VIGIL
by Joyce
November 1996

DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder and Dana Scully belong to 1013 Productions and Fox Broadcasting.  I'm only borrowing them for a moment and will return them. No infringement is intended.

FEEDBACK: mab49@earthlink.net

SUMMARY: Mulder ponders the past while praying for the future
 

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The late afternoon's gray shadows enfolded the man, as he sprawled on the bench; long legs stretched out before him, hands clenched into tight fists resting on his thighs, head bowed. A solitary figure, slumping with weariness or pain. The fine mist drifting down from the looming clouds coated his jacket and hair with crystal beads that shone like diamonds in the street lights. Fox Mulder slowly raised his head and stared out across the park, watching the pale gray day fade into twilight. After the superheated air of the hospital, the chill, moist breeze felt good . The misting rain cleared his head, just as it had in Oxford. Back then he used to run through the rain until his hyperactive brain settled down and he could think straight. Now the rain suited his mood. He needed the grayness. After seventeen hours of vigil at her bedside, he also knew he needed sleep and food, but he couldn't relax enough for either. He needed to think, to process the disjointed memories that cluttered his mind. Memories of the events which brought him to this cold wet vigil for his partner, his friend and, yes, even his brother through a hundred lifetimes.

Scully, if she were here, would shake her head and mutter of pneumonia and delusions with equal exasperation. Mulder sent another prayer aloft into the void that she would get that chance to rag him again. He'd gladly offer her any number of opportunities to cut his ego down to size just to hear her razor-sharp voice deflate his flights of fancy. He knew only too well his tendency to leap to conclusions and charge after the fantastic. Before Scully, he had made those leaps blindly, well aware that one day he'd leap too far and end up dead or locked away in a white room with padded walls. Scully was his safety net, his assurance that he could leap and someone would be there to stretch out a hand to grasp his before the darkness swallowed him whole. He didn't want to contemplate returning to the hunt without her, but Fate, the nemesis that had haunted their lives, seemed to have other plans for her. Mulder had listened to the doctors' vague and contradictory reports and correctly translated them to mean that they didn't expect her to survive the massive trauma four .38 caliber bullets had inflicted on her body.

Skinner had loaned them to the state police in upper Michigan to help catch a serial killer preying on older women. It wasn't even really an X-file except for a report that the suspect walked through walls. At least that's what one witness claimed he saw him do, though he was unable to give any more of a description than that the killer looked totally ordinary. Scully had been convinced the witness was delusional. She pointed out that his blood alcohol level indicted a level of intoxication that would have produced pink elephants on parade and certainly was sufficient explanation for seeing a man walk through walls. He had disagreed, citing numerous reports of other cases involving teleportative abilities. Once again the lines were drawn between science and that great dark land of the paranormal that science refused to acknowledge.

Watching the mist turn into a steady pouring rain obscuring the trees on the far edge of the park, Mulder ruefully recalled their arguments. Scully had been calm but very firm in her opinion that he was chasing a drunken illusion. As usual he found himself backed into a corner where all he could do was say he felt the witness was reporting what he actually saw. Reason versus feelings; not a new argument for them and not even a particularly stressful one. His fire snapped and crackled against the ice of her logic. Neither side giving an inch but neither did they take offense. Flashes of anger, like heat lightning on a summer's night, burst out between them, but they both knew that somehow, out of these arguments, they'd find an explanation and the killer. Perhaps the explanation would not satisfy either one of them, but it would serve to put on the official report.

Absently wiping the rain from his eyes, Mulder tried to remember how yesterday had changed from normal to horrific. They weren't even really focusing on the case; most of their work had already been done. The autopsy reports had been filed and Mulder had given the local police a profile of the killer. They had agreed to disagree and let the police try to reconcile the differences between their two reports. He had insisted on taking a much needed break to explore the surrounding countryside, with a vague notion that the killer seemed to be operating from a remote, probably rural home-base, and a that knowledge of the surrounding area might prove useful. Anyway, he had reasoned, Scully needed some fresh air.

He smiled as he remembered the roadside market with its bushel baskets of fresh fruit. Scully was teasing him about slipping some fresh, healthy food into his diet and he was arguing that he was surviving quite nicely thank-you, but he made no objection to an impromptu stop. Even now, Mulder couldn't remember hearing the shots that spun Scully completely around before she crumpled against the car. All he could see was her blood splashed against the slate flagstones and then looking into the eyes of the man who shot her. Hell was in those eyes and the devil was loose. A witness said Mulder calmly drew his gun and emptied the clip into the man without so much as batting an eye. He guessed she was right; he didn't really remember anything after the second shot, other than a cold satisfaction in sending the man back to hell. They'd had to identify the shooter by his fingerprints--not enough was left of his face to matter. A slight case of overkill he admitted; one that would no doubt earn him a reprimand, but not one he regretted.

They'd stumbled on the killer by accident, or a cruel twist of Fate, Mulder still wasn't sure. Now Scully lay in the hospital, hovering between life and death, the killer's last victim. For seventeen hours he had kept watch by her side, trying to anchor her to this life. Remembering all the times she watched over him, he kept vigil until her mother arrived to take his place. Leaving Scully in the strong arms of her mother's faith, he allowed himself to be ushered out. He promised Mrs. Scully he would rest and left his cell-phone number in case of any change.

Now, looking out into the darkness, Mulder let his mind wander back the few months to the Ephesian case. Accepting Scully's skepticism, he had never told her of the images that had flashed across his mind during the last moments of the regression session, too brief to speak of, but vivid and haunting. For a hundred lives or more, he and Scully had been together. Soldiers, scholars, hunters, restless seekers after truth, but always together. This vigil had been played out between them many times before. Sometimes he watched helplessly as she died, other times he died knowing she watched as his soul briefly parted from hers. He had no word to describe the kind of love they shared. Mulder envied the Greeks. They had so many different words for love; a love between brothers, a lovers' love, a spiritual love and probably more than his tired brain could remember now. All he knew was that he and Scully shared a love that transcended all their souls' journeys; always rejoining, always rejoicing in the complexity of their union.

When he had asked if knowing they had known each other through previous lives would have changed the way they looked at each other, he had wondered if he had squandered his chance in this lifetime to realize their connection. Looking at him with her clear eyes that saw deep into his soul, she had granted him absolution and renewed the commitment they had already forged in this lifetime. He suspected she would never admit to it, but he saw in her eyes, just for a second, the memory of battles fought, dangers faced, and laughter shared. They were sword brothers sworn to each other in an intimacy so much greater than the physical limitations of love that he wondered if Melissa's soul could ever comprehend it. His soul was tied to Melissa's by bonds of love, a physical love that somehow must be put right before either of them could move on. But Scully was the shield at his right hand as he was her shield - nothing to get right or to learn; the other half of his soul.

"Please, God or whoever is running the game, don't take her from me yet," Mulder pleaded quietly. He sensed that he'd made this plea many, many times before. Sometimes Fate would relent and Scully would remain at his side, sometimes her soul slipped away and he would be left alone to fight on until he could join her at rest. It was actually harder, now that he knew of their past lives, to believe that she would defy the odds and survive. Knowing the times she journeyed on without him, his faith that this time would be different was hard to keep.

A memory surfaced of a similar cold, rainy night many lives ago; the smell of wet iron and the feel of a bloody great sword between his hands. Unconsciously mimicking the actions of his long-ago self, he knelt in the sodden grass before the bench and tried to pray. His faith then had been sure and bright; they were soldiers of God fighting a desperate rearguard action to delay the enemy so that their young lord might escape. He felt the faith of that earlier self and marveled that a scholar-knight could believe with such simplicity that the soul of his squire, Scully's soul, would be restored to him if he prayed with a child's faith. He sought for the memory that would tell him if such a miracle occurred but couldn't find it. The memory of that faith and that moment were all that remained. Perhaps he had failed as he had failed so many times before and since, but he realized now that he had to try.....to believe in extreme possibilities.

"God, I want to believe.....Scully told me I was willing to believe in anything but faith in you. Maybe she was right. Then again, I haven't had much reason to believe in you...." Mulder paused. This wasn't coming out right and God was not someone he wanted to offend right now. He took a deep breath and tried again.

"We have so much left to do, so many answers to find. Don't leave me alone again," hesitation, then very softly, "....but if that's your decision, I'll try to keep searching."

Mulder fought against the doubts that threatened to overwhelm him. His knees were cold and he realized he must look ridiculous kneeling out here in the rain, but if there was any chance his prayers could be heard he'd gladly accept the ridicule of the entire world. He tried to find the faith he knew must be sustaining Mrs. Scully, the faith he remembered feeling during his Bar Mitzvah. The faith eluded him, but he felt the warmth of his connection with Scully, the humor, the love fill his heart. Daring greatly, he offered the humor up as prayer, hoping God would understand.

"Maybe you could loan her to me as a corporeal guardian angel? With my track record, I certainly need one. Surely you can't need her as much as I do? I'll even try believing one scientific, logical thing every day, just for her."

As he knelt there, trying to find the right words that would persuade a God he had come to believe was an angry uncaring force; words, not of comfort but of acceptance, came unbidden to his lips.

"The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, blessed be the name of the Lord." Mulder shuddered slightly at the import of those words, but bowed his head and let them flow into his heart. Whatever happened, he would continue. If he had to search for both of them, he'd do so until he found their answers or until it was time for him to rejoin her.

Wearily Fox Mulder stood up and gazed one last time into the darkness. Then he turned and walked slowly back towards his car. He could sleep now, for an hour or two at least, before returning to the vigil.

THE END

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Feedback will be most welcome at mab49@earthlink.net
 

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was my very first attempt at fan fiction.

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