From: LAinNJ
Date sent: Thu, 8 Jan 1998 15:21:56 EST
Subject: In Silence We Speak [1/1]
TITLE: IN SILENCE WE SPEAK (1/1)
AUTHOR: LA
RATING: PG-13 (some swear words but nothing anyone should be offended by. I've
heard worse on school playgrounds!)
CLASSIFICATION: VA...bordering on R (yikes!)
SPOILERS: a little of every season so far.
KEYWORDS: MSR
SUMMARY: Mulder's thoughts as he holds vigil beside a seriously hurt Scully's
bedside.
Do me a favor...SPREAD THE WORD! Post anyplace you want! To Gossamer, to
axtc,
shout it from the rooftops! The more places, the better!!! Just let me know
where it ends up and keep my name on it somewhere! :o)
DISCLAIMER: Once upon a time, there was a surf-god named Chris Carter who
came
up with amazing characters on a very cool show. He owns them and I've heard he
doesn't LIKE to share! These characters are also the sole property of Gillian
Anderson and David Duchovny, who give them soul, life and purpose. I bow to
all of the aboves greatness. That said...please don't sue. No money and no
time to fight it.
Guess what, kids? I have no medical background. I'm a graphic designer. Any
medical descriptions are purely my conjecture so don't pick on me if it's
wrong. :o)
FEEDBACK: is craved. I appreciate all that is said so don't disappoint. You
can reach me on my cell phone or LAinNJ@aol.com. Try the email addy
first. Then I WILL respond!
DEDICATION: To Chris...looks like I finally cleared the writer's block hurdle.
Yeeha!
IN SILENCE WE SPEAK
by LA
There are many times in our lives when the world is painted shades of gray. We
call it uncertainty. I'm wishing now for that shade of gray, because the
clarity of black and white is agonizing. The black and white of it is I made a
mistake, an unforgivable mistake, and only now can I even begin to fathom the
unconscionable cost.
I vowed to myself after Samantha was taken that I wouldn't ever look back on
why I couldn't stop it, why I was powerless. Of course, much to the chagrin of
those around me, I do anyway, on a daily basis. Spooky and his single-minded
obsession. I'll go so far as to admit that, for a long time, I was being
single minded. That changed the day Dana Katherine Scully walked into my
office.
It was then that my one-track mind opened up at least a little bit, allowing
other things to unfold. My quest for the truth is as strong as ever, prodded
on by events which I try to control and often cannot. By things I have seen
and have been told to forget. By heinous and evil forces that seek to destroy
nearly everything they touch. Call the continuance of the quest what you will.
Call it guilt. Call it self-destruction. Call it condemnation. But DON'T call
it single-mindedness.
For single-mindedness will destroy me, and right now, I can't afford for this
to be my end. Right now, Scully needs me. She needs me to be there for her
when she wakes up from her enforced sojourn into the world of dreams. From her
much needed rest from reality.
>From her coma.
Coma. What a strange word and yet it speaks volumes to those around you. Coma.
Add an M and it becomes COMMA. An addition, a but, if you will. There has to
be an addition to this. I refuse to believe that this will be it. That she
will be reduced to this state of suspended animation. For someone who uses her
mind so much, to have it harmed is one of life's great ironies. Like a painter
losing his arms in an accident. Or a flower in the summer dying in an early
fall frost.
I need her to be awake and talking with me. I crave her voice as if it were
the last drop of water in the desert. She is so much a part of me that I can
barely function without her. And haven't been since it happened. Over twenty-
four hours ago, my world ceased to be MY world. Instead, it became Scully's
world, only holding tight for her.
The accident. My mind wanders a bit over the details that have become engraved
there, stored away in a filing cabinet under "Stupid Things I Have Done".
Scully knows it's my fault and yet she is doing me the good grace to keep mum
about it. Trying to save me once again.
Hey Scully, I'll take the reprimand if you would just wake up.
Where was my train of thought? Leaving the station without me, once again. Oh
yeah, the accident. We'd received a tip that our suspect was going to be at
the new factory construction sight on New York Avenue. Against Scully's
judgement, we went in alone, with no back-up support. She didn't think he'd be
there anyway, but still, proper procedure and all. So strange, really. SHE
didn't want ME to get hurt. She wanted me to be more cautious and to stick
together at all times. I'm not sure how it happened, but we got split up.
Before I knew it, she had gone up to the second level of the factory to look
around.
She never saw him coming.
I spotted her and as I came up behind them, he rushed her with a tremendous
tackle. I was too far back to stop him and he sent her sprawling over the
railing down to the concrete floor 25 feet below. Without blinking an eye, I
emptied my clip in him, the entire thing. Overkill, Scully would call it.
If only she would wake up and tell me so.
She is giving me the silent treatment to punish me for being stupid. I know
her so well. Typical Scully. She usually arches her eyebrow and gives me The
Look. Guess she figures I'll get the message if she doesn't tell me outright
this time. Got it, Scully. Won't do it again. Will stick to you like
crazyglue.
Come back to me and you have my word.
Words. What good are they, after all? Everything that has happened in 5 years
has come down to some pretty abominable words. Words I never wanted to hear in
connection with my partner. Skull fracture. Swelling of the brain. Fractured
vertebrae in her upper back and neck. Shattered shoulder.
The doctor said that once she started falling, she must have tried to roll to
take the impact with her shoulder. That would be Scully...always thinking
ahead. But boy, did it end up failing. She took the entire brunt of her fall
on her right shoulder, which compressed into her spine and did the damage
there. And somewhere in this, her head bounced like a damn basketball.
The laws of physics exact a high price from a 33-year-old woman flying through
the air.
Maybe if I concentrate hard enough, I can will my spirit into her to return to
me. But my mind, not unlike her's, seems to have taken a smallish vacation. As
soon as the doctor mentioned the words "brain damage", that was it. I was
gone.
Brain damage. I choked when he said that. Scully can't have brain damage, I
responded. She's a doctor and an FBI Agent. She has no room for brain damage
in her work. I suppose I became a little hysterical because he told me to go
sit down for awhile while he spoke with Mrs. Scully. I refused and demanded to
be told the entire truth.
Back to the truth again, Mulder.
Why is it that this one little word can wreak so much havoc in my life? If I
was a baseball pitcher, I guess my catch phrase would be "strike". And I would
pursue it with as much zeal as I could muster. This must be the reason that I
always played right field. They must have known back then that I would be too
obsessive about the "strike".
Am I obsessive about the truth? Do I take unnecessary chances with regard to
it? Scully would say yes on both counts. And so we come full circle back to
single-minded search for the truth. After listening to the doctor, I don't
want to search for the truth any more. After hearing what he said and seeing
the look on Mrs. Scully's face, I loathe the truth.
Oh Scully, I don't think even you want to be part of this.
I give a lot of credit to the doctor. He seems to have built an immunity to
hysterical relatives and friends. He calmly explained to the two of us that
due to the skull fracture, Scully's brain...Scully's brilliant brain...is
swelling. And with this swelling comes the chance that irreparable damage is
or has occurred. But he doesn't know how much. Or if she'll even wake up.
IF. Please, not IF.
It has to be when. When you wake up, we'll go over our case notes and I'll
write the reports. Sound fair, Scully?
Ever since he told us, I have been stroking Scully's arm and gently talking to
her, never wavering, never faltering. I have cried many tears and now part of
her sheets are wet. I hear a slight stirring and lift my head, hoping that she
is coming out of it. But it's not her. It's her mom. She is telling me to get
a cup of coffee. Take a breather. I can't go, I tell her. What if she wakes up
while I'm gone? What if she asks for me and I'm not here?
What if she slips away while I'm gone?
But she knows. Maggie Scully is a true student of human nature and knows what
I am feeling. She pats me on the shoulder and leaves to get the proffered cup
of coffee. So much sadness in her life, and now I have added more.
Waiting for that ass kicking from you anytime now, Scully.
It must be my lot in life to cause people I love pain. My mother can barely
look me in the eye after I accused her of having an affair with the man who
has an ever-present Morley dangling from his lips. I don't think my father
ever really forgave me for not saving Samantha that night. And now Scully.
Everything that has happened to her has been because of my quest. Her brother
called me a sorry son-of-a-bitch. Maybe he wasn't too far off the mark.
Mrs. Scully called him to let him know what happened. He asked if I was there.
I could tell by the look on her face as she held the phone in Scully's room.
He said he would try to get here, but wasn't sure if it would be later rather
than sooner as he was scheduled to ship out the following day. That was
yesterday.
I'm told he will be here sometime today.
He doesn't need to waste his time with finger pointing and accusations. I'm
your man, Bill, Jr. I might has well have been the one to push her over the
railing with my own hands.
I tighten my grip on Scully's arm. Maybe if I hold on tight, she won't leave
me. Maybe she'll feel the pressure and the love that's behind it. The love.
Love.
Why does it take things like this to bring you to your senses? To make you
realize what you should have all along. I love Scully. She is my world. She
keeps me together. She is the missing part of me that was gone for so long. I
don't feel inadequate when she is there. I feel as if I could be king of the
world when she passes me a rare smile. There is so much passion in the
unspoken word. We can say it all with our eyes.
Quick, Scully, open your eyes and tell me you love me too.
Wishful thinking, Mulder. You'll be lucky if she even speaks to you after
this. She will probably request a transfer. Maybe back to teaching at
Quantico, maybe a new life without the Bureau. It has brought her nothing but
sadness, after all. The brilliant and enigmatic Agent Scully stuck in the rut
that is known as The X-Files. She should have been a SAC by now, maybe even a
section chief. Hell...probably even an AD.
I can't help but be amazed by her. After everything that we have gone through,
Scully has stood by me. Catching me when I fall. Picking me up when I stumble.
For her to leave now would be the end of the world. I am not a man of prayer,
but I beg of whoever will listen, do what you may to me but DO NOT let this be
her end.
It can't be Scully, not for you.
xxxxxxxx
Alone I sit here again. Scully's brother has just left after spending "quality
time" with his little sister. I can only wonder if she had any idea he was
here, if she has any idea that ANY of us are here. Her other brother, Charles,
is stationed in Japan and is unable to get home just yet. He is trying.
Charles' arrival can't help but be a breath of fresh air, especially after
dealing with Bill, Jr. He called me on the carpet about his sister's
condition, though I can't say that I blame him. But he has an inherent sense
of bad timing to cause such a scene in front of his mother. Funny, I never
knew Maggie Scully had so much fire in her, though it makes sense when you
know her daughter. She told Bill to think of his sister and if he couldn't
manage that then he should either shut up or leave, because this wasn't the
time or place.
He responded that he was thinking of his sister and that I was the one who was
not. After everything she had been through with the cancer, for me to
knowingly jeopardize her life this way was unforgivable.
Scully, I swear to you, I didn't knowingly do this.
I wish with all my might that I had been the one to go over that railing, to
take that tackle from that punk. If only to spare her this. This uncertainty.
But I can hear Scully's voice now, even as my mind drifts. 'Would it be any
easier for me to sit here and watch you sleep?' As usual, she is right.
She told me the last time I was hovering close to death that she never wanted
to go through that again. That she couldn't stand the waiting to see if I
would be okay. If I would become me again. I have to agree with her. It's a
bitch waiting to see how the end of this drama will play out. I guess that's
why when I read books, I skip to the end to see what happens.
Please, let this be a happy ending.
xxxxxxxx
How strange when you think about people when they do their jobs. You
inevitably think 'Do they like it? Is it what they always wanted to do?' I
found myself thinking this when the nurse came in to change Scully's IV and
check her bandages. She offered me a small, sad smile. She has seen this too
many times before. Seen people wait and hope for just one more breath, one
more heartbeat.
I went and sat by the window while she did her duty, not even taking the
opportunity to go and clear my head. I have to stay close to Scully. It gives
me a comfort that I seem to crave. I watch the nurse intently, hoping that
Scully might respond to her ministrations, even to utter a cry of pain. Of
something. I know that when she wakes up, she will be hurting. So maybe it's
good that she is sleeping through her body's initial shock and reaction.
I must admit, though, that I am tired of watching her sleep. I want her awake
and now, damnit. I want her to curse and yell. I want her to bitch about the
hospital food and the lack of privacy. I want her to piss and moan about being
dependent on someone to help her up.
I want to hear her voice again.
I NEED to.
Oh, I can think of lots of things I need. I need someone to wake ME from this
nightmare I have managed to plunge us both into. I need to feel her reassuring
squeeze on my hand as I hold hers, telling me she'll be okay, that nothing can
keep her down. If cancer can't, then neither will some bump on the head.
Bump on the head...that's a good one, Mulder.
The nurse finishes her job. She adjusts Scully's blankets and picks up her
instruments. She looks over at me and announces that the doctor will be in to
check on her in a few minutes. I shake my head, unable to voice a response.
Instead, I stare at Scully's face as I hear the nurse sigh and walk out of the
room.
Tentatively, I walk back over to her bedside and sit in what is now known as
my chair. I pick up her left hand and look at it. A strong hand, one that can
flash it's way through an autopsy or hold a 9mm gun. It is soft, as you would
expect, but it is not a dainty flower. Scully uses her hands, you can tell.
They speak volumes about her. I spy a tiny scar on her thumb. I rub my fingers
over it and wonder how it got there. Another "souvenir" from our tenure
together? Or is this something from her childhood, a badge of courage. I'll
have to ask her when she wakes up.
When. I insist it will be when.
I want to take both of her hands and hold them close to my heart, but I'll
settle for one at the moment. Her right hand is across her body, almost
protectively, even in sleep. They immobilized it when they rebuilt her right
shoulder. I guess I'll have to call her my bionic woman for all the pins and
metal they used to accomplish that feat. She'll set off airport metal
detectors for the rest of her life. I'm sure she'll love that.
Not.
xxxxxxxx
Doctor Curtis has just walked in the room, followed by Mrs. Scully and Bill
Jr. She smiles at me warmly, the concern evident in her eyes. Bill Jr. looks
at me in disdain, his loathing playing across his features even as he
outwardly acts civil towards me. I capture his gaze with my own, taking the
silent berating. I deserve it, I know.
The doctor is oblivious to this silent exchange. Instead, he is shining a
penlight into Scully's eyes, checking her pupil response, of which it is at a
bare minimum.
Hey Scully, the idea is for you to come back to me. Not go farther away.
He announces that he scheduled another CT scan to see whether the swelling has
gone down or not. Mrs. Scully asks what if it gets worse. He replies that they
will then have to perform surgery to relive the pressure. He emphasizes that
this is a last resort. They will only do it if there is no sign of the
swelling going down by itself.
And what are her chances then, I hear a voice ask. My voice.
I'm not going to lie to you, Mr. Mulder, he says. Right now, her chances of
survival are getting slimmer.
Please...PLEASE lie to me doctor. I can't stand the truth anymore.
Lie to me and tell me that she's doing fantastic and the worst news is that
she'll have a permanent neck ache from her fractured vertebrae, which will
need daily neck rubs from me to alleviate. Lie to me and tell me that she will
have no sign of brain damage. Lie to me and say that her shoulder will be good
as new.
Fuck. Just fucking lie to me because I sure as hell can't handle the truth.
xxxxxxxx
It's dark now. Time is lost on me, and personally, I don't care. As far as I'm
concerned, time can go straight to hell. After all, it is only telling me that
we are creeping towards another day lost for her. Another day lost for us.
The CT scan showed us that there is no change. I suppose this can be construed
as a good thing. The doctors won't operate unless the swelling gets worse, and
it isn't. But neither is it getting better.
I sigh and rub my eyes. Shifting in my chair, I see her face as the moonlight
splashes across her features. She looks like an angel trapped in a dream.
Somehow though, I don't think that angels have dents in their heads. Then
again, my angel has always been different. Always marching to the beat of her
own drum. The beat that is now matching the heart monitor hooked up to her.
You know, Scully, we had tickets to the Redskins game this weekend. If you
didn't want to go, you could have told me.
This is no way to break a date.
I lay my head by her side and gently weep again. I am steadily losing the
precious control that I have tried to rebuild and it isn't fair. I am crying
for her. I am crying for me.
I am crying for what might never be.
xxxxxxxx
How can it be morning? Where did the night go? I sit up and stretch, taking in
my surroundings. Everything looks the same. Same chair. Same bed. Same person
in it. Scully is still lying there, but there is something different.
Something is changed.
And then it hits me like a ton of bricks.
Her eyes are open. Her beautiful blue eyes, eyes that can see through to my
very soul, are open. I stand next to her so she can see me and look into my
own. I am hoping there will be recognition. Some spark of remembrance.
That she knows me.
And Scully.... MY Scully, doesn't disappoint me.
She gives me a small smile, a very weak smile that thrills me to the bottom of
my heart. Scully remembers me. She takes a small breath and grimaces as she
feels the pain in her head for the first time. Then, looking at me again, in a
voice that is barely above a whisper, she speaks. She says words that send my
heart soaring to the heavens, and I find myself letting the tears that I tried
so hard to keep in check, fall freely, splashing on her hand, which is
clutched to my cheek.
Scully told me she loves me too.
-Finis
Comments greatly appreciated. LAinNJ@aol.com