Certitude
04/10: Nor Light
by
Justin Glasser
Disclaimers
and Acknowledgments in section 00/10
*****
Day
Four
Report
12 of --
Operant
7477108N
2000
hours
Subjects
remained active until 1145.
Introduction of
reading
material and board games effective in
distracting
them from further lapses in quarantine
protocol.
After
brief decline in MF morale resulting from illicit
chart
inspection by F subject, subjects appear to
have
suppressed curiosity and concern re: F
subject's
health. Level of control exhibited by
subjects
in reacting to such information impressive,
and
previously unremarked in files. No
further
discussion
of F subject's medical condition has
occurred.
Recommend
increased supervision during future
medical
exams: F subject's curiosity and intelligence
should
not be underestimated with respect to her
physical
well-being. (See F subject file pages
352-
367
inclusive.)
The
morale of both subjects remains acceptable,
despite
F subject's curiosity about X cell readings.
After
investigative questions, subjects resumed
word
play and language games, most of which were
dominated
by F subject. (See statistical analysis
attached.)
No significant topics of conversation
addressed.
Both
subjects also began physical activity today.
M
and F
subjects did minimal level calisthenics and
stretching. Conversation indicates that subjects
plan on
continuing physical activity for the duration
of the
quarantine: improvements in general condition
will be
noted.
Both
subjects remain in M subject's room. F
subject
sleeps
in the bed: M subject sleeps in a chair with
feet on
the bed. Note that M subject sleeps
with
back to
entry--both subjects incapable of fast-action
response
should acquisition be necessary.
Estimated
time to trial onset: 12 hours
*****
She lay
silent in the darkness, feeling the soft weight
of the
blankets on her chest, listening to her own
breath
sighing in and out. She wasn't really
tired,
despite
what they had done earlier.
It had
come up so casually:
"I
feel like a slug," she'd said, unfolding her cards in a
fan on
the bed. "Gin."
"Son
of a *bitch!*" Mulder had thrown his cards at
her. "Another hand?"
SheĠd
waved him off. "I'm tired of
cards." She had
folded
her hands in her lap, feeling boredom and
displeasure
bubbling in the pit of her stomach.
She
needed to *do* something.
"Okay,
c'mon." Mulder had stood up and held out his
hand. And that was how it had happened, something
that
had never happened before.
It had
been unusual, exercizing with Mulder.
Scully
hadn't realized it until she stood up and shed
her
robe. He hadn't looked at her, as if
she were
about
to expose herself in some way, or he was.
He
hadn't
been this modest with her in years.
And
then it hit her.
They'd
been through hell and back, up one side of the
world
and down the other, and until today she had
never
worked out in front of Mulder.
She
didn't really today, anyway--they only did some
light
stretching, sit-ups, push-ups, nothing major--
but
that had been a strange feeling, that there were
still
things she and Mulder hadn't shared, things they
hadn't
done together. HeĠd held her feet,
hands over her
toes,
palms pressing warmly as she did her sit ups,
reminding
her of gym class in junior high. At
times
she
forgot that she had a life separate from his: her
realization
that afternoon had reassured her that
she was
wrong.
He
moved his feet on the blankets, and she turned to
him,
rolling over on her side and tucking her arm
under
her pillow.
"You
asleep?" she asked.
"No."
"Mulder,
can you sleep at all in that chair?"
He
didn't respond.
"Mulder,
I've been thinking . . ."
"Mmhmm."
She
propped herself up on her elbow, trying to
discern
him in the darkness. No use. The rooms had
no
windows, which was to be expected in the
Antarctic,
and which meant there would be no
external
light. He was nothing but an area in
the
darkness,
the soft sound of breath and motion.
"Last
night, when I was sick, did you press a call
button
for the orderlies?"
She
heard the soft thud of his feet hitting the floor as
he sat
up. "No, I didn't."
"Mulder,
*are* there call buttons for the orderlies?"
He was
standing now; she could hear the whisper of
his
socks on the floor back and forth near the end of
the
bed.
"I
haven't seen any," he answered.
"Neither
have I," she said.
"Fuck."
The gentle expulsion of air came from
somewhere
around her knees. The side of the bed
dipped
and she knew he was sitting again, resting his
elbows
on the edge of the mattress.
"Mulder,
surveillance isn't that unusual in
quarantine
situations. We could be under
observation
for precisely the reasons illustrated last
night."
She sat up, wrapping her arms around her
knees
to keep herself upright.
"Why
aren't there call buttons, Scully?"
She had
no answer. She knew what he thought the
answer
was, and she found herself agreeing with
him. There were no call buttons, because there
was
no need
for call buttons. Neither Mulder or
Scully
would
ever have to alert the medical staff to a health
crisis,
because the medical staff would already know.
The
conclusion was inescapable--they were under
surveillance
24-7, every word, every move watched.
"What
do you want to do about it?" she asked,
although
she knew the answer to that question, too.
"At
this point, nothing. What can we
do?" he
whispered. "We need to find out as much as
possible
about
who's keeping us here, and why.
Suddenly I
suspect
that this is more than a medical
quarantine."
"Mulder,
I'm tired."
She
heard him lift his head, although she couldn't
say how
or why. Through the absolute blackness
of
this
room that suddenly felt more like a crypt than a
recovery
room, Mulder was looking at her.
"You
should rest," he said finally.
"Get some sleep."
His
hand rubbed her calf through the blanket.
"That's
not what I meant. Mulder, I'm tired of
this.
I'm
tired of having to be on my guard every time I
turn
the corner, every time I open a car door, every
time I
step into a room. I'm tired of having
to
wonder
what is happening in my life as a result of
the
actions of others. I'm tired of
wondering what's
going
in my *own* body. I hate this,
Mulder. I hate
the
whole fucking thing."
His
hand had stopped moving.
"What
are you saying, Scully?"
"I'm
saying that when we get back, *if* we ever get
back,
maybe I shouldn't fight the transfer.
Maybe I
should
go to Utah, get some perspective. Maybe
I
should
leave the X-files."
*****
I
wanted to go back about five minutes, to change
the
conversation in whatever way it needed to be
changed
to make her forget about Utah. Forget
about
leaving.
Intellectually,
I could understand what she meant.
It was
too much, for her, for us. I had just
pulled her
from
the wreckage of an alien craft onto the barren
ice of
the Antarctic, and now I was telling her that
we
weren't safe on the primrose path to recovery
like we
had been so many times before. We were
somewhere
else, with God knows who, for who knows
what
purposes. Too much.
And I
offer her too little.
*****
ÒWe
donĠt even have the X-files,Ó he said.
"Mulder?"
He
sighed. "Maybe you're right,
Scully. Maybe you
should
leave."
"Mulder,
this isn't a rejection of you, this isn't about
you. It's about me."
"You're
breaking up with me."
She
smiled, wishing he could see it.
"I'm just saying
that
it's a possibility I might be considering.
One
that
you should be aware of."
"So,
I'm aware."
It was
hard to believe that she knew him so well
that
she could tell that his forehead was resting on
the
backs of his hands. "Mulder, stop
it."
"Stop
what?"
"Stop
feeling sorry for yourself, because you think
I'm
rejecting you. Not everything is about
you."
"That
sounds familiar."
"Yeah,
too bad you didn't listen the first time.
Look .
. .
" She stopped. She wasn't sure
what she should
say. Mulder needed her, she knew that, but she
wasn't
sure what that meant, exactly. There
had
been
that moment in the hallway when she thought
for a
second that Mulder was actually seeing her,
was
recognizing Dana Scully as someone besides his
partner,
besides the person who made him feel good
about
himself. She had hoped that he was
seeing
her.
Now she
would never know.
She
didn't know what to say. She wanted to
tell him
about
herself. She wanted things for
herself--
happiness,
pleasure, freedom, friendship--and
instead
she had Mulder. Mulder gave her all of
those
things,
but there was a price, and that price was
that
she could get them from no where else.
She
thought
at times that it was time to cut the cord,
but she
knew that doing that would slice through her
gut as
surely as it would slice through his.
She was
the breadth
and scope of his connection with the
world,
and she couldn't bring herself to let him go
down
alone--that was what she liked to tell herself.
The
truth was that Mulder meant more to her than
she
wanted to admit, that she had somehow
assumed
responsibility not only for Mulder, but for
his
quest as well. But she couldn't say
that.
"Look,
Mulder . . . " she repeated.
"Ultimately,
Scully, it doesn't matter what I say.
This is
a decision you have to make on your own."
"I'm
glad you see that."
He didn't
say anything, but she felt the blankets
move
under his hands.
"Is
this about what happened to you?"
"What
happened to me?" she asked, forcing his hand.
"Emily."
*****
I heard
the soft intake of her breath. We
hadn't
spoken
of it, ever, not since the funeral, like we
hadn't
spoken of my father, of Melissa, of the
countless
things that happen between us every day.
We
aren't big self-disclosers, my partner and I.
If she
were going to leave me though, finally fulfill
the
prophecy I had felt so long ago the first time
they
took her, then I wanted to know the reason.
She
owed me that, I thought.
"Mulder,
can we not do this now?"
I sat
back in my chair, fighting the urge to lash out.
"If
not now, when? You're the one who
brought it up,
Scully. You're the one who wanted to tell me how
important
it is that you leave the X-files."
"This
has nothing to do with Emily, Mulder."
She
said that, so clearly, and the tone of her voice
told me
who it was really about. Me. Once again.
This is
what it always came down to, with Colton,
with
Reggie, with Diana . . . Once again I had fucked
up, and
this time it was about to cost me the only
person
who had ever made me work to be better.
*****
He
leaned back in his chair, pulling a thick three-ring
binder
from the shelf behind him, one eye on the
screen. The FLIR camera left a lot to be
desired--his
subject
were little more than grey outlines, shadows
in
shadows--but it was the only technology that
would
should anything besides blobs. And the
directional
audio in the bed frame was working
perfectly.
He
pulled the binder onto his lap and opened it to the
tab
marked August '98. He flipped through
the pages,
scanning
endless blurry grey toned photos. Ahh .
. . there
they
were. Taken from a camera hidden in the
peephole
of
apartment forty-six, one picture every half second. They
were
hazy and obscure, warped by the camouflaging glass
of the
peephole, but he had clearly been leaning in to
kiss
her.
He
flipped through the pages several times, like a kid
flipping
through a book of stick drawings, making a
stop-frame
movie in which Mulder's face bobbed
from
her forehead to her lips and back again.
He
closed his eyes for a second, imagining himself in
that
hallway, feeling Agent Scully's breath on his
face, her
hands on his sides . . . it had been a long
time.
It had
been a long time.
He
glanced up at the FLIR screen. They
were still
talking,
both of them with their arms folded across
their
chests like teenagers. They couldn't
even see
each
other and they were still in sync.
"Just
kiss her," he growled at the screen.
*****
If she
had possessed any doubt about the impact of
her
words, he erased it with his bitter tone.
She
leaned
forward, reaching in the darkness for his
hand. She encountered the soft hair at the back of
his
neck instead, and drew back for a moment.
Then
she
reached out again and let her hand rest there.
"Mulder,"
she said.
No
answer.
"Mulder,
why don't we talk about this later.
Under
better
circumstances."
She
felt his head jerk away from her hand, and she
was
grateful for the darkness, for not having to look
into
his face and see the hurt etched there under the
skin. She ran her fingers through the short hair
at
his
nape. He was angry, she supposed, but
she
couldn't
do anything about it now.
"You
sleeping in that chair tonight?" she asked. He
wouldn't,
Scully thought, not after what she had
said. Mulder would go to what had been her room
and
leave her alone in the dark to feel awful about
threatening
to leave him.
"Yeah."
She
could handle the guilt incurred by her desire to
quit
the X-files, and the burden she shouldered in
revealing
her intentions to him, but this was too
much,
and too silly. She wouldn't hurt him
and then
leave
him to sleep in a cheap plastic chair at her
side,
like a bad dog. She had had enough,
enough of
Mulder's
pathetic "I'm so alone" act, and enough of
her own
resistance to it.
"Come
on." She slid her hand to his arm and tugged
gently
on it. She knew if the lights were on
he'd have
lifted
his head and stared her down, but he didn't
have
that opportunity. For once she was
calling the
shots. She tugged again. "Come here, Mulder."
She
released his arm after he started to crawl up
onto
the bed, relieved that for the moment it was
over.
*****end
04/10*****
You
know you want to--