Category: SA/PG Spoilers: US Season Four/All eps. Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. CC does. This is a revised version of a piece I posted in early March, under the pseudonym *Kate Rane*. Also, please note that the football video mentioned in this story was Mulder's gift to Scully when she recovered in One Breath. SALVATION by CiCi Lean, 1997 (formerly posted under the pseudonym *Kate Rane*) ************* All comments welcome. Send to cicilean@yahoo.com "Such beautiful things." Dana Scully tried to breath through her mouth. She had brought the boxes into the tiny Salvation Army store expecting nothing more than a quick drop-off and exit back to her empty car. But instead, she and the elderly volunteer behind the counter were going through each box, pulling out item after item and laying them down, amongst the musty, pressed racks of clothing and ancient, unwanted items. The smell of the attic, the closet, the old and the dead, hung so thick in the air, Scully's head began to throb. "And so many of them. Are you spring-cleaning?" asked the woman behind the counter, as each piece of clothing was carefully inspected. "No." Scully replied, but in her own way, she was lying. "Oh. It's just that so many people come in this time of year. Clearing away the old. Making room for the new. Are you moving?" she asked, trying to hide her curiosity in the box in front of her. "Yes." said Scully. That's a good answer. I am moving. This will no longer be my home. "Ah." said the woman knowingly. "It's very expensive to take things with you to a new place. Why, my niece paid over five hundred dollars to move less than a mile away. That was a theft, I tell you. Just a theft." //You can't take it with you.// But Scully simply nodded. Item after item, piece after piece was pulled out, her material life laid out in front of her for inspection. An unwanted sweater, a broken clock, shoes without heels, socks without mates. An entire life of gathering and keeping and storing and possessing. A lifetime of hopes. The woman pulled out a spotless trench coat and sunglasses. "Why, these are as good as new. Aren't you taking them with you?" she asked incredulously. "I don't think I'll be needing them." replied Scully. For I am going to the place where there is no rain or sun. The elderly woman looked up compassionately. "You're beginning a new life, aren't you, my dear?" she asked softly. "You're leaving something painful here. I've seen too much of life not to notice these things. I'm right, am I not?" Scully tried to speak, but her lips refused her any words.. I was taught that this is merely the beginning of a new life, wasn't I? Didn't they say not to fear what I'm about to face? Didn't they tell me to embrace this change with joy? And wasn't I taught that this was to be the basis for all my beliefs, all my truths? That death was not the end, but the glorious sunrise to my own eternity? But Scully only nodded at the woman. "Well, I'm sure you'll be moving to a wonderful place." said the woman, with a warm smile. "I hope so." The elderly woman turned back to the box. "Now *this* is a lovely dress." said the woman, pulling velvet and beads from the cardboard. The soft folds dripped over the counter and the deep burgundy almost shone in the dim light. "That was my sister's." said Scully. "Are you sure she won't want it back?" asked the woman with slight reproach. Scully felt some strange, tiny anger rise through her body. Do you want it back, Melissa? Shall I be buried with it and when we meet in that place that you are now, will you ask for its return? I'll bring it with me and all the rage and sadness I've felt will be wrapped in its folds. And we'll share this dress then, as we did when you were with me. Here. And alive. "No." Scully replied. "No, it was a hand-me-down." The woman nodded approvingly. "I was dressed in my sister's clothing for most of my youth." she replied sympathetically, folding the dress carefully and putting it to one side. "I had hardly a thing to call my own. Like so many other people throughout this life. It's a hand-me-down world, my dear." And this is my hand-me-down pain, Scully thought. But soon all this will be over and I'll begin anew. Without reproaches. I will enter the new place clean and free. For nothing is left to bind me here. "Why, look at this." said the woman with a laugh. "Superstars of The Super Bowl? Don't tell me this is yours." Except for one thing. The woman behind the counter smiled. "Now. I'm sure you didn't buy this for yourself. Hmmm?" she asked, her eyes twinkling. "No." answered Scully, suddenly wondering why this room, this dirty, foul-smelling room, had suddenly had become a center of light. "I didn't." "A young gentleman bought this for you, didn't he?" said the woman knowingly. "Now don't try and fib to me. That's the advantage of age, my dearest. I know lives just from the contents of their pockets." She became softer, more concerned. "Are you leaving him behind too, my dear? Is he the reason you're leaving?" This woman's eyes are very blue and clear, Scully thought. Would mine be if I ever reached her age? "No." replied Scully, but in her own way, she was lying. "Oh, my child. I hope not. Life is so very short and any trifle that's passed our way should be examined and held on to, no matter how much we desire to throw it aside. But unfortunately, you only reach this conclusion when you're too old to do anything about it." said the woman, mournfully. "Perhaps you should keep this, if only for the thought, the memory." "I have all the memories I need." said Scully edgily. "Now, are we done?" The elderly woman sighed. "Well yes. In fact we are. Now, it's a good thing you brought them here. We can give you a receipt." "A receipt?" asked Scully, her vision beginning to blur. //Oh, not now. Please, not now.// "Tax purposes." replied the older woman, gently folding piece after piece and putting them behind her on the unreachable counter. "And there are only two things that are certain in this life, child". "Two things, " murmured Scully, who could feel her heart in her fingertips and her breaths becoming shorter. The pressure in her head was building and she blindly reached for a handkerchief. "Death and taxes, my dear." and the woman as she began to fill out the receipt. Scully felt the warm crimson drip curl down from her nostrils to her lips and begin to roll down her chin. The old woman didn't notice the blood that was dropping upon the counter, gathering in tiny pools of crimson. Scully hastily wiped her nose and reached for the paper that was held out to her. The woman began to stare, slowly realizing that there was something wrong. Very, very wrong. But before she could speak... Dana Scully ran for the door. The old woman took a startled breath. The blood covered the glass counter now, and she knew not what to think. Slowly, she reached for the paper towels and while doing so, accidentally knocked over the video tape that Scully had left behind. She bent to pick it up and inside the box she saw the tape itself. Attached to the tape was a piece of paper. An envelope to be precise. And inside that envelope was a note. The old woman stared for a moment at empty envelope and the note, its white folds slightly yellowed with dampness and time. Oh, this is not mine to look at, she thought, but yet..but yet. Who else is here to see it? She pulled her glasses up and began to read the writing, worn with age, but still fresh with thought, as though the writer had felt he had nothing to lose and everything to gain. And she read. "For Dana, Upon Her Return To Me" I do not love you as the tea rose, blue, Or as the carnations that give birth to fire I love you as certain dark things are loved. Secretly, between the shadow, and the soul I love you as the plant that does not bloom But carries its light within and hidden And that your love, which lies darkly within myself Has the dense scent of the earth from where it rose I love you without knowledge or place, or time Simply. Not without problems, but without pride This is the way I love, for I know of no other And we, as one hand, our eyes closed together in sleep Know there is no I or you, and we cannot exist apart. I never thought that you would see this. F. Mulder, November 11, 1994" The paper began to shake in the woman's trembling hand. Oh, I am too old to hold two lives in this poor hand, she thought. But I will, I will...I must try to. She ran for the door. Only to see Dana Scully's car, tiny and far away in the distance disappearing down the black highway bend into the spring sun. No, child. Come back. You still have life here. It's in my hands. Don't leave me the only one to know. My poor one. This is not the end. For here is someone who loves you. ****** Fini. All comments welcome Send to cicilean@yahoo.com Author's Note II: Please note that the poem quoted is my own poor translation of the very beautiful Sonnet XVII by Pablo Neruda, as taken from the original Spanish. Anyone who has a basic grasp of the Spanish language would do well to read it in its original form.