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A Time To Heal
by Barbara Barnett
This is complete (including the first part already posted)
This is the sequel (by popular request--I know I bailed out on Crisis a bit
quickly) to Crisis of Faith. Please read it before venturing forth into
this. This is actually quite a different story, and why I didn't make it
part of Crisis. So enjoy.
Archive: with my permission (let me know)
Rating PG-13--this is adult stuff, guys. Essentially a marriage
(figuratively speaking, that is) on the rocks and the painful path toward
salvage.
Takes place S6, but before Milagro
SA
Feedback always welcomed at Barbara462@aol.com
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A tacit understanding began the process. Skinner understood the need and
respected the attempt. Time. An agenda of light cases, notable only by
their lack of a paranormal scent, the absence of conspiratorial suggestion.
Ostensibly to allow Mulder time to recover from his ordeal. Unexplained,
yes. But no need to rub salt in the rawness of the wound too new.
It had been two weeks since Marina's funeral and still Mulder and Scully had
not talked. Not really. There were pleasantries and work and on one level
things were back to normal, but only on one level. A new case. The first
out of town assignment since Mulder's release from captivity. Time away from
DC and nowhere to run. It could destroy what little remained.
"Scully?" She looked up from her laptop.
"Mmmm?" Deep in concentration, looking at crime scene photos.
"It's three o'clock. Our flight is 8 AM tomorrow morning. I..." He
started, suddenly unsure of himself. "Can...I'm going to take a walk, go
down by the reflecting pool. It's too warm in here to think. Join me?"
Despite the subterfuge, Scully knew exactly what was on Mulder's mind. It
reflected her own state of mind. She nodded slightly.
They walked to "their" bench. Actually Mulder used it more than she did.
They sat on opposite ends looking out upon the reflection of the blue sky.
After some moments, Mulder sighed deeply, rising and walking the two feet to
the water's edge. He picked up a small stone, skipping it into the water.
The reflection wavered and returned. "This isn't working, Scully. Is it?"
His flat intonation made it statement, an opinion, not a question.
He could almost see her eyebrows draw into together. "No, Mulder. It's
not." Now her arms would cross in front of her. Mulder closed his eyes,
flashing instead on the warmth and tenderness he saw in her eyes not so long
ago. "Not the way you want it to, anyway."
He turned sharply towards her, confused. "Meaning?"
Again she sighed. "The work is going OK. We've solved cases, managed to
stay civil and collegial."
"And that's enough for you?" The incredulous look on his face did little to
mask a rising anxiety, anger. Passionate fury in contrast to her cool pique.
"Colleagues?"
"Isn't that all it is for us? Maybe it's better when it's not personal.
When all we expect of each other is to do our jobs."
"Scully!" Now he approached her, towering above her sitting form. He looked
desperately around. Everywhere but at her, as if searching for something,
perhaps words, perhaps...anything.
"How can it not be personal? We've gone to Hell and back for each other so,
so many times. How can it be anything but?" His eyes, moist and burning
beseeched her to stop lying to him and to herself for both of their sakes.
Suddenly defeated he sat down again on the bench this time nearer to her.
Halfway. When he spoke, it emerged as a harsh whisper.
"Why, Scully?" He had to know. If it was over, he had to know. Know for a
certainty beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was real, not a lie, not denial,
not her fear.
This was it. They had pushed it off for two weeks, both afraid to bring it
up. Afraid of the consequences if it failed to result in a reconciliation.
So they had settled into this purgatory of politeness. It had to end.
"Scully?" She looked up at him, her eyes bright, her lower lip trembling
slightly. Mulder took a long breath, jumping in at the deep end. "Do you
think I'm prone to delusion?"
"Mulder! Of course not." Her eyes and voice revealed her horror at his
statement. "My God, Mulder, you are one of the most...delusional?" She
paused considering her words. Shock slightly abated, her voice softened.
"You used that word the other day. Is that what you think I think of you?"
"There is that pattern of late." His voice was flat, serious.
"Meaning?"
Another breath and Mulder continued. "I know what I saw, Scully. The
alien...in Antarctica, in the nuclear facility. I know I saw the unborn in
the bellies of human hosts. Our evidence, the men whose abdomens were sunken
in... You would have seen it too. But you were out of it. You know
that...I..." Mulder's voice was rising of its own volition, he struggled to
keep it even. "I carried you through the ship. It was man-made. How could
that have been a figment of my imagination? One them grabbed me by the leg?
How could that have not been real? But you insist...you tell me that all that
happened to you was that you had a virus. One that causes tissue damage.
You can't identify the virus. It's not identifiable. You've even admitted
it. But you've dismissed my observations as unreliable, incredible, because
of what? And the only thing I keep coming up with Scully, the only thing
that makes sense to me is that you think I've gone over the edge and am
seeing things that aren't there. The last time I looked, that would make me
delusional."
"Mulder, I...can't explain what you saw..."
"And what you saw?"
"I was foggy, I had just regained consciousness, I..."
"Bullshit, Scully. Where the Hell do you think you were? What was the stuff
you were pickling in?"
"Mulder, I..I don't think..."
Now Mulder was on a roll. "And the ship Scully. You saw it. You said it
yourself on the ice. And I do remember your saying it. It was the happiest
moment of my adult life when you said it. Validation. I finally knew. For
sure. For damn sure. And I knew you knew it too. But then you changed your
mind. You hedged and scuttled yourself right back into that land of denial."
He blew out a breath, not finished. But Scully stepped in.
"Mulder, you said to me that my scientific approach, my ways made you
question your assumptions, that it was what made you whole..."
"That's not what I meant by making me whole, and I think you know that too.
But you're right. I need to question my assumptions. And you've always
obliged me. But I don't need to question my sanity. Don't you think I've
done that enough on my own? I searched and analyzed, been analyzed. I know
with all that is me, that what I've seen in the last six months is no hoax,
is not delusion. Scully, there's a difference between questioning
assumptions and ignoring credible observation just because it doesn't fit
what we assume about science. Your questioning of my assumptions does
neither of us any good when you never question you own. And I guess that's
the difference between the creative scientific mind--the visionaries of
research--the people on whose backs we make the leaps and discoveries--and
the competent technician. Research versus application. To make the leaps
you have to cherish the anomalies and never stop wondering why. Somewhere,
sometime, you did."
Mulder had said too much; much more than he had intended. The pain in
Scully's eyes told him that he had hurt her. He only hoped that having done
it, the hurt was enough to lash back; and lash back with honesty of her own.
Scully flinched as if about to be struck by a sudden and violent blow.
Mulder was nearly gasping for breath as he turned away from her, arms wrapped
protectively around his ribcage. He paced.
"Then I guess that about says it all, doesn't it?" She struggled to keep her
voice even. "You know, Mulder, when I first met you all those years ago, I
thought you were brilliant but misguided. I relished the notion that I could
bring you back onto the fast track. But then I began to understand you; what
drove you; what had changed you so drastically that you removed yourself to
the basement. And I respected that. And I respected you for it--and for so
much more.
"But I'm afraid, Mulder." The very words he had wanted her to admit jarred
him. She paused before continuing. "I'm afraid to let go of what I know.
Maybe they are sacred cows and maybe that makes me a bad scientist...I...I
don't know, Mulder. Mulder, your world changed when you went to seek your
past; mine was changed without warning and without my consent. I need to
find the rational explanation for it. I still do. I'm not sure of anything
anymore."
Mulder wanted to continue the sparring. He wanted to ask her how she could
find that rational explanation without considering and then discounting
alternate theories. How could she ever know for sure without considering
every possibility no matter how...But he couldn't. "Not even me?" he asked,
voice was soft.
"It was the only thing I was sure of. Your passion, determination. That no
matter how far out your ideas sometimes seemed, they were grounded by your
analytical mind and own questioning. I knew you wanted the truth, even if it
meant that you had been wrong. I knew you would never fit the evidence to an
extraordinary theory just to be right. But then last year..." She turned
away from him, unable to look him in the eye. Mulder heart caught in his
throat. He wasn't sure he wanted to know this. But he had to find out. The
truth. Finally revealed.
"But then last year," she continued, her voice a whisper. "Mulder I never
understood why you did what you did. Were you so desperate for the truth
that you would indulge yourself in a dangerous treatment. Did it hurt so
much that you were willing to risk both our lives in the process? It was
then, Mulder, I began to wonder, began, just a little to waver, to question
your motives...but only so often. Question your objectivity, but only on
occasion. Mulder, I..."
So that was it, then. The truth finally out. The wind out of his sails,
Mulder blew out a breath and walked farther down toward the water. It was
then he lost all credibility with the ethical Dr. Scully. The fatal act
done. An irrevocable alteration of their partnership, their relationship,
such as it was. It had all finally become clear. But she didn't understand
the nature of his desperation. Not at all. He turned to face her, calmer
now, finally understanding the nature of the abscess, its location.
"Scully, I know what I did was an act of desperation. God, in retrospect it
probably incredibly irrational. But I was..." Again he turned away, unable
to meet her questioning gaze until this was out in the open air. Finally.
"Scully, you were dying and I...I knew that somehow your disease was
connected...I didn't know what else to do...You wouldn't talk to me. You
wouldn't let me in, let me help. I needed to feel I was...I was doing
something. Anything. Everything I could possibly..."
"Because you felt responsible." A statement. He turned back toward her.
Confused momentarily at her words. She looked into his eyes and he looked
away again. He couldn't allow her to see into him until he finished. But
she saw the truth that his eyes told.
"No. Not responsible. Not in the way you think. At least not then. Not at
that point...I..." Again he turned his back toward her and continued,
emboldened by the privacy of the act. "It was my last hope to keep you on
this earth. In a way, Scully, it was an act of pure cowardice. I
couldn't...I didn't want to face life without you. I knew that with perfect
clarity. You pushed me away in those days, not as hard as you do now, but
then...then I understood it. I knew I couldn't stop trying and that if only
I knew, I could get to the truth, I would get some last glimmer of insight
into what made you so sick and what could help you. It was stupid and vain
and arrogant. I know that. But it was the only way left I...I didn't know
how else to fight. Scully, do you think I would have tried...God, Scully.
How could you have..."
"You'd tried desperate measures before to regain your memories, to find out
what happened to your sister, this was just a step up and..." But her voice
was faltering. He had never told her his motivations. "Why didn't you tell
me?"
"You'd already shut me out nearly completely by then. Maybe you blamed me in
some way for your cancer. I didn't know then, but I knew soon enough that at
least a part of you *did* hold me responsible."
"Mulder, that's absurd." Again he turned toward her, raising an eyebrow at
her.
"You told me as much...after Kritschgau. I remember so clearly. The
nightmare of that night. Arlinsky dead. Your accusations, your anger.
Finally you told me the truth, didn't you? That night. You believed him.
You believed him so easily. No facts, just a story that fit your concept of
them. And then..." The rest of the night had come flooding back to Mulder,
a barely there memory in the aftermath of Scully's remission, it still
floated too close to the surface of his consciousness. He had never told
Scully.
"You found out that Kritschgau was right..." Mulder thought a moment about
revealing more of what happened that night and thought better of it.
"At least Kritschgau believed it. And it was compelling evidence. But he
was wrong. And you and I both know that now. But it didn't matter to me at
the time. You were alive. And that's the only thing I had to hang on to.
It was all I had left after you went into remission. I had no past, nothing
to believe in." Mulder laughed bitterly. "My soul was withered, a desiccated
nothing. Do you know what that felt like, Scully?"
"No. You never bothered to let me in on it." She flinched at her own words.
"Sorry."
"No, you're right. I never did. I had my reasons. I didn't want to burden
you in the aftermath of your recovery. I felt...I felt, Scully, like the
biggest of fools. I knew I had lost your respect, Skinner's..."
"But you were right about Skinner. And you uncovered the mole. It was your
determination, your passion that..."
"That did what? That cleaned up the whole mess? In my mind it's dirtier
than ever. The rats are just deeper in the rat pile and covering their
tracks with greater care. That's all I did."
"No, Mulder. That's not all you did." Her voice softened as she stood,
reaching for his hand. She held it briefly before he pulled away.
"Scully..." His voice held a warning.
"Mulder, if you felt alone and adrift then, then that was...I never knew. I
know what you did. How you fought for my life. Not only then, but last
summer. I never. How could I... Mulder, I'm so sorry. I was so happy to be
alive after the cancer went into remission. I never expressed..."
"Scully, don't. You don't have to...it was a long time ago. Please don't
treat me with.." This was beginning to go in places where Mulder longed not
to travel. He went back to the bench and sat down. "We've got a plane to
catch you know."
"Mulder...." A warning in her voice now. An arched eyebrow. "There's more
that has to be said, you know."
"I know." Now he reached for her hand. She offered it without hesitation.
Their fingers intertwined briefly. "But I think we're finally talking."
Scully's eyes glistened as she nodded silently. Mulder pulled her toward
him, tucking her head in the crook of his neck. "We'll get through this,
then."
"I can't lose this, Mulder. Not now. Not like this."
"Neither can I, Scully, neither can I." She tilted her head to catch his
eyes. It had been so long since they had connected in that way. The
desperate sweetness of return was overwhelming as her tears finally fell.
They still had a long way to go, but they were on the path together.
end.
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