FF: The Rusted Wheel of Things (1/6)
Title: The Rusted Wheel of Things (Prologue & Chapter 1)
Author: Ellie elliestories
Rating: R
Category: SRA
Timeline: Post-"Requiem", AU
Summary: In the years after the events of "Requiem," Scully has had to adapt to a life without Mulder. Then one afternoon, a phone call changes everything.
Disclaimer: The X-Files belong to 1013. I'm just borrowing them, and everything else in this story.
Warning: Contains some descriptions of torture.
Word Count: 18,000
Written for xf_bigbang 2010.
Author's Notes: Thanks to rarasponda for the wonderful beta, and to aruna7 for the amazing video trailer, which can be seen here.
*****
So braver notes the storm-cock sings
To start the rusted wheel of things,
And brutes in field and brutes in pen
Leap that the world goes round again.
~A.E. Housman, "March"
****
Prologue
Choices
***
The morning was cool under the dappled shade of the cherry tree leaves, though humidity hung heavy in the air, promising another scorching day. She sat, gazing across the Tidal Basin as she'd done, once, with Mulder, what seemed too long ago. Another lifetime. Cherry blossoms were long shed for a delicate leafy canopy, and no early morning tourists disturbed her reverie. One hand rested low, on the imagined swell of her abdomen, as she watched the moon sinking low toward the horizon, a ghostly faint smile against the bright summer sky.
This child she had wanted with Mulder, a life created together. She did not want this for herself alone, and was unsure she could do it alone. Only half herself, she'd left the hospital, been across the country and into the dark wet forest after him before anyone could stop her, before anyone else understood what his loss truly meant.
Skinner had found her there, crouched on the damp earth, rending her clothes and crying like a wild thing caged, even before he gave her the word that Billy Miles' devastated body had been found three miles away. She'd caught the next flight home and spoke to no one for a week. No one else understood the decision she was being forced to make.
She didn't hear anyone approaching the bench, until Alex Krycek suddenly came to rest beside her. His dark silhouette looked out of place on the sunny morning, black leather jacket creaking in the humidity.
"I've got nothing to say to you."
"You haven't even heard what I've come to offer you, Agent Scully."
"There's no offer you could make me that I would possibly consider," she said, wrapping her arms across her chest with vehemence.
"Not even yourself for Mulder's safety?"
They knew, she realized, they had to know before he was sent on this fool's errand. "Myself?"
"That baby is not supposed to be. We'd like to know how it happened. A few tests are run, that situation is monitored until we see the outcome. Meanwhile, Mulder's safe at home, which would be a significant improvement over his current whereabouts."
"You're asking me to trade this child's life for Mulder's."
"On the contrary, there are interested parties who hold a great stake in seeing your offspring alive and healthy. The potential there is unimaginable."
She rose from the bench, looking across the dirty brown water to the shadowed figure of Thomas Jefferson as she spoke. "There's unimaginable potential in every child. And Mulder would never want to see such a deal made. He knew exactly what a deal like the one you're trying to broker cost his parents."
"You refuse this deal, no one can guarantee what condition he'll be returned in. Or if he is at all."
Scully didn't look back as she made her way back to the car. Once inside, she let her tears flow freely. The decision had been made for her.
***
Chapter 1
Arrivals
***
Scully scrawled her name across the box at the bottom of the form, tucked it into the drab folder, and set it in the outbox to her left. A glance at her watch told her it was 2:48 p.m.; her eyes traced the path between the four other folders in her inbox and the silver-framed photo where her daughter smiled at her with Mulder's sea-change eyes and breeze-tossed cinnabar curls. With a sigh, she decided there was time for just one more case review before she needed to beat the rush hour traffic back to DC in time for Hannah's big evening performance.
Halfway through the primary pathologist's notes, her BlackBerry chirped at her. She frowned at the device as the caller ID displayed Deputy Director Walter Skinner's information. "Scully."
"Scully, it's Skinner. You need to get to GW Medical Center immediately. I'm here now--"
"Oh, God. Is Hannah all right?" Reports forgotten, she was already gathering her keys and briefcase.
"It's not Hannah. It's Mulder."
The world's axis abruptly shifted, and she felt the ground spin beneath her feet. "Mulder?"
*
The drive from Quantico to Washington was tortuously long, giving her too much time to revisit wounds that she'd thought were finally starting to heal and fade. He'd been gone longer now than he'd been a part of her life. The arrival of their daughter had forced her to make a choice after months of headlong desperation. Knowing life could not continue as she had been living it, she'd made the difficult choice she knew in the very depth of her soul that Mulder would have wanted her to make.
It had not made the decision any less painful. Only their daughter kept her going for the first year, and even then, it had almost been more than she could bear. After maternity leave, she'd gone to Quantico, sublimated her grief and longing into her work and her daughter. Time and an official declaration of death had provided a semblance of closure, and she tried to find some solace in routine and normal life.
Marching down the corridor of the hospital, the fragile peace she had so carefully constructed was fracturing, cracks already threatening her stability. She could feel it in the slight wobble as her heels struck the tile. Skinner met her at the door to Mulder's room, one firm arm blocking her entrance.
"I want to see him." She couldn't keep a tremor out of her voice, "To see if it is him."
"It is. I only called you after I was sure."
"What?" Sudden indignation fired her, steadied her voice and raised her eyebrow. She stopped trying to glimpse past him, into the room, and met his irritatingly cool gaze. "How long was he here before you called me?"
"He was just...here...last night when they did the eight o'clock rounds. No one knew where he came from, or what was wrong with him, or who he was. This morning, someone from DC Police contacted the FBI. I was here at eleven. Fingerprints and dental records match, so far as we can ascertain."
"So far as...." Understanding widened her eyes and slumped her shoulders, left her feeling suddenly deflated. "How badly?"
"They're not sure. He's been in a coma since they found him. He's breathing unassisted. Nothing seems to be wrong presently, everything they've run has been pretty normal. But at some point.... He's been through a lot, Dana."
She met his eyes once more as his tone softened, saw the warning and concern there. Nodding, quietly she said, "I'd like to see him. And his chart."
Skinner dropped his arm, allowing her to push past into the room. Two steps inside and she paused, shaking. That profile, surrounded by wires and tubes, broken, gaunter, but one she would recognize anywhere. A choked sob escaped her as she clasped his skeletal hand, spiderwebbed with scars and broken capillaries, the last joint of his left ring finger gone. She sank into a bedside chair, for just a moment allowing the release of nearly eight years of uncertainty to flow out of her, to take in the face both so familiar and so ravaged.
Gradually, her doctor's eyes took over, cataloging the smooth healed burns; white network of scars; gnarled, poorly healed fractures; prominence of bone structure under dull, tight skin; thin, patchy, white hair. After a moment, she reached to the end of his bed for the chart, taking a deep breath before opening it. Anything she might have immediately requested had already been done. CTs, MRIs, and EEGs were normal, and a standard blood panel revealed only the obvious malnourishment, anemia and a mild electrolyte imbalance.
Steeling herself, she turned around to find Skinner still loitering in the doorway. "I'd like them to run a DNA test, to confirm his identity. And have them check his bone density while they're at it."
"You know it's him."
She shook her head. "After all this time, I can't go through this without being positive. I can't put Hannah through this without absolute certainty."
Skinner nodded and turned away, pulling the door closed behind him, leaving her alone with Mulder. She returned to the chair, took his hand again in her own. "Mulder, it's me," she said. "You're home, I'm here. I can't...I can't stay long now. Our daughter--we have a little girl, Mulder--she's in 'The Nutcracker' tonight, at the Kennedy Center. She was the youngest dancer selected to be in the children's ensemble. Hannah's nothing like I thought our child would be; of course she's bright and amazing, but she's such a girl, loves pink and ballet and slumber parties and dresses and 'The Wizard of Oz'. She's so much more than I ever dreamed of. My mother dotes on her, has her wanting a pony now after giving her a copy of 'Black Beauty' for her birthday. I'm half afraid one's going to show up under the Christmas tree with a big red bow around its neck, like the dog did last year."
She paused her babbling, taking a deep breath and gently pressing her lips to the back of his hand, gathering her thoughts, trying to control her rambling. "You'll love getting to know her. She'll think you're a better Christmas present than any pony. She--I--we--thought you were gone forever." Her voice broke, tears falling down her cheek and onto his dry, scarred hand.
For a long, quiet hour she sat at his side, marveling at his existence. He was not supposed to be, not after so much, not after so long. It was almost enough just to hold his hand, know he was here for a few moments again. Reluctantly, with a glance at her watch, she placed his hand back on the bed, slipping her fingers over his, kissed his forehead, and made her way to the door. At the door she paused for a lingering moment, her eyes roaming the man she still missed every day and never expected to see again.
When she opened the door, Skinner was waiting outside in a chair, one young woman with an earpiece and curls tamed into a sloppy French braid, standing by the doorframe.
"You're still going to her dance thing?"
"I can't miss it. I'll send Mom home with her after, and meet you back here. You're staying to keep an eye on him, not just posting someone?" She looked pointedly at the agent by the door; new recruits seemed younger with each passing year.
"I'm staying here, and Agent Vasquez will be on watch until midnight. I've made arrangements for someone to be here for the foreseeable future."
"Thank you." She nodded, awkwardly, unsure how to thank someone now officially her equal for something so personal. It had been a long time, but he was the only one besides her mother who knew how personal this really was.
*
The little girl giggled as Scully twirled her in her arms, half-a-dozen pink roses crinkling in cellophane between them. "You were wonderful, sweetheart!"
"It was so awesome! Did you see the present I got to carry across?"
Scully put her daughter back on solid ground, and gave her a smile that did not reach her eyes. "It was enormous! You did such a good job with it! In a few more years, you're going to be the Sugarplum Fairy, not a party guest. How would you like to celebrate your debut by spending the night with your grandma?"
Maggie Scully looked up at this, from where she was digging Hannah's winter coat off of the garment rack. "Yes, come celebrate with some cocoa, sweetie. I think I found a box of your mother's old Nancy Drews, too, for you to dig into."
"Really?"
Nodding at her mother, Scully said, "Yes, I think that sounds perfect. But if you two keep this up, we're going to have to find room for another bookcase."
She watched her mother help her daughter into her coat and wondered what she was about to put them all through. Test results had come through during the performance, and she'd been making avid use of her BlackBerry for most of the ballet. "You don't mind staying at our place for a little bit, and helping take care of things? The dog? I don't know how much I'm going to be home for a while." Her mother nodded, and Scully continued, "Can you bring Hannah to GW tomorrow? Give me a call when you get close, I'll meet you in the lobby. Let me explain things, though God knows what I'm going to tell her."
With a sigh, Maggie nodded. "I'll bring her over around ten. This is a good thing, Dana. For both of you." She patted her daughter's shoulder, and Scully watched them move away through the crowded dressing room. She took a deep breath of chalk dust and makeup remover before making her own way through the clouds of tulle and organza, back towards the hospital.
*
This was not the first time he had been surrounded by nothing but chilled air and the white noise of machinery, a nothingness like the space between the stars. He'd lost count, as time had passed, though he could recall every respite as well as every slice and crack and sear. In these quiet times, he suspected They were probably listening to his thoughts the way he'd once been able to do, but he was long beyond caring.
He would allow himself to examine every memory of her like a precious stone, polished brilliant with every remembrance, each smile providing him a small moment of comfort. When he could feel Them inside his mind, he longed for the way it had felt to be inside her mind, crisp and bright as a spring morning, sparkling in counterpoint to the chaos of his own.
Every moment together, he could recall with unfading precision. He remembered that first knock on his basement door; her little slight-of-hand cricket-eating; the way she'd grinned and swung a baseball bat; her under and over and around him, panting and moaning his name in ecstasy. He wasn't sure if it soothed him or made him more aware of what was missed, but he knew it was the only thing that kept him alive.
The memory most cherished was nothing extraordinary in light of their experiences together, but in this cold void, it was the one that comforted him the most. They had just returned to the cold of March in Washington after the sunshine of a case in California, and the bitter night wind had frozen them as they traversed black ice on the short walk in to her apartment. But oh, how soft and warm her bed had been, with a down comforter and flannel sheets, and her in silk pajamas, curled toasty and contented in front of him, warming everywhere he wrapped around her. Her fingers had twined with his, and a serene sigh had escaped one of them before they drifted off to sleep.
If he really tried, he could almost feel her strong slim fingers tangling with his own, almost hear her gentle respirations, almost smell the sharp, clean scent of lemon verbena that he always associated with her presence.
*
Against the cacophony of machinery beeping and humming, she almost missed the quiet chirp of a text, Hannah using Maggie's phone, telling her "B there n 5!" Scully let go of Mulder's hand as she stood, rolling her eyes and wondering if her mother could teach the girl to use a computer keyboard as properly as she used a piano's.
"I'll be back, Mulder. There's someone I'm bringing to meet you." Only the steady rhythm of his breath answered her.
The hospital was quiet, the way she'd expect on a Saturday morning, more visitors milling down the corridors than incoming patients. As she stepped off the elevator, she saw her mother and daughter coming through the entry doors, and hurried across the lobby to meet them.
"Mom! Gramma gave me one of your books that was hiding at her house!" She dug a yellow-spined volume out of her bag. "Look! She said it was your favorite."
Forcing herself to smile, Scully looked down at the book in her daughter's hand. "'The Hidden Staircase'. Yes, that was always my favorite." For a fleeting second, the smile felt almost real. "But let's save that for later, okay?"
Hannah nodded, tucking the book back into her fuchsia bag, and looked expectantly between her mother and grandmother.
"Mom, thanks for taking care of her last night. Are you all right with the dog for a couple of days?"
"We're fine. You call me if you need anything else today, Dana."
Scully nodded, "Thanks. You know I will."
"You be good, Miss Hannah. I'll see you later." With a quick hug and kiss for both of them, Maggie departed. Scully stood alone with her daughter and suddenly had to find an explanation.
"Let's go for a little walk. There's someone here at the hospital I want you to meet." The girl took her proffered hand after a moment's hesitation.
"Who, Mom?"
As she pushed the call button for the elevator, she drew a deep breath. "Do you remember what I told you about your father?"
Curls bounced as the girl nodded. "Everything. That he loved baseball, so sometimes we go to Nationals games, and that my fish tank used to be--"
Gently, Scully cut her off as the elevator doors opened. "Yes, but I mean do you remember what I told you about why he's not here? About what happened to him?"
For a moment, the silence of the elevator hung heavy around them, before Hannah's soft soprano rang with the clear assurance of a child. "He was trying to make things safe for you and me, even though he didn't know about me yet. And the bad guys he was trying to stop took him away, like they took away the people he was trying to help out in Oregon. But even though you tried to find him, and prayed, the bad guys never let him go and he died. So we light candles on Sundays for him, to remember."
The account came out like an oft-told tale, and she wondered just how often this seemingly cheery child thought about her father. They spoke of him, and she'd asked questions as she had grown, but their discussions had always been about facts, not feelings.
Hannah looked up at her as they stood alone in the rising elevator, and she could see the same deductive leaps behind her daughter's eyes she'd been privy to in Mulder's. "But he didn't die?"
"No, sweetie, he didn't." In an instant, she was sobbing and hugging her daughter and the elevator doors were opening onto the sixth floor of the hospital. Somehow, she maneuvered them off the elevator and onto the ugly, overstuffed toile chairs in the family waiting area.
Hannah pulled away first, confused, but with bright hopeful eyes. "Do I get to meet him?"
"He's here," Scully said, hedging. "But he's not awake. Like in Sleeping Beauty. We're going to spend some time with him, and you can talk to him all you want. He can hear you, even though he can't answer. You can tell him anything you want."
Her daughter bounded off the chair with a healthy thunk of red patent clogs against the unpadded carpeting. "I want to tell him about Glinda. And how I'm dancing for a whole 'nother week, so when he wakes up, he can come see me."
Scully rose and took her little hand again, wavering between smiling and further tears. "I don't know if he'll be up to seeing you dance so soon. He's sick, like when you had the flu last year and had to have a whole week off school?" Hannah nodded, and she continued, "But I'm sure he'd love to hear all about it, and about Glinda. He'll just have to wait for your recital in the spring."
She smiled, and for a moment tried to believe in all of it. He would have believed it.
***
Chapter Two
Author: Ellie elliestories
Rating: R
Category: SRA
Timeline: Post-"Requiem", AU
Summary: In the years after the events of "Requiem," Scully has had to adapt to a life without Mulder. Then one afternoon, a phone call changes everything.
Disclaimer: The X-Files belong to 1013. I'm just borrowing them, and everything else in this story.
Warning: Contains some descriptions of torture.
Word Count: 18,000
Written for xf_bigbang 2010.
Author's Notes: Thanks to rarasponda for the wonderful beta, and to aruna7 for the amazing video trailer, which can be seen here.
*****
So braver notes the storm-cock sings
To start the rusted wheel of things,
And brutes in field and brutes in pen
Leap that the world goes round again.
~A.E. Housman, "March"
****
Prologue
Choices
***
The morning was cool under the dappled shade of the cherry tree leaves, though humidity hung heavy in the air, promising another scorching day. She sat, gazing across the Tidal Basin as she'd done, once, with Mulder, what seemed too long ago. Another lifetime. Cherry blossoms were long shed for a delicate leafy canopy, and no early morning tourists disturbed her reverie. One hand rested low, on the imagined swell of her abdomen, as she watched the moon sinking low toward the horizon, a ghostly faint smile against the bright summer sky.
This child she had wanted with Mulder, a life created together. She did not want this for herself alone, and was unsure she could do it alone. Only half herself, she'd left the hospital, been across the country and into the dark wet forest after him before anyone could stop her, before anyone else understood what his loss truly meant.
Skinner had found her there, crouched on the damp earth, rending her clothes and crying like a wild thing caged, even before he gave her the word that Billy Miles' devastated body had been found three miles away. She'd caught the next flight home and spoke to no one for a week. No one else understood the decision she was being forced to make.
She didn't hear anyone approaching the bench, until Alex Krycek suddenly came to rest beside her. His dark silhouette looked out of place on the sunny morning, black leather jacket creaking in the humidity.
"I've got nothing to say to you."
"You haven't even heard what I've come to offer you, Agent Scully."
"There's no offer you could make me that I would possibly consider," she said, wrapping her arms across her chest with vehemence.
"Not even yourself for Mulder's safety?"
They knew, she realized, they had to know before he was sent on this fool's errand. "Myself?"
"That baby is not supposed to be. We'd like to know how it happened. A few tests are run, that situation is monitored until we see the outcome. Meanwhile, Mulder's safe at home, which would be a significant improvement over his current whereabouts."
"You're asking me to trade this child's life for Mulder's."
"On the contrary, there are interested parties who hold a great stake in seeing your offspring alive and healthy. The potential there is unimaginable."
She rose from the bench, looking across the dirty brown water to the shadowed figure of Thomas Jefferson as she spoke. "There's unimaginable potential in every child. And Mulder would never want to see such a deal made. He knew exactly what a deal like the one you're trying to broker cost his parents."
"You refuse this deal, no one can guarantee what condition he'll be returned in. Or if he is at all."
Scully didn't look back as she made her way back to the car. Once inside, she let her tears flow freely. The decision had been made for her.
***
Chapter 1
Arrivals
***
Scully scrawled her name across the box at the bottom of the form, tucked it into the drab folder, and set it in the outbox to her left. A glance at her watch told her it was 2:48 p.m.; her eyes traced the path between the four other folders in her inbox and the silver-framed photo where her daughter smiled at her with Mulder's sea-change eyes and breeze-tossed cinnabar curls. With a sigh, she decided there was time for just one more case review before she needed to beat the rush hour traffic back to DC in time for Hannah's big evening performance.
Halfway through the primary pathologist's notes, her BlackBerry chirped at her. She frowned at the device as the caller ID displayed Deputy Director Walter Skinner's information. "Scully."
"Scully, it's Skinner. You need to get to GW Medical Center immediately. I'm here now--"
"Oh, God. Is Hannah all right?" Reports forgotten, she was already gathering her keys and briefcase.
"It's not Hannah. It's Mulder."
The world's axis abruptly shifted, and she felt the ground spin beneath her feet. "Mulder?"
*
The drive from Quantico to Washington was tortuously long, giving her too much time to revisit wounds that she'd thought were finally starting to heal and fade. He'd been gone longer now than he'd been a part of her life. The arrival of their daughter had forced her to make a choice after months of headlong desperation. Knowing life could not continue as she had been living it, she'd made the difficult choice she knew in the very depth of her soul that Mulder would have wanted her to make.
It had not made the decision any less painful. Only their daughter kept her going for the first year, and even then, it had almost been more than she could bear. After maternity leave, she'd gone to Quantico, sublimated her grief and longing into her work and her daughter. Time and an official declaration of death had provided a semblance of closure, and she tried to find some solace in routine and normal life.
Marching down the corridor of the hospital, the fragile peace she had so carefully constructed was fracturing, cracks already threatening her stability. She could feel it in the slight wobble as her heels struck the tile. Skinner met her at the door to Mulder's room, one firm arm blocking her entrance.
"I want to see him." She couldn't keep a tremor out of her voice, "To see if it is him."
"It is. I only called you after I was sure."
"What?" Sudden indignation fired her, steadied her voice and raised her eyebrow. She stopped trying to glimpse past him, into the room, and met his irritatingly cool gaze. "How long was he here before you called me?"
"He was just...here...last night when they did the eight o'clock rounds. No one knew where he came from, or what was wrong with him, or who he was. This morning, someone from DC Police contacted the FBI. I was here at eleven. Fingerprints and dental records match, so far as we can ascertain."
"So far as...." Understanding widened her eyes and slumped her shoulders, left her feeling suddenly deflated. "How badly?"
"They're not sure. He's been in a coma since they found him. He's breathing unassisted. Nothing seems to be wrong presently, everything they've run has been pretty normal. But at some point.... He's been through a lot, Dana."
She met his eyes once more as his tone softened, saw the warning and concern there. Nodding, quietly she said, "I'd like to see him. And his chart."
Skinner dropped his arm, allowing her to push past into the room. Two steps inside and she paused, shaking. That profile, surrounded by wires and tubes, broken, gaunter, but one she would recognize anywhere. A choked sob escaped her as she clasped his skeletal hand, spiderwebbed with scars and broken capillaries, the last joint of his left ring finger gone. She sank into a bedside chair, for just a moment allowing the release of nearly eight years of uncertainty to flow out of her, to take in the face both so familiar and so ravaged.
Gradually, her doctor's eyes took over, cataloging the smooth healed burns; white network of scars; gnarled, poorly healed fractures; prominence of bone structure under dull, tight skin; thin, patchy, white hair. After a moment, she reached to the end of his bed for the chart, taking a deep breath before opening it. Anything she might have immediately requested had already been done. CTs, MRIs, and EEGs were normal, and a standard blood panel revealed only the obvious malnourishment, anemia and a mild electrolyte imbalance.
Steeling herself, she turned around to find Skinner still loitering in the doorway. "I'd like them to run a DNA test, to confirm his identity. And have them check his bone density while they're at it."
"You know it's him."
She shook her head. "After all this time, I can't go through this without being positive. I can't put Hannah through this without absolute certainty."
Skinner nodded and turned away, pulling the door closed behind him, leaving her alone with Mulder. She returned to the chair, took his hand again in her own. "Mulder, it's me," she said. "You're home, I'm here. I can't...I can't stay long now. Our daughter--we have a little girl, Mulder--she's in 'The Nutcracker' tonight, at the Kennedy Center. She was the youngest dancer selected to be in the children's ensemble. Hannah's nothing like I thought our child would be; of course she's bright and amazing, but she's such a girl, loves pink and ballet and slumber parties and dresses and 'The Wizard of Oz'. She's so much more than I ever dreamed of. My mother dotes on her, has her wanting a pony now after giving her a copy of 'Black Beauty' for her birthday. I'm half afraid one's going to show up under the Christmas tree with a big red bow around its neck, like the dog did last year."
She paused her babbling, taking a deep breath and gently pressing her lips to the back of his hand, gathering her thoughts, trying to control her rambling. "You'll love getting to know her. She'll think you're a better Christmas present than any pony. She--I--we--thought you were gone forever." Her voice broke, tears falling down her cheek and onto his dry, scarred hand.
For a long, quiet hour she sat at his side, marveling at his existence. He was not supposed to be, not after so much, not after so long. It was almost enough just to hold his hand, know he was here for a few moments again. Reluctantly, with a glance at her watch, she placed his hand back on the bed, slipping her fingers over his, kissed his forehead, and made her way to the door. At the door she paused for a lingering moment, her eyes roaming the man she still missed every day and never expected to see again.
When she opened the door, Skinner was waiting outside in a chair, one young woman with an earpiece and curls tamed into a sloppy French braid, standing by the doorframe.
"You're still going to her dance thing?"
"I can't miss it. I'll send Mom home with her after, and meet you back here. You're staying to keep an eye on him, not just posting someone?" She looked pointedly at the agent by the door; new recruits seemed younger with each passing year.
"I'm staying here, and Agent Vasquez will be on watch until midnight. I've made arrangements for someone to be here for the foreseeable future."
"Thank you." She nodded, awkwardly, unsure how to thank someone now officially her equal for something so personal. It had been a long time, but he was the only one besides her mother who knew how personal this really was.
*
The little girl giggled as Scully twirled her in her arms, half-a-dozen pink roses crinkling in cellophane between them. "You were wonderful, sweetheart!"
"It was so awesome! Did you see the present I got to carry across?"
Scully put her daughter back on solid ground, and gave her a smile that did not reach her eyes. "It was enormous! You did such a good job with it! In a few more years, you're going to be the Sugarplum Fairy, not a party guest. How would you like to celebrate your debut by spending the night with your grandma?"
Maggie Scully looked up at this, from where she was digging Hannah's winter coat off of the garment rack. "Yes, come celebrate with some cocoa, sweetie. I think I found a box of your mother's old Nancy Drews, too, for you to dig into."
"Really?"
Nodding at her mother, Scully said, "Yes, I think that sounds perfect. But if you two keep this up, we're going to have to find room for another bookcase."
She watched her mother help her daughter into her coat and wondered what she was about to put them all through. Test results had come through during the performance, and she'd been making avid use of her BlackBerry for most of the ballet. "You don't mind staying at our place for a little bit, and helping take care of things? The dog? I don't know how much I'm going to be home for a while." Her mother nodded, and Scully continued, "Can you bring Hannah to GW tomorrow? Give me a call when you get close, I'll meet you in the lobby. Let me explain things, though God knows what I'm going to tell her."
With a sigh, Maggie nodded. "I'll bring her over around ten. This is a good thing, Dana. For both of you." She patted her daughter's shoulder, and Scully watched them move away through the crowded dressing room. She took a deep breath of chalk dust and makeup remover before making her own way through the clouds of tulle and organza, back towards the hospital.
*
This was not the first time he had been surrounded by nothing but chilled air and the white noise of machinery, a nothingness like the space between the stars. He'd lost count, as time had passed, though he could recall every respite as well as every slice and crack and sear. In these quiet times, he suspected They were probably listening to his thoughts the way he'd once been able to do, but he was long beyond caring.
He would allow himself to examine every memory of her like a precious stone, polished brilliant with every remembrance, each smile providing him a small moment of comfort. When he could feel Them inside his mind, he longed for the way it had felt to be inside her mind, crisp and bright as a spring morning, sparkling in counterpoint to the chaos of his own.
Every moment together, he could recall with unfading precision. He remembered that first knock on his basement door; her little slight-of-hand cricket-eating; the way she'd grinned and swung a baseball bat; her under and over and around him, panting and moaning his name in ecstasy. He wasn't sure if it soothed him or made him more aware of what was missed, but he knew it was the only thing that kept him alive.
The memory most cherished was nothing extraordinary in light of their experiences together, but in this cold void, it was the one that comforted him the most. They had just returned to the cold of March in Washington after the sunshine of a case in California, and the bitter night wind had frozen them as they traversed black ice on the short walk in to her apartment. But oh, how soft and warm her bed had been, with a down comforter and flannel sheets, and her in silk pajamas, curled toasty and contented in front of him, warming everywhere he wrapped around her. Her fingers had twined with his, and a serene sigh had escaped one of them before they drifted off to sleep.
If he really tried, he could almost feel her strong slim fingers tangling with his own, almost hear her gentle respirations, almost smell the sharp, clean scent of lemon verbena that he always associated with her presence.
*
Against the cacophony of machinery beeping and humming, she almost missed the quiet chirp of a text, Hannah using Maggie's phone, telling her "B there n 5!" Scully let go of Mulder's hand as she stood, rolling her eyes and wondering if her mother could teach the girl to use a computer keyboard as properly as she used a piano's.
"I'll be back, Mulder. There's someone I'm bringing to meet you." Only the steady rhythm of his breath answered her.
The hospital was quiet, the way she'd expect on a Saturday morning, more visitors milling down the corridors than incoming patients. As she stepped off the elevator, she saw her mother and daughter coming through the entry doors, and hurried across the lobby to meet them.
"Mom! Gramma gave me one of your books that was hiding at her house!" She dug a yellow-spined volume out of her bag. "Look! She said it was your favorite."
Forcing herself to smile, Scully looked down at the book in her daughter's hand. "'The Hidden Staircase'. Yes, that was always my favorite." For a fleeting second, the smile felt almost real. "But let's save that for later, okay?"
Hannah nodded, tucking the book back into her fuchsia bag, and looked expectantly between her mother and grandmother.
"Mom, thanks for taking care of her last night. Are you all right with the dog for a couple of days?"
"We're fine. You call me if you need anything else today, Dana."
Scully nodded, "Thanks. You know I will."
"You be good, Miss Hannah. I'll see you later." With a quick hug and kiss for both of them, Maggie departed. Scully stood alone with her daughter and suddenly had to find an explanation.
"Let's go for a little walk. There's someone here at the hospital I want you to meet." The girl took her proffered hand after a moment's hesitation.
"Who, Mom?"
As she pushed the call button for the elevator, she drew a deep breath. "Do you remember what I told you about your father?"
Curls bounced as the girl nodded. "Everything. That he loved baseball, so sometimes we go to Nationals games, and that my fish tank used to be--"
Gently, Scully cut her off as the elevator doors opened. "Yes, but I mean do you remember what I told you about why he's not here? About what happened to him?"
For a moment, the silence of the elevator hung heavy around them, before Hannah's soft soprano rang with the clear assurance of a child. "He was trying to make things safe for you and me, even though he didn't know about me yet. And the bad guys he was trying to stop took him away, like they took away the people he was trying to help out in Oregon. But even though you tried to find him, and prayed, the bad guys never let him go and he died. So we light candles on Sundays for him, to remember."
The account came out like an oft-told tale, and she wondered just how often this seemingly cheery child thought about her father. They spoke of him, and she'd asked questions as she had grown, but their discussions had always been about facts, not feelings.
Hannah looked up at her as they stood alone in the rising elevator, and she could see the same deductive leaps behind her daughter's eyes she'd been privy to in Mulder's. "But he didn't die?"
"No, sweetie, he didn't." In an instant, she was sobbing and hugging her daughter and the elevator doors were opening onto the sixth floor of the hospital. Somehow, she maneuvered them off the elevator and onto the ugly, overstuffed toile chairs in the family waiting area.
Hannah pulled away first, confused, but with bright hopeful eyes. "Do I get to meet him?"
"He's here," Scully said, hedging. "But he's not awake. Like in Sleeping Beauty. We're going to spend some time with him, and you can talk to him all you want. He can hear you, even though he can't answer. You can tell him anything you want."
Her daughter bounded off the chair with a healthy thunk of red patent clogs against the unpadded carpeting. "I want to tell him about Glinda. And how I'm dancing for a whole 'nother week, so when he wakes up, he can come see me."
Scully rose and took her little hand again, wavering between smiling and further tears. "I don't know if he'll be up to seeing you dance so soon. He's sick, like when you had the flu last year and had to have a whole week off school?" Hannah nodded, and she continued, "But I'm sure he'd love to hear all about it, and about Glinda. He'll just have to wait for your recital in the spring."
She smiled, and for a moment tried to believe in all of it. He would have believed it.
***
Chapter Two