From: "Paige Caldwell" Date: Mon, 07 Feb 2000 21:29:03 EST Subject: xfc: NEW: Losing My Religion, NC-17 (1 of ?) WIP Source: xfc From: "Paige Caldwell" Title: Losing My Religion Author: Paige Caldwell Feedback: paigecaldwell@hotmail.com Classification: Post-ep, S, MSR Rating: NC-17 Spoilers: BIG SPOILER WARNING....FOR SUZ Archive: Please do, just let me know where. Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. Summary: What happens when one man's quest becomes his religion. Part 1 of ? Losing My Religion From "Out of Time" by R.E.M. Life is bigger It's bigger than you And you are not me The lengths that I will go to The distance in your eyes Oh no I've said too much I set it up.... "Do you mind if I turn on a light?" "Yes." In the shadows of the motel room, Scully reluctantly shuts the door. She turns to look at me, to gauge my lethargic response and prone position. I'm lying flat on my back, my gaze shifting briefly from the glow of the muted T.V. to the aura that surrounds my partner's hair. Figures... While I'm losing my religion, Scully is renewing her's with a fervor that would put her next in line for canonization. And, now she's giving me the "you'd try the patience of a saint" look. I stare at my thumbs, useful tools for spinning contemplation and hinting that I'm not as idle as she thinks. To Scully, ignoring protocol is one of the seven deadly sins. Failing to report in to Skinner is analogous to sloth. Yet, what really irritates her is that she had to travel out here to return the strayed lamb to the fold. When my mother calls, I'm almost grateful. An awkward conversation with one's parent isn't as bad as having the same with one's partner. Especially when I can end the dialogue with a push of a button. But, as I gaze at Scully's rigid profile, I realize that I've pushed more than just the button on the phone. I embarked on this pilgrimage without her. This could be construed as an unpardonable sin. Especially since she's finally relaxed her grip on the tablet which is inscribed with the most profound Commandment of all.... "Thou shall not sleep with thy partner." Our relationship has taken on a different slant this past month. A horizontal one. While our minds have yet to run parallel, we've crossed the line from partners to lovers in geometric proportions. Unfortunately, we're still trying to align two distinct belief systems. Merging ours bodies is one thing. Uniting our souls is another. Returning my attention to the phone, I promise to call my mother when I return home. This provokes another lift of Scully's eyebrow as she pretends discretion and turns away. Apparently, estrangement isn't just limited to familial relationships these days. I try to divert her irritation by offering intrigue, speculating about the case of Ambyer Lynn Lapierre. But, Scully doesn't want to hear my confession or my incertitude about the kidnappers. As she draws closer to the bed and her aura collapses, I realize the glow was only the refracted light from T.V. screen. Sainthood will have to wait. Scully knows how to minister to my profligacy better than an evangelist. As she slowly unbuttons the front of her shirt, I know I'm about to be re-baptized into submission by a will stronger than my own. God help me.... While this catholic girl says she didn't learn snake handling in catechism class, she did manage to pick up a few tricks or two along the way. I watch the curve of her mouth as it lowers to mine like a chalice. She opens her lips to let me drink, to receive the sacrament of her mouth. Too bad her tongue is as flat and tasteless as an imaginary communion wafer. The lengths that she will go to.... She gives me her body as some type of temporal sacrifice. As much as I love her, I need more than just a offering of flesh. I want her embrace our relationship as if it was her religion, to unconditionally believe in me as she does God. Instead, Scully recites skepticism as if it were scripture. And, her continued doubt does more than just mess with one head. As her fingers slide up and down, trying to rouse me like a snake charmer with a flute, I feel myself recoil. Her astonished gaze drops to the shrinking worm in her grasp. I can see her eyes strain through the darkness, trying to mentally discern an acceptable reason for my disinterest. "Scully..." I reach down to push her hand away. "There has got to be more than just this." I watch her expression change from confused to wounded. The distance in her eyes.... "More than what, Mulder?" "More than a communion of bodies," I tell her. "I want to join with your soul." "How do you expect to find mine when you can't find your own?" she asks in a tight voice. Oh no, I've said too much.... I set it up.... To be continued.... Part 2 of ? I can't believe Mulder is doing this. He's identifying the kidnapping of Ambyer Lynn Lapierre with the abduction of his sister, Samantha. The Holy Grail, herself.... Has he become so desperate in his search that every tin-cup now sparkles like the genuine artifact? Once again, I find myself in the shadow of the cross he bears, trailing after him like a dutiful disciple. But, today I'm embarrassed to call myself his follower. He's managed to stir up the congregation of agents in Skinner's office, pontificating his theories as if he was the "Pope of Behavioral Profiling". I'm even more humiliated for him. He's become a man deemed a heretic by his peers, always on the brink of excommunication. I've had enough. As I enter his basement shrine, I plan to deliver a sermon of my own. "What are you doing, Mulder?" I ask him, crossing over to where he stands by the filing cabinet. "There's something in that abduction note that I've seen before," he responds, not bothering to meeting my accusing gaze. "That's not what I mean," I assert. "You're personalizing this case. You're identifying it with your sister's." "My sister... was taken by aliens. Did I say anything about aliens, Scully?" His voice holds more than a hint of irritation. "There are a lot of good agents up there in Skinner's office who do not have the patience for this," I persist. "What did I do?" Mulder asks nonchalantly. "I provided a logical counterpoint." He has also just delivered a not-so-subtle insult to his partner. If only he would practice what he now preaches. When Mulder suggests that we hop the next plane to continue the crusade, I shake my head in frustration. "What is it, Scully?" "You're personalizing this case, Mulder." "As opposed to what? Our relationship?" Because his tone is sarcastic, mine becomes blunt. "You're not capable of conducting an objective investigation." "Before you pass judgment on my techniques, maybe you should recant your own," Mulder snaps. "I can think of a recent case where a certain federal agent, or agent of God, failed to show impartiality." God damn him.... He's mocking, of course, my "shoot now, ask questions later" method of dealing with Donnie Pfaster. The explosion of my temper shocks me as much as the memory of rapid fire from my gun. "Fuck you, Mulder..." My blast of profanity doesn't strike this pagan down. If anything, it invokes him to goad me further. "My place or yours, Scully?" He slams the drawer shut to remove the safe barrier between us. "Does it matter?" I say cynically. "Both apartments have floors." I don't know what's gotten into us lately. Have we lost ourselves to the iniquity of our natures, where love is a thin veneer for lust? Or, is it the decay of our relationship, a decline of trust in each other beliefs? Whatever it is, I think we're falling from a state of grace we've never realized. That we transgress each other's feelings in order to incite passion is the worst sin of all. While Mulder locks the office door, I glance down at the cold, basement tile wondering which one of us is to be the other's floor mat. Before I can decide, he chooses for me.... "No wonder you never ordered me a desk," I sneer as he lifts me on to his altar. "You always intended to spread me out across your own." "Keep it up, Scully," he warns, unzipping the fly to his trousers. "I was just think the same thing." Scowling, Mulder pushes my skirt above my hips. My "no-run" pantyhose becomes shredded reminders of my frayed emotions and discarded resolve. When we became lovers, I swore we'd never mix business with pleasure. But, this isn't meant to be an enjoyable, mid-morning coffee break. He's proving a point, to me and himself. This man may be losing his religion, but he'll be damned if he's going to be rendered impotent by it. And, as much as I hate the idea of being a sacrificial virgin, I'm burning with such desire that I could turn his desk into a funeral pyre. Gripping the desk's edge, my nails practically scrape off the varnish as Mulder enters me. He thrusts frantically, his fingers sliding under the desk blotter to yank me towards him. Closing my eyes, I begin to chant his name, not as a prayer but as an invocation. I want him to come... I need him to replace a past obsession with a new compulsion... I want him to fill me, to pour every ounce of his passion inside of me. "Life is bigger...," I choke desperately, trying to reach him with words as well as my hips. "It's bigger than your pursuit for the truth. Why can't you understand that?" Mulder groans and pulls out of me. Confused, I open my eyes to find him shaking, his face streaked with failed exertion and sudden anger. Oh, no... I've said too much... I set it up.... To be continued.... Part 3 of ? My mother is gone... And, all I can think about is how the "she-devil of my sexual shortcomings" is sitting behind me on my mother's bed. Not that Scully is evil. She's quite the opposite. Even snakes know better than to strike at her pearly white hand. Smart creatures, those reptiles. They slither back to the farthest corner, shrinking into a coil of fear. But, what threatens them isn't the hand of righteousness... They just know a sanctimonious choke-hold when they see one. And, so do I.... I get up from the bed. Sitting on the same mattress with Scully isn't a good idea, right now. Not that I'm tempted to desecrate my mother's cream-colored bedspread with licentious thoughts about my titian-haired partner. Especially when her latest haircut reminds me of a nun's cap, shorn so short that I half-expect to see her don a veil. Oh, I can hear the Vespers bell clanging in the distance. I just asked her to perform my mother's autopsy.... It's time for Scully to sequester herself from familiarly. The pupils of her blue eyes retreat to a safe distance. Empathy is lost behind her wan, discontented expression. "Oh no, Mulder," she rises from the bed. "Please don't ask me to do this." I can tell she's disillusioned by my request. She's trying to comfort me. But, I don't want her to extend a languid, consoling hand. I need her to clamp her fingers around a scalpel and excise the truth from the deceit. "Scully, who else can I trust?" I choose my words carefully, depositing trust like a twenty dollar bill in the collection plate. "An autopsy, Mulder," she emphasizes the term as if I've spent the past seven years partnered with an idealist rather than a pathologist. "I mean, it's one thing on a stranger, but you're my friend." I see were back to being "just friends".... I guess I should be grateful, but I'm not. Just because my sex drive is on sabbatical doesn't mean I'm ready to shave my head and enter a monastery. "I know," I respond, keeping my tone neutral so she doesn't suspect that my motives are in overdrive. "But, if you don't, I might never know the truth." The look on her face resembles the grim countenance of martyred saint. The lengths that I will go to.... But, right now, I don't give a crap about the distance in her eyes.... That's me in the corner That's me in the spotlight Losing my religion Trying to keep up with you And I don't know if I can do it Oh no I've said too much I haven't said enough.... I can't believe Mulder's put me in the position. I feel trapped, backed into a corner in which there is no escape. Rather than accept my offer of sympathy, he inveigles me into conducting his mother's autopsy. And, his ejaculation of trust proves that he's still quite potent, even if it's only in shooting back-handed compliments. The warped nature of his need discourages me. While this man spurns my touch, he's more than eager to take my fingers and shove them into a pair of latex gloves. Mulder needs to preserve his religion. Of course, it doesn't matter if he annuls our relationship in the process. But, the real irony is the lengths that I will go to.... I will search for answers in an attempt to prove my love for him. So, I perform the autopsy. But, what I find is not a victim of a conspiracy. The only evidence I can give him is of his mother's silent complicity. Did Teena Mulder kill herself to spare her son the debilitating effects of cancer? Or, did she commit suicide in an effort to escape the malignancy of her past. Whatever the truth is, I'm no longer able to stand in the shadow of Mulder's quest. By conducting his mother's autopsy, he's forced me into the spotlight. And, my religion will undoubtedly fail him. Science always has.... I don't know if I can do this. "Don't you see, Scully?" he says in a broken voice. "It never happened. You were right. All these visions that I've had were to help me cope... to help me deal with the loss. But, I've been looking for my sister in the wrong place. That's what my mother was calling to tell me. She was trying to warn me. That's why they killed her." I listen to Mulder's confession with a conflicted heart. My hands are already clasped together in a desperate gesture of prayer. But, as I tap my lips in agitation, I taste the powdery residue of my latexed resolve. No wonder my words sound as if they're spoken through chapped lips. "Mulder, she killed herself. I did the examination. I conducted the autopsy. Your mother had an incurable disease. She had an untreatable and horribly disfiguring disease called Padgets Carcinoma. She knew it. There were doctors records. She didn't want to live." Mulder closes his eyes, shutting out the sight and sound of me. When he presses his fingers against his temples, desperately chanting his failed mantra, I drop my eyes in shame. This time, I've said to much... And, over the years, I haven't said enough.... My discomfort over the spotlight doesn't compare to the elucidated agony of his loss. When he bolts up from his chair, I step towards him, trying to position myself as a buffer between grief and anger. His rage may shake the desk, but not my resolve to protect him from it. "She was trying to tell me something," Mulder cries before crumpling on to the chair, "... she was trying to...." "Mulder, she was trying to tell you to stop." I murmur in my most convincing tone. "To stop looking for your sister. She was trying to take away your pain." I'll do anything to shield him from this anguish. Even if it means abandoning my own beliefs in favor of a white lie. What I think doesn't really matter. Not when I can fill my aching arms with him. Finally.... Holding him like this, feeling his body surrender to mine is the most profound sign of all. He's finally found sanctuary in my love for him. "I'll do anything, Mulder," I whisper to him softly. "Anything to stop your pain." Oh no.... Mulder suddenly stiffens in my embrace, lifting his head from my shoulder. "It's you, isn't it?" he accuses. "You're the one who wants me to stop my search, disguising your intent by making it my mother's." "What?" He pushes me away with such loathing that I literally fall to the floor. Before I can recover from shock, he's standing over me, panting with fury. "Life is bigger," he spits out my previous litany with enough venom to paralyze me. "Bigger than my pursuit for the truth. But, is it bigger than a lie, Scully?" "I'm not lying to you, Mulder." "The hell you're not," he rages, yanking me to my feet. Before I can sputter a response, he's propelling me towards the front door of his apartment. "What lengths will you go to in order to finally convert me? I catch the door frame with my hands, bracing myself for the impact of his body as it collides against mine. "I don't want to convert you, Mulder." I try to hold my ground, although my voice is shaky. "I just want to spare you from pain." "Like my mother did?" Mulder hisses, his breath hot against my neck. "If that's your idea of love, Scully, then take it and get out." "Don't do this," I moan, dropping my head as tears gather in my eyes. "Don't make my love for you a sin, Mulder. If you do, I swear you'll condemn me to Hell." "Where else did you expect to find my soul?" I can't deal with his revelation. It's too dark, and I'm already suffocating from his lack of understanding. Extinguishing his desire for me was only the first step. Now, he's trying to smother love, as well. And, it's working.... "You want the truth, Mulder?" I cry out bitterly. "I don't know why your mother killed herself. All I can do is speculate, which doesn't mean much, because I don't even believe in myself, anymore. Everything is crumbling around me, my science... my faith...my relationship with you...." "Scully, listen to me...." Panicked, my hands fumble for the doorknob. "I've got to get out of here..." Mulder quickly slides his arms around me, capturing my hands with his own. "Let go of the door, Scully." His voice is deadly calm. That's because he's killed us... "I can't breathe..." I gasp, shuddering as he pries my fingers away from the knob. "I can't..." "Scully...let it go," He urges gently. "All of it..." Only when I collapse in his arms, sobbing uncontrollably, do I realize that I've hidden more than one truth. Mulder isn't the only one losing his religion. So am I.... To be continued.... Part 4 of ? Scully's crying so hard that her tears are splashing my neck like holy water. At first they sting my skin, for they fall like hot, blistering reminders that I've desecrated hallowed ground. What have I done? At what point did her emotional well-being become less sacrosanct and more infuriating? Scully doesn't cry. I do. She suffers in silence, while I... I shriek out the indignities of my life, masking guilt and pain beneath an obsession... Or as I call it... my religion. But, as she cries, my facade crumbles like the walls of Jericho. There is no pain worse than this, where her weeping startles and humbles me like the blast of an angel's trumpet. When she tries to pull away, I tighten my arms around waist. I won't let her go. It's moments like this that renew my dying spirit, if only with the cruel lucidity of my indifference. Her faith hasn't failed her. I have. I'm the one who led her down the proverbial garden path. And, although I never promised her roses, I didn't warn her about the thorns, either. I just never figured that her beliefs would be crucified in the end, that in the end, she would be the one wearing the prickly crown. "I'm sorry...," I bury my face into her hair, no longer soft, but brittle. The coarse texture is acutely symbolic. It stabs at my eyes and pierces my closed-lid perspective. What have I done? "Your hair," I moan. My tears feel like coagulated blood as they drip down my cheeks. Scully pulls her head away, leaving several guilt-frayed reminders sticking to my wet fingers. "It wasn't you," she murmurs in a low, embarrassed voice. "It was Pfaster." Then I understand the mystery of her hair. That fucking necrophiliac turned hair conditioner into a ritual of death... And, her fucking partner turned a cynical eye each time she reached for the scissors. "I'm sorry," I repeat, stroking her hair tenderly. "Me, too," she responds softly. "But, can we take this to the couch? I'm way past postulating on a hardwood floors." We sit at opposite ends, staring mutely at each other. The spotlight falls on us both, now. Granted, the illumination is limited to the fluorescent glow from my fish tank, but it's enough for me to see that my reflection is retreating in her eyes. Have the sacrifices of my religion become hers? I can't do this anymore. I can't shoulder the burden of a cross that is weighed down by her despair. "No more," I say solemnly, reaching out to touch her tear- stained face. I lift a salty drop to my lips, to baptize myself into a new creed where her feelings are to be revered, not scorned. I've seen the light. No wonder I've been avoiding her eyes, lately. Scully must sense my epiphany, for she grabs my wet fingers and lifts them to her trembling mouth. "No more," she accepts my pledge, kissing each tip with such fervor that I'm instantly humbled... And, aroused.... Figures.... I withdraw my hand and swear my conviction. "I'm going to have Skinner pull me off this investigation, Scully. I need time to mourn my mother..." "I understand," she responds gently. "You should take some time off..." "I want you to take time off, too," I plead. "I can't do this without you, Scully. Please...my healing has to be yours, too." Scully reaches over to caress my face. "We'll heal together," she promises. ********** I thought that I heard you laughing I thought that I heard you sing I think I thought I saw you try... I don't know which is worse. The harsh light of morning where promises are broken, or waking to my partner's stiff erection nudging the back of my thigh. Not that it matters. Once Skinner knocks at the front door of Mulder's apartment, everything changes. Saved and damned... all in the same moment. Mrs. Lapierre has requested an audience with the Pope. And, dutiful pontiff that he is, Mulder is now in his bedroom, pulling out a business suit as if it was a ceremonial robe. I flash Mulder a look of disgust before retreating to the bathroom. Leaning over the sink, I splash water on my face. I need to cool the heat of my anger as well as my desire. Sin or no sin, I have yet to control my own craving for his flesh. When I lift my head, I find Mulder standing behind me, staring at my reflection in the mirror. "You're angry," he says in an agitated voice. "I'm frustrated," I scowl, reaching for a towel. When he lowers the zipper to his jeans, I almost lose it. The towel...that is. Mulder reaches around me to unbutton my slacks. His gaze holds mine as he strips me from the waist down. "Mulder." My voice shakes, betraying my need. "We can't do this." "Are you saying that you don't want to?" "I'm saying that we shouldn't," I respond, trying to find an excuse that will be acceptable to us both. "Skinner's out in his car waiting...." "He can wait." Mulder turns me around and lifts me onto the vanity. "But, I don't think we can." No, we can't. The tension of self-denial is overwhelming. If we're going to break our vows, then let chastity be the first to go. At least, this will give us a respite from a religion that has done nothing other than fail us both. Profligacy never felt so good. It's the feel of him inside of me, of his hands cupping my backside as he lifts me to receive him. It's the stark, uncomplicated pleasure of a few, stolen moments. It's real... it's tangible... it's.... It's here... I reach up to clasp his face, to steer his gaze to mine. I want him to see me as I am. Not a saint, but hardly a sinner. Just a woman who loves him, a earth-bound spirit who only seeks the starlight in his eyes. "See me," I gasp as my body surges to the strain of my orgasm. "See me for what I am." For the first time, Mulder actually does. The pupils of his hazel eyes dilate as reality replaces the illusion. Holding my stare, he climaxes instantly. Not as a begrudging martyr, but as a man. "Mulder," I whisper his name, tracing my fingers around his lips. "Your soul isn't lost, it's just trying to break free." He smiles, but a minute later his eyes go dark. "What is it?" "Do you hear that, Scully?" "Hear what?" He jerks away from me, appearing disoriented and confused. "Laughing..." he says. "Singing... The sound of children..." The distance to his eyes.... To be continued.... Part 5 of ? Every whisper Of every waking hour I'm Choosing my confessions Trying to keep an eye on you Like a hurt, lost and blinded fool Oh no I've said too much I set it up "I just want it to be over..." My religion is coming to an end. I know that. I just need to attach some meaning behind the quest, to return from this pilgrimage with something other than the tarnished vestige of my guilt. Why can't Scully understand that I'm trying to stop? Why doesn't she appreciate that I must continue the crusade only long enough to bring it to a dignified end? Maybe she suspects the fatigue behind my confession. There is no decency in finding Samantha's body among those shallow graves. It's just that I'm tired, so weary of championing a lost cause that I'd gladly put her there. That is, until I meet Harold Pillar... A fellow pilgrim on the "road less traveled". While I contemplate this latest messenger, Scully interrogates him with the zeal of a 16th century Inquisitor. To her, a psychic is as loathsome as a heretic, an apostate of both science and religion. But, Pillar tells me what I want to hear. He offers me corroboration to Kathy Lee Tencate's story about walk-in spirits. A testament of benevolent beings who intercede on the behalf of the innocent. He renews my vision, restoring my faith with its primary tenet...the paranormal. The same religion Scully seeks to reform. Except this time, she tries a different denomination... one that she thinks will finally persuade me. Psychology. "Mulder please...," she implores. "You've been through so much in such a short time... the death of your mother and the feelings this has brought up about your sister. You're vulnerable right now." The only thing I'm vulnerable to is her inability to understand. "Mulder, you told me that all you wanted was for this to be over..." "I do...," I try to convince her through repetition. "I do...." My gaze leaves her for an only instant, but it's time enough to annul my credibility. Is betrayal the cruelest sin of all? The pain in her eyes seems to suggest so. Scully's been trying to protect me, to shield me against my own weakness. But, by choosing the unknown over the obvious, I've renounced her in the worst possible way. I think I just clipped my guardian angel's wings. But, not enough to keep her from flying back to D.C. *********** I choose my confessions carefully. I always did. Perhaps that's why my trips to the confessional were routine and untroubled. I knew how to make any admission sound good, as if by acknowledging my shortcomings I had done penance enough. But, Mulder doesn't seem to think so. He renounces me as an agnostic, a skeptic, a woman incapable of sanctioning any creed other than her own. I left him. I abandoned him. I sought my own answers rather than give consideration to his. Worst of all, I let the devil bend my ear... "Mulder I spoke to him," I admit. "The Smoking Man, C.G.B. Spender, whatever his name is...." "You went to him?" "He told me that she was dead." "Well, he's a liar." "Mulder, why would he lie now?" I pause, remembering that I must genuflect before his distrust. "I mean think about it, it hurts me to tell you this, but..." My partner pushes away from me as if I'm Eve tempting him with the fateful apple. Is free will to chose our beliefs the original sin? Or, is it something more...the inability to see past our own pride that topples us from grace? I've just never realized how far I had to fall before I could truly understand.... What humbles me isn't the word of God, but the testament of a teenage girl. It's Samantha's suffering that finally brings me to my knees. That mankind chooses to inflict pain on the innocent proves only one thing. Free will is the machination of evil. The tests... the experiments... all of history's atrocities conducted in the name of science. My religion. The same religion which is responsible for my greatest loss. Emily..... ********** What a fool, I've been... I thought that Scully had abandoned me on my crusade, this never-ending footpath to the truth. But, she had only stopped, realizing that the road led both ways. While I was staring at what glittered ahead, she was looking back to the shadows she left behind. Only when I pass by her motel room do I fully understand. Glancing through the opening of the curtains, I behold the most heart-breaking revelation of all. Scully is kneeling by her bed. At first, I think she's praying. Her head is bowed and her hands are clasped tightly together. She's crying. Her petite frame shakes with sobs that can no longer be suppressed. Between her trembling fingers is a photograph, a picture of a child gone, but never forgotten... Except by me. "Scully...." Instinctively, I raise my hand to the window. Although Scully can't hear or see me, somehow she must sense my presence. She lifts her gaze slowly, as if she's caught in a dream-like trance. As she moves towards the window, the light of the room fades behind her. The only thing that sparkles now are the tears in her eyes. Like fractured starlight, they fall onto her cheeks. My fingers spread across the glass, trying to breach the distance between us. I know that this is no ordinary moment. I'm being given a precious glimpse into her soul, witnessing a suffering so profound that nothing else matters. Nothing other than her pain.... My breath diminishes to tiny gasps that frost the transparent barrier between us. Scully is pressing her hand against the window, extending her fingers in an attempt to align them with mine. "You see so much," she murmurs. "But, you refuse to see me...." My palm flattens against the window as her hand slides down the pane. "Scully...." She shakes her head sadly before she closes the curtains. I now know what it's like to stand in the shadow of someone else's pain. It's time for all of this to end. My quest for the truth has only blinded me to the suffering of others. Scully... My mother... There are some sacrifices which should never be made. Love is one of them. I stopped loving my mother a long time ago. I think she knew that. And, I think she tried to reach out to me in the end. Perhaps if I had called her back, she would have told me what I needed to hear. That life is bigger than the pursuit, that I was wasting my life on a guilt-driven religion. As she had done... Torn and divided by emotions she couldn't articulate, she wore remorse like a holy mantle until it became her shroud. And, now by refusing to let go, I'm about to lose the one person who has tried to give my life meaning. Scully.... To be continued.... Part 6 of ? The next night we travel to the home of Arbutus Ray. What an odd trinity we are. Skeptic, psychic and fanatic. Perhaps that's why there's no conversation between us, no idle chit-chat or musings as to what we may find. Each one of us is occupied by our own thoughts and separate expectations. As I pull the car up the gravel drive, I have this strange, precognitive feeling that this is no ordinary road. We're not just interviewing a retired nurse. We're about to speak with the last known person to have seen Samantha. I don't know if I can do this.... "What's wrong, Mulder?" "I have this power feeling, and I can't explain it. That.. that.. this is the end of the road, that I've been brought here to learn the truth." Scully appraises me with calm, steady eyes. "Are you ready for it?" Does "being ready" include my ability to speak? Do I hint at "readiness" as I stand there both nodding and shaking my head? Maybe Scully knows me better than I think, that this prophet doubts his own faith and intuition. She takes control as mine slips between my fingers. She asks the questions for me. But, as I listen to the answers, the narrative of my sister's last moments of struggle, I'm overwhelmed with pain. This really is the end of the road. But, the fate of Samantha isn't meant to be viewed under the harsh light of a front porch. It's supposed to be seen in the eyes of a child, Harold's son who waits for me in the silvery mist beyond the trees. Although I hesitate to walk these final steps, I know I must. So, when he holds out his hand, I take a deep breath and take it. How can I explain what happens next? It feels like a dream, but I know it's not. The tiny hand I hold has no substance, only energy. But, I can feel it tingle through every nerve of my body, slowing the beat of my heart and quickening my soul. Am I passing from one realm to the next? Or, is a journey of consciousness, where reality becomes the sublime? Whatever it is, I'm ready to walk among them. My child guide releases my hand, allowing me to navigate my own path. But, this time I steer away from the peripheral edge of my darkness and move into the center of light. Awe transforms into wonder as I enter the core of their universe. Pure, unfiltered starlight shines around me. These children aren't lost or wandering spirits of despair. They're laughing... singing... existing in such celestial tranquility that I can't help but feel joy. And, then I see her... Amber Lynn. The little girl, who started it all, is smiling up at me in greeting. She reminds me of a angel in her white nightgown. So tiny... so precious... the first sliver of light that found its way into the far corner of my mind. I always knew I'd find her. Maybe that's why the search for Amber Lynn became the focus of my quest. Somewhere inside of me, I felt this last abducted child would lead me to the first. Samantha.... I can't move... I can't take this final step towards my religious epiphany. But, she understands. That's why she runs to me. Stunned, I gaze at the beautiful face of a teenage girl, not the child of my memory or the woman I imagined her to be. Her dark is no longer curly, but streaming with starlight. Like a comet, she collides against me, causing me to stagger with the impact of her radiant energy... Yet, all I feel is the force of my despair. Stunned and heart-broken, I realize the saddest part of this truth. By finding her here, she no longer exists in my world. All these years... all these miles... my pilgrimage was for nothing. Perhaps I need to stand in the shadow of my own pain to finally understand. To see my religion for what it is, how I've worshiped an idol, the graven image of my guilt. But, as Samantha hugs me, I know that releasing my vows doesn't have to distance me from my sister. In her eyes is a light that transcends time, a love that knows no end. With one touch, she erases years of suffering from my face. With one smile, she comforts me. And, with one look, she reminds me of the greatest truth. Life is bigger... Bigger than I ever imagined. And, the truth was never out there... it was inside of me all the time. *********** "Mulder, where did you go?" I watch him move down the slope like Moses descending Mt. Sinai. I immediately notice his dazed expression, the awe of a man who has just witnessed an extraordinary event. But, I don't think he saw a flaming bush. And, he better not even try to enforce a new set of Commandments. As he draws closer, I see more. It's in his eyes. It's the look of reconciliation, of certainty that now pulls me like a magnet. Maybe, I'm drawn to him by my own hopes, wanting his acceptance to be directed at me. It's not... He may have found the end of the road, but I'm still left deserted on the highway. So much for a "Good Samaritan"... I guess it's some type of cosmic justice that he seeks Harold first. After all, visions should be shared with those willing to see them. But, as I listen to Mulder speak to Harold, I realize even psychics can be defeated by their own religion. "My son...," Harold gasps. "You saw my son?" "He's dead," Mulder relates solemnly. "They're all dead, Harold. Your son, Amber Lynn, my sister...." "No..." "Harold, you see so much." Mulder reaches out to clasp the man by his shoulders. "But, you refuse to see him. You refuse to let him go." Harold glances desperately at me, as if he can hide from the truth by gazing into the eyes of a skeptic. Don't look at me, Harold... You won't like what you see. Even Mulder knows that, which is why he decides to share this missive with his fellow apostle. "You have to let him go now, Harold," Mulder pleads. "He's protected. He's in a better place, they're all in a better place. We both have to let go...Harold..." "You're wrong," Harold renounces him in an agitated voice. "I'm going to find him." He even converts so far as to use my own words... "I don't believe you..." For a minute, all I can do is stand there, listening to a creed which sounds like my own. There's a part of me that wants to follow him, to scream at the top of my lungs that he should believe... that if anyone knows the pain of my religion, I do. But, instead of reaching out, I pull back. I protectively wrap my arms around my body as if I can physically shield myself from the truth. And then, I hide behind questions, because I need to avoid the answers. I need my religion intact. "Mulder, what happened? Are you sure you're alright?" "I'm fine." Mulder gazes up at the night sky. "I'm free." Before I can respond, my partner turns around and stares me straight in the eye. "But, you're not," he says gravely. "And, that's because you refuse to let go." "No, Mulder..." I shake my head, retreating several steps. "Don't turn this into something it's not." "Scully..." Mulder reaches out to take me by my shoulders. "Stop it," I cry, jerking away him. I can feel the current in his touch. It shocks and frightens me. "Don't do this.." Mulder drops his hands, but not his gaze. It's hard and determined, as is his voice. "You told me last night that I refuse to see you. But, how do you expect me to see you, Scully, when you can't even see yourself?" Once again, I've said too much. I set it up.... "Mulder," I try to sound calm, although I can feel the agitation of my soul shiver through my body. "I know what am and I know what I've lost. I said goodbye to Emily a long time ago." "Then, why are you shaking?" "Because I'm cold." Mulder removes his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders. "Let's go," he says in a neutral voice. I release my breath slowly, relieved that he's not pushing me further. As we move towards the car, I feel my equilibrium return. My steps are certain. My voice sounds balanced, both strong and assured. "I want you to know, Mulder, that whatever happened to you back there.... I believe you." "Good," Mulder responds as he opens the passenger door for me. "Because, once we take Harold home, we're driving to San Diego." "What?" "We're going to the end of the road, Scully," he states firmly. "To the cemetery where your child is buried." "I don't need to do this," I protest, drawing his jacket around me even tighter. "I told you, I already let go." "You may have let go of Emily," Mulder remarks. "But, you haven't let go of the pain." To be continued.... Part 7 of ? Consider this The hint of the century Consider this The slip that brought me To my knees failed What if all these fantasies Come flailing around Now I've said too much... By mid-morning we arrive at the cemetery in San Diego. At first, I consider remaining inside the car in observance of Scully's privacy. But, how can I condone her ritual of silent suffering, knowing I caused it? I'm the one who led Scully down this Via Dolorosa, this trail of tears, where weeping for a child became something she needed to hide from me. Scully drew the curtain not to hide her pain, but to conceal my weakness. Maybe, she realized that my cross had become so heavy that even the weight of a single teardrop would break me. She was right. But, guilt isn't a cross as much as it's a crucible. What I thought was my burden was only a test of character. Did I fail? Or, did I just fail Scully? My tribulation certainly became her ordeal. Realizing this, I get out of the car and walk around to the passenger side door. This time I'm not going to press my hand up against a window in an symbolic attempt to reach her. Instead, I open the door and say in a certain voice, "Give me your hand, Scully." "I don't know if I can do this, Mulder." "You're not... we are," I vow. Twining my fingers through hers, I guide her to her feet. "This is one path we're going to walk together." Faith in each other is the first step, not to mention the easiest one. Although our partnership was founded in obfuscation, it evolved into a trust the surpassed all reason or understanding. So, it doesn't surprise me that Scully moves forward, allowing me to lead her through the cemetery's gates. What startles me is how quickly faith crumbles as we approach Emily's grave. I can feel her fingers trying to pull away when I try to coax her along. The temperature of her skin drops and the pulse beneath her wrist quickens. Sensing her sudden anxiety, I stop. I follow the direction of her stunned expression which is focused on Emily's headstone. Reading the inscription, I groan inside. I had forgotten that the law never recognized Emily as Scully's biological daughter. Because of this, she was buried next to her adoptive parents and memorialized with their family name. To Scully, it must be another tragic reminder. What was stolen before birth continues to rob her even after death. No wonder she stands at the edge of this family plot, staring at Emily's headstone with hard, irreconcilable eyes. Minutes pass, more than I care to count. The gloom around us is oppresssive. It's as if the sun never rose this morning. I should have known that the fog last night was a forecast, not just of the weather, but of the murky emotions to come. When the first raindrop falls, Scully looks up at the sky and says in a cynical voice. "Figures. You get starlight... I get drizzle." "Scully..." "I can't do this," she states flatly. Turning around, she marches towards the car. So much for "Onward, Christian Soldiers". My Catholic trooper is in full retreat. And, snapping to attention, I find myself in full pursuit. "Can't do what, Scully?" I ask, catching her by the gate. "Let go of your pain?" "Don't talk to me about pain, Mulder." Scully retorts. "Not until you're willing to see it through my eyes." "What are you talking about?" "I'm talking about these walk-in spirits of yours," she says in a scornful voice. "Who are they, Mulder? What determines their selection process?" "Scully..." I say gently, trying to take her hand. Jerking it away from me, she continues angrily, "Children suffer and die every day. Mine did. Why wasn't Emily spared the atrocities mankind implemented on her?" "She was...." I reach out to grip her shoulders tightly. "You saved her." Scully stares up at me in shock and disbelief. "Me?" she mocks my words. "I'm the one who let her die." "You rescued her from a life of suffering," I persist. "Don't you understand, Scully? You were Emily's walk-in." Finally, the pupils of her eyes contract, shattering the glaze of misunderstanding and resentment. Like pieces of broken glass, tears begin to slice down her face. The minute I pull her against me, she collapses. We both do. Sinking to our knees, we rock each other through the downpour of rain and the deluge of our emotions. "I've tried to convince myself that Emily was never meant to be," she cries. "But, science is a cold religion, Mulder. How do I follow a creed that labels my daughter a mistake?" "You don't," I murmur, pressing my lips against her wet hair. "You remember Emily as a precious gift, even if you only got to hold her for a short time." "I still feel her, you know," Scully whispers against my neck. "There are times that I think I can actually reach out and touch her." "You probably can," I muse to myself, gazing up to the sky. "That sounds more like your religion, Mulder." "There are more worlds than we can hold in our hands," I respond in a prophetic voice. Suddenly, she pulls away and looks up at me with astonished eyes. "No, Scully...." I offer her a slight smile and a logical explanation. "I read Albert Hosteen's words in your journal. You left it open one night on the coffee table." It's raining so hard that I can't tell if she's laughing or crying. It doesn't matter. She's finally releasing years of pain and confusion. And, she's finally sharing it with me. "I never thought you'd understand my crisis of faith," Scully confesses shakily. "That's because I was too busy ignoring my own." I answer. "But, losing our religion doesn't have to mean the end, Scully. Actually, I think it's a beginning." "A beginning?" she asks. "A new creed...," I tell her. "One in which we can share more than just a covenant of pain." Sniffing, Scully wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Well, before we do, I think you'd better pull me up out of this mud." As I help Scully to her feet, I notice that her gaze has returned to Emily's grave. Her eyes are no longer defeated, but resolved. "Do you want me to go with you?" I offer when she releases my hand. "No...." She shakes her head, then nods to herself. "I need to take these last steps alone." I return to the car, both relieved and humbled by what has just taken place. I have this strange feeling that some force has interceded, or "walked in" to guide us past our pain. Whether it originated from the stars, the grave or our own troubled souls, the intervention was meant to free us. Some may call it a benediction. Some may call it closure. Either way, I believe our prayers have finally been answered. To be continued.... Part 8 of 8 "Do you mind if I turn on a light?" "Yes." From the open door of my motel room, Mulder contemplates my sodden clothes and listless response. While he's spent the last hour showering and changing, I've been lying flat on my back staring numbly at the ceiling. "Mulder, can you close the door?" I ask in a weak voice. "The sun hurts my eyes." "What sun?" He shuts the door and approaches me. "Scully, it's nine o'clock at night." Am I dreaming? Or, am I fading in and out of consciousness, where the comfort of darkness is pierced by a glowing apparition. The light not only follows Mulder, but suffuses him with a blinding aura. Stunned, I watch him kneel next to the bed. When his gaze slowly meets mine, I finally realize... The light is radiating from his eyes. It's so bright, so vivid that I can't help but feel like a silhouette in his vision. "Mulder," I whisper in awe. "Can you see me?" "I see you...," he murmurs, reaching down to tug off my boots. "Every water-logged inch of you." It's hard to balance my wonder with his quirky sense of humor. It's even more difficult to spiritually connect with someone who's peeling off my wet socks with the finesse of a five year old. "Are you laughing, Scully?" Am I? I'm not sure. My mind shifts through a series of emotions like colors through a kaleidoscope. I can't seem to settle on one hue or temperament, nor can I appreciate my partner's scintillating perspective. What I thought was a profound moment now seems absurd. Worse yet, what I hoped was an unveiling of our souls is nothing better than a strip tease. When he tries to unbutton my shirt, I push his hands away. I want a vow of love, not just a merging of flesh. He spoke of a new creed, a higher understanding of each other. And, I believed him. I let him replace my reality with his illusion. And, now the fantasy comes flailing around to knock me off my feet. Except, I'm already on my back. How convenient.... Too bad Mulder keeps hovering over me like a lightning bug. "Scully, what's wrong?" "Nothing..." "Don't lie to me," he pleads. "I can see it in your eyes." "What you see is your own reflection." I retort. "I'm just surprised that it's so damn bright." For a minute, he just stares at me in disbelief. Then, his face crumbles into an expression of pain. "No," he mumbles, shaking his head. "I see your tears. Why are you crying?" "I'm not." I brush the sprinkles from my cheeks. "You are..." To prove my point, I guide his hand to his eyes. Confused, he touches his wet lashes and studies the drops which glisten on his fingertips. "I don't understand," he whispers in sudden agitation. "I'm losing my religion, Mulder," I tell him. "And, I'm no longer willing to make sex a sin for you to later repent." "Scully..." Mulder's voice cracks as he tries to explain. "I wasn't trying to... I only wanted to get you out of your wet clothes." Oh no... I've said too much. As the light fades from his eyes, I realize what I've done. Once again, I've chosen my confession to avoid my penance. The sin of lust didn't originate with him. I'm the one who offered my body as a substitute for my mind. It just seemed easier to consummate a physical relationship rather than unite our different belief systems. I accused him of not seeing, yet I was the one with the limited vision. And, how can I expect him to make a new creed when my soul refuses to speak freely? The end of the road doesn't have to mean the end of us. I just need to chose a different path, the one that is paved with emotional certainty. "I love you, Mulder." Taking his hand again, I align my fingers with his. "What?" he gasps. "I love you." I say the words again, pressing my palm firmly against his. For a minute, Mulder stares at the connection we've made. Two hands, once as irregular as a pair of mismatched gloves, now fit together perfectly. "I love you, too," he says with equal conviction. "I think I'm ready to get out of these damp clothes now." I murmur, leading his fingers back to my shirt buttons. ********** Life is bigger... It's the feel of her body thrilling to mine, the taste of her mouth and the silken texture of her skin. It's the sound of her breath rising and falling as I worship every inch of her quivering frame. Okay, I tried... How am I supposed to think ethereal thoughts when Scully's pushing my head between her legs? How am I to ignore her less than reverent prayers as I glide two of my fingers in and out of her wetness? But, rather than tease her about this unorthodox conversion, I begin a wordless chant of my own. I think some denominations call this "speaking in tongues".... It certainly inspires an exalted response. When Scully climaxes, I almost lose more than my religion. I guess it serves me right. It's time for the metaphors to stop, for me to recognize that I'm a carnal man before I succumb to a fate that makes me less than one. But, Scully knows flawed contrition when she sees it. "Relax, Mulder," she says as she coaxes me inside of her. "When it comes to passion, I prefer the sinner to the saint." Can I absolve myself by making her come again? There's a part of me that seems damned determined to try. "I don't know, Scully," I groan as I thrust into her. "Maybe there should be a compromise between the two." "There is," Scully murmurs as she lifts her hips to meet mine. "It's called being human." Talk about a revelation... But, rather than see stars, I only see her. Life is bigger.... I'm finally ready to live it, to sacrifice the past for the present. For in this existence... this world... is Scully. I can't think of a more meaningful quest than re-discovering her. The End... Or, should this author say "Amen"? I'm certainly grateful to those who forgave my trangression of posting another WIP. And, I'm absolutely blessed to have such fine betas...Exley, dlynn and Linda...thank you! To Kim, my patron saint...to Galia, my divine archivist...many thanks. But a special song of praise to the goddesses over at the Haven. To Amy, who offered me a slice of heaven with her recommendation, to Iona who allowed me to view "SUZ" and "Closure" through her vision and to all my spoiler mates who encouraged me nightly to continue writing.