee,
Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me,
All strange wonders that befell thee."
          
-- John Donne
***********************************


I can't seem to stop smiling. 

Thank god I'm sitting here in the middle of nowhere with no 
one -- no one conscious, at least -- to see how silly I must 
look. 

But it feels so good that I don't ever want to stop.

The forest really is beautiful. Even now, in the cold and the 
damp, with a kink in my back and my legs asleep, the night is
quiet and sheltering -- the trees forming a close canopy with 
a peephole opening up to the starry sky. The brilliant 
constellations directly overhead cast a shimmering glow on 
the clearing around us, letting me see that Mulder's face is
peaceful in my lap and that despite the injury his breathing is 
even and strong. Of course I can feel his deep breaths 
rumbling against my own chest, but I'm enjoying the rare 
opportunity of watching him sleep. It helps keep me awake.

I stopped singing nearly half an hour ago. Funny that when it 
comes down to knowing all the words of a song, the chorus 
and at least two verses, there just aren't all that many in my 
repertoire. Not that I keep a store of them handy for
emergencies or anything. Dr. Scully's First-Aid Song Kit. The 
thought makes me laugh aloud, the sound bubbling out of my 
throat before I realize it. 

I was sure Mulder was fast asleep by the last verse of "Joy to 
the World," yet for some reason I kept on singing. A few Beatles 
tunes. Some Christmas carols. A discordant version of Aretha's 
"Respect." Only when he stirred slightly and snuggled 
impossibly closer did I stop scaring the wildlife, whatever 
might be left around here. I guess that last song was a bit 
raucous.

But half whisper-singing the rebellious words felt so wonderful. 

Barely hiding my laughter at Mulder's incessant wisecracks in
the car felt wonderful. Having him come crashing through the
trees while I urgently called his name felt wonderful. 
Unexpectedly dropping by his room with wine and cheese felt... 
wonderful. 

Despite my initial shock, I don't blame him for taking off after a
lead last night -- he didn't know what my intentions were, coming 
to his door bearing undisguised innuendoes and a sense of 
freedom. Perhaps that's the problem -- I didn't know what they 
were either. 

But he promised he'd be back. If the hunter's wife hadn't nearly 
been attacked just before Mulder's visit, I'm sure he would have 
been.

What might have happened, could have happened, if he had 
returned. . . .well, we might have begun again. Started the 
night over, started our partnership over, started our lives all 
over again. 

But it doesn't matter. We never made the conscious decision, 
but we literally started all over again a few weeks ago -- and 
Mulder and I have only just begun to understand the implications. 
Every day is a new beginning, a new chance to get things right. 
If not last night, then tomorrow. Or the night after. 


It's unbelievably clear tonight. In the limited slice of sky above, I 
see a few constellations whose names I actually remember 
from Girl Scout camp. Orion. Ursa Major. Casseopeia.

Cancer.

I'm not sure why I brought up the subject of death tonight, a 
gloomy topic amidst the comfort, the strange, protective security 
of being alone in the woods with Mulder. Perhaps because the 
unspoken word had taken such a powerful significance in our 
lives for the better part of the last year. It was a finite end point
to our partnership. To *us*. No options. Definite. And it was 
approaching so quickly. Perhaps last night it was finally time 
to speak.

How peculiar, though, now that I think of it. Every day for five 
years I've -- we've -- faced the possibility of the exact fate I
nearly succumbed to a mere 14 days ago. Death. The only 
difference being that a doctor doesn't greet me every morning 
to prepare me for the day's gruesome possibilities. 

Today, Dana, you will be attacked by a liver-eating mutant. 
This afternoon's plans include a troubled man threatening you 
with a lobotomy, Dr. Scully. Tonight you will be alone and 
helpless in the woods, with an injured partner and an enemy 
you can't see. 

Today's events include your possible death, Dana.

Why does that make all the difference in the world? The 
difference between joy and sorrow? The difference between 
demanding all life has to offer and hiding from its rare and 
exquisite possibilities?

Even as my life was slowing unwinding before me, I was never 
afraid of death. I was angry, even combative at times. But never 
afraid. I could never, will never, accept its control over me. I will 
always prefer an almost invisible man with glowing red eyes to 
a rotting mass of cells pressing on my temporal lobe. 
Bring it on. Just give me a fighting chance.

I sit now, with the soul bound closest to mine asleep in my lap, 
and am easy prey to the same fate as I was back in the hospital
bed in Virginia. Today, tonight, tomorrow, I may die.

And yet this feels so divine.

Sticks and hard-pack mud under my pained ass and Mulder 
drooling on my thigh, snoring softly. An invisible and deadly 
creature lurking somewhere close by. Death, defeated for now. 


Far off in the distance, the sky is lightening to a muted pewter. 
Softly, inevitably, the sky will turn pink, then orange, alive with 
the glow of another day. Slowly-breaking happiness is 
spreading like fire. I am beginning to understand it -- to feel it.
He feels it too, and we are warming gradually, basking in
the newfound comprehension. Learning what can be. Smiles. 
Looks. Touches. I'm not sure what our future is, or when 
Death will intrude on our privacy again. But I know that we
can go anywhere, be anywhere, begin again.

On a clear night, you can see forever.

I like what I see.


END

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or bad. Grateful won't even describe what I'll be. :-)

**Meredith**

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