From: Karen Rasch Date: Tue, 13 Jun 2000 07:46:15 GMT Subject: *New* "All We Know" (post-Requiem) by Karen Rasch "All We Know" by Karen Rasch krasch@earthlink.net http://home.earthlink.net/~krasch Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully are not mine. They belong to 1013 and Fox Television. I'm merely borrowing them for fun. Sadly, no profit is being made. At least by me. Rating: PG-13 Classification: V, A, MSR Keywords: "Requiem", Cross Archive: At will. Please make certain my name remains attached to the story. Spoilers: "Requiem" specifically, though really anything through Season 7 is fair game. Summary: Brace yourselves--it's another "Requiem" story. Was anyone besides me curious as to how Mulder came to be wearing Scully's cross? *************************************************** "Parting is all we know of heaven. And all we need of hell." Emily Dickinson *************************************************** The time they spent together that final night was by necessity short and bittersweet. Yet it was something, Scully would later repeat inside her head, a memory to cling to, to delight in and torture herself with during the difficult months to follow. And to think, she had nearly chosen to stay home that night, to wholly refrain from knocking on Mulder's door. She had actually considered letting their goodbye at the Hoover Building suffice, stilted and fleeting though it had been. "Mulder, why don't you go home," she had murmured when at last everything had been decided, standing close beside him, her hand resting on his arm. "It's late. Pack. Get some rest. You'll have a full day ahead of you tomorrow." He had hesitated, gnawing at his lip, before nodding. "Probably not a bad idea." She had nodded too, and smiled, a quick stretch of her lips. "Call me," she had then instructed, holding on to him still, "when you land. And after...let me know how it goes." "I will. I promise." "Take care of yourself, Mulder." "You do the same." They would have left it like that if she hadn't decided to go to him, would have pretended this separation was like so many others they had endured over the years. Nothing unusual here, folks--Mulder was going be out in the field, doing the legwork while she stayed behind, crossing the T's and dotting the I's, and making nice with all the Bureau bigwigs. But then, they had never been any good at saying goodbye, Scully admitted scant hours later as she sped down all but deserted streets towards Alexandria. She could recall countless telephone conversations, some dating back to their partnership's infancy, that had simply ended. No "Bye, Scully". No "See you later, Mulder". One minute they were talking, and the next, they weren't. She couldn't remember for certain, but she thought at one time the abrupt nature of these leave-takings had annoyed her. Not anymore. Now she understood. Parting had little to do with sweet sorrow. This one, in particular. And yet, who was to say? Perhaps, with their odd telephone etiquette, Mulder and she sought to somehow minimize the idea of their being apart, she mused, flipping on her turn signal. Interesting hypothesis. If a person refuses to acknowledge a separation, was it possible for the separation to then vanish as a result? She wanted to think so. She wanted so much to be seated beside Mulder on that westbound plane tomorrow. She wanted to know why the hell she kept swooning like a heroine in some damned Victorian novel. All hope that her condition was related exclusively to Bellefleur and the supposed downed UFO had evaporated earlier that evening during what was supposed to have been a quick trip to the ladies room. She had just exited the stall and was crossing to wash up when a dizzying rush of vertigo had swept over her. Stretching out her hands, she had grasped wildly at the sink for support, clinging there, panting and pale, until the episode had passed. Peering into the mirror afterwards, trembling, her hairline beaded with sweat, she had been confronted with a most unwelcome truth, her own face telling the tale as it stared back at her. Dana Scully was terrified. My God. What if the cancer had come back? She knew she wasn't the only one who feared such a calamity. Ever since her collapse in the forest, Mulder had been hounding her to call her doctor, to make an appointment and get checked out. She had put him off as best she could, assuring him it was nothing, that she was probably just tired or coming down with some sort of flu bug. She didn't really believe that, of course. Neither, she suspected, did Mulder. Yet they said nothing. Scary how easily we can lie to ourselves, she glumly thought, pulling up in front of Mulder's apartment building and throwing the car into park. How well we can lie to ourselves and to each other. Craning her neck, she looked up at his window. It was late, halfway between midnight and dawn. Yet, Mulder's light was on. Hands tucked in her jacket pockets, Scully went inside. Mulder didn't respond at first to the soft rap of her knuckles. She could hear music playing on the other side of the door. The volume was low, but the song's bass line throbbed, its beat relentless, hypnotic. She didn't recognize the artist. She listened for a moment, pondering whether she had made the proper choice in coming there, wondering what she would say when Mulder asked what had prompted her visit. Then, she knocked again. This time, he answered. "Scully," Mulder said, standing in the doorway, his voice hushed with surprise. He was dressed much as she was, casual, jeans and a navy T-shirt. His feet were bare. Well, at least she hadn't caught him just as he was going to bed, she thought. "Is something wrong? Are you okay?" "I'm fine, Mulder," she replied, trying hard not to show how foolish she suddenly felt. "I just...can I come in?" "Sure. Sure...of course." Stepping past him and into his apartment, Scully ducked her head and slicked her lips with her tongue, debating what to do now that she had gained entrance. What could she say when not even she fully understood her reasons for being there? "What are you doing?" she asked at last, his living room having given her no clues. "Packing," he replied, taking her coat and hanging it on the hall tree. "Um...do you want something, something to drink? Water? I could make some coffee." "No, that's okay," she said. "I'm not thirsty." He nodded, his hands on his hips, and waited for her to say more. Only Scully couldn't. Instead, when faced with his scrutiny, she began wishing she had never come. She had no words, no way to explain herself, no means to describe for Mulder her need. "Why don't you go back to your packing?" she said a moment later, the question sounding to her ears forced and over-bright. "I can keep you company." Mulder studied her for a half a breath, his hesitation slight, yet unmistakable. At least to her practiced eye. Then he bobbed his head once more. "Okay. I'm just about done anyway." Fingertips grazing the base of her spine, he shepherded Scully into his bedroom. To her surprise, she almost had difficulty finding a place to sit. The bed was strewn with X-Files related debris. Papers and file folders and assorted electronic gadgetry battled for space with piles of neatly folded clothes. But not too many piles, she noted. Good. Mulder apparently didn't plan on being gone very long. "I thought you said you were nearly finished," Scully murmured as she cleared some room for herself near the foot of the bed and sat. "I am," Mulder said, his sheepish smile belying his assured tone. "I finally gathered together everything I want to bring. Now all I have to do is fit it all inside this bag." He gestured to the open suitcase at their feet. Smiling softly in response, she picked up one of several small, silver cylinders lying beside her on the bed. "Are these what I think they are?" "If you think they're some kind of laser pointer on steroids the guys dropped by, then yeah; I'd say they are what you think they are." Bingo. She had suspected as much. Having taken part in that evening's tactical discussion, she was well aware how Mulder and Skinner planned on locating the presumed invisible alien craft. "Don't you ever wonder sometimes how the Gunmen can lay their hands on stuff like this so quickly?" she asked as she considered the object she held, her thumb rubbing slowly along its cool, slick length. "Over the years, I've wondered many things about the Gunmen, Scully," Mulder told her as he knelt to place a stack of folders into the gaping piece of luggage, "not the least of which being why the three of them share a single bedroom." She chuckled, as she knew he had meant for her to. "But as I've grown older and wiser, I've learned at least one essential truth," he continued, his tone playful, his eyes stealing glances her way as he filled the bag. "The adage 'Don't ask, don't tell' should in no way be restricted solely to the military." "The military," she echoed quietly as she watched him arrange his belongings, a memory suddenly taking shape in her mind's eye. "Maybe that's what this is all about." "What what's all about?" he asked, looking up at her. "This. Tonight," she said, all at once fascinated with her fingernails. "My reaction to your leaving me behind." He sighed and sat back on his heels. "Scully..." Her gaze lifted to meet his. "Mulder, wait. Let me finish." He swallowed, lips pressed flat, and did as she asked. She continued. "I understand your reasons for doing this, for going back to Bellefleur without me. I know I am not at my best right now and that this... weakness--whatever may be its cause--could endanger not only me but you as well." Mulder stretched out his hand to cover hers. "Scully, I'm not worried about me--" "I am," she told him swiftly, her eyes just as quickly burning with tears. "I am, Mulder. I'm afraid this could be some kind of trap, that Krycek and that Marita woman might be luring you away for some reason other than an invisible UFO." "Why would Krycek want me to put an entire continent between the two of us if his goal was to harm me?" Mulder asked, scooting over the few necessary inches to bring him to her side. "If that was what he wanted, wouldn't it be easier for him if I stayed in D.C?" "Why did Krycek contact us at all?" she countered, squeezing his fingers for emphasis. "If all he was truly interested in was recovering that ship, surely he has the resources to do so on his own." "The Gunmen were the ones who were able to secure the necessary data, not Krycek. They were the ones who recognized what it all meant." "Yes," she agreed. "That's true. But even that seems odd to me. Krycek says the cigarette man is the one who told him about the ship, who ordered him to retrieve it in the first place. But if that were the case, and time really is of the essence--like everyone keeps telling us it is--wouldn't The Smoker have told Krycek exactly where to look? Mulder shrugged. "Maybe he wasn't sure, himself." "Why not, though?" Scully demanded. "What kept him from knowing? Why were we able to come up with that information in a matter of hours?" Mulder thought about it for a moment before shaking his head, his gaze drifting away from hers. "I don't know." "Neither do I," she said grimly. He was silent for a time, kneeling at her feet, his hand toying with hers. "So what does any of this have to do with the military?" "What?" she asked, distracted by his touch. "You said that the military had something to do with the way you're feeling tonight," he explained. "What did you mean by that? Do you think Ol' Smoky still has his hooks in at the DOD?" "What...oh, no!" she said, chuckling. "No. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking of that at all." "What were you thinking of then?" he asked. Scully smiled. "Of my father, actually." "Your father?" Mulder queried with surprise. "Yes," she said, changing her grip so that she was now the one holding his hand. "Sitting here, watching you pack, made me think of when I was a little girl, watching my father get ready to ship out." "Are you saying I remind you of your father, Scully?" he asked, shifting his position on the floor so that he now knelt directly before her, his arms folded atop her knees, his face tipped towards hers. "Not at all," she assured him, skimming the backs of her fingers along his cheek. "It wasn't some sort of resemblance that struck me. It was the packing itself." "Your dad was away a lot when you were growing up, wasn't he?" Mulder queried, lowering his chin to his forearms. "It seemed like it," she said, her words coming out more wistful than she had anticipated. "Especially when I was young. I can remember...I don't know how old I was...I would sit on my parent's bed, talking to my dad as he got his gear together. The bed was one of those really tall ones. I practically needed a ladder just to climb on top." "Some things never change," Mulder mumbled dryly. Her only reply was a sharp arch of her brow. "My legs would hang off the edge," she continued. "And as we talked, I would bounce my feet against the side of the mattress. I wasn't supposed to. We both knew it. Mom would have killed me if she saw me kicking the bed that way. But Dad never said a word. The mattress, his bags, everything would jump like crazy. It felt like a carnival ride." He smiled at her memory. Scully smiled back. "That was our special time, you know? Just him and me. I looked forward to it, to having him all to myself. But at the same time, I dreaded it because I knew our being together wouldn't last. That soon he'd be gone and I wouldn't see him for weeks, sometimes longer." Mulder said nothing. Instead, he laid his head in her lap and wrapped his arms around her legs, hugging her. "I've always hated getting left behind," she confessed in a hush, her fingers softly sifting through his hair. Remaining mute, he kissed her just above the knee. "I'm always afraid I'll miss something." He chuckled at her gloomy tone, his breath heating her thigh even through the thick denim she wore. "He always came back though, didn't he, Scully?" Mulder asked after a moment or two, his voice muffled against her leg. "Yes. Yes, he always did," she replied, bending over him as she stroked his hair. He looked up at her then, their faces very close, her cross dangling between them. "I will too," he told her quietly, staring up at her, his gaze sure and unwavering. "You have to believe that. Believe me." She tried to smile for him, but her lips seemed more inclined to tremble. What was wrong with her? On top of everything else, she had been so emotional lately. Mulder didn't seem to mind. Reaching up, he slid his hand beneath her cross, capturing it so that it balanced atop his fingertips. "You've gotta have faith, Scully," he said, his eyes flickering down to the tiny gold medallion, then back again to hers. "Faith that I'll find my way back to you." Eyes watering, she framed his face with her palms, guiding him to her. Pressing a kiss to his brow, she then twined her arms around his shoulders and leaned her cheek against his hair. "You have to, Mulder," she whispered, lashes lowered against her threatening tears. "I don't know what I'd do otherwise." "You won't have to know," he murmured huskily, his hands smoothing gently over her arms and back. "I promise, Scully. You won't ever have to find out." She wanted to believe him, wanted desperately for his soft words to soothe her aching soul. But Dana Scully was too much of a realist to allow herself sham solace. Mulder might mean everything he said, might be willing to fight with his last breath for his freedom, for the chance to return to her. But their enemies were ruthless, their power vast and far-reaching. She knew that as well as anyone. If they truly wanted Mulder, they would have him. And not all the promises in the world would bring him back. Feeling frustrated and powerless and so very, very frightened for the man she loved, Scully hiccuped once, twice, then finally surrendered to her tears. Sniffing softly, she blinked, then let them flow, their tracks soon burning her already flushed cheeks. "Scully..." Seeing her distress, Mulder pulled her from the bed and onto his lap. They faced each other, her legs bracketing his. Holding her close, he rocked her tenderly in his arms, pressing kisses and whispering comfort until at last she quieted. Exhausted then, she lay still for a time, nestled against his chest and thinking. Or actually regretting. Not only that she couldn't accompany him, but that his last memory of her would now be of her breaking down. God. She didn't want him to take that with him into the field, to be worried about her when there was so much more with which he had to concern himself. She wanted to give him something to erase that image, to wipe it from his memory. Something of herself. A standard to fight under. A talisman against the danger she couldn't help but think lurked in the woods outside Bellefleur. Still folded against him, her face tucked beneath his chin, she asked, "Mulder, what did you do when I was missing?" "What do you mean?" he mumbled near her ear. "When Duane Barry took me," she murmured, her fingers brushing lightly against his shirt's cotton knit. "What was it like?" He didn't answer at first, choosing instead to tighten his already fierce embrace. "Hell, Scully. It was hell." Swiping at her cheeks with her hand, she pushed against his chest and sat back, so she could better see his face. "You kept my cross," she said, her voice made low by the hour and her tears, "after you found it in the trunk of Barry's car. You held onto it while I was gone." Mulder seemed confused by her choice of topic, but gamely followed along. "I tried to give it to your mother...but she gave it back to me." She nodded, not surprised by her mother's actions. "Did you wear it?" He hesitated, then dipped his chin. "Yeah. Yeah I did." "Why?" she asked. He wet his bottom lip with his tongue, then looked down and away, his eyes appearing to light on the piece of jewelry in question. "I...uh...at first, I decided to just so I wouldn't lose it," he said huskily. "It was so delicate, Scully, and small. I was afraid it would fall out of my pocket or that it would get tangled on something, and I would break it." Again, she nodded, yet refrained from speech. "But after awhile I realized that wasn't the real reason I wanted it with me." "What was the real reason?" she whispered, her fingers pushing gently now through his hair. "You," he said with a helpless sort of shrug. "It was you. That's what that little bit of gold became for me, the personification of you." Gathering her to him once more, Mulder buried his face in her hair. "I had to wear it, Scully. It was all I had left of you; I needed it close." Hearing his words, their meaning and the emotion behind them, Scully loosed herself from his arms. Reaching back, she slid the open the clasp on her necklace. "What are you doing?" he asked, watching her closely. "Giving you a piece of me to take with you," she answered as she freed the chain from around her neck. "Scully...you don't have to--," he argued even as she placed the necklace in his hand. "If I can't be there in body, Mulder, at least I'll be there in spirit," she said, stopping his protests with a gentle smile. He bowed his head over his palm, seemingly considering the cross and its chain for a moment before lifting his eyes again to hers. "You're always with me, Scully. Always." At that, her smile widened and, leaning forward, she kissed him, the touch of her lips soft and lingering. "You sure you won't miss having this around your neck?" Mulder asked when their kiss had ended, his forehead pressed to hers. "I'll miss you," she replied, her arms looped around his shoulders, their breath mingling and shared. "I'll be back before you know it." "It won't be soon enough." Sitting back, he smiled and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "You should worry less about me, Scully, and more about yourself. I'm telling you--I'm gonna be fine. Don't forget--while he may not be you--I do have an ex- Marine watching my back. And you know how Skinner is-- one glare and he'll scare away all the bad aliens." She had no answer to that, so instead she leaned forward and pressed her lips to the soft patch of skin just below his ear. Mulder sighed and, turning his head, returned the kiss. Yet even as she sat, safe and secure in Mulder's lap, Scully couldn't shake an almost overwhelming sense of foreboding, a feeling that this trip was going to forever change their lives. And not for the better. Maybe it was simply because she wasn't going to be there with him, or maybe it was because they had joined forces with a man and a woman who had done them no small bit of harm in the past. Or perhaps instead it was because of something of which she hadn't reminded Mulder, something he had known but had conveniently forgotten. Not all good-byes are followed by homecomings. He was right. When she was little, her father had always returned to her and her family after his trips to sea. But what Mulder had failed to recall was the final farewell she and her father had shared. He hadn't remembered that night, not long after Christmas, when her father and she had parted for good. <"Good night, Daddy."> That was it. The last words she ever said to him. He was gone before she could go to him, before she was even entirely aware of his passing. That can't happen again, she thought, hugging Mulder to her once more. She wouldn't let that happen again. Not to yet another man she loved. Please, God. Please don't take him from me. Keep him safe. Bring him home. * * * * * * * * THE END krasch@earthlink.net http://home.earthlink.net/~krasch ========================================== "I want, by understanding myself, to understand others. I want to be all that I am capable of becoming. . . . This all sounds very strenuous and serious. But now that I have wrestled with it, it's no longer so. I feel happy--deep down. All is well." Katherine Mansfield, Journal (last entry) ==========================================