Title: The Marriage of True Minds Author: Kelly Keil Classification: S, A, MSR Rating: PG-13 Distribution: Archive anywhere, please just keep my info intact Disclaimer: These guys aren't mine, as nice as that would be. They belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. I just occasionally borrow them and show them a good time. Summary: All Mulder wants is one last chance to get it right. Author notes: This was in response to a challenge on the Neophyte Mailing List by Aurora. Thanks for the idea! Thanks also to Sabine, for her support. Feedback: Is appreciated and will be answered. Send to Kellylynn73@comcast.net. ****************************************** The Marriage of True Minds by Kelly Keil He's always, always in my mind; not as a pleasure to myself, but as my own being. Emily Bronte, from Wuthering Heights The paper floats, onionskin thin, on my fingertips. I can see through it now, both literally and figuratively. At first I thought it was a genii in a bottle, but now I see it was nothing but a monkey's paw. Through it, I learned the truth about my sister and my own childhood, for all the good it did me. Because of it I managed to save the whole fucking world, for all the thanks I received. I used this paper--this rubbing, this artifact, this relic, this bane--and it in turn used me. As it became thinner, so did my soul. The paper now is so thin that it nearly wafts away as I breathe on it. My life has disappeared with it. Knowledge is a dangerous thing. From the very beginning Scully warned me not to use the rubbing. She was worried only for my physical self, but her fears were nevertheless well grounded. Drunk on God-like power I ignored her misgivings. What was science compared with this? In the end she vanished as well. Lost in my own universe, I didn't realize she was gone until it was too late. The day she transferred away from the X-files was the day I put this Godforsaken talisman away. There was only a sliver of it left--this piece of gossamer that I now hold carefully, like one holds a butterfly. Or a bomb. It has one wish/curse left. This is my last chance, and I know it. I've been missing a large part of my humanity since I started using this thing, and I am desperate to get it back. A desperate man will do just about anything. I grit my teeth and open my mind. I call to her; sing her name; scream my need. My apartment is silent but the air reverberates around me in ripples. Let this work, please, this one last time. Let her hear me. ************* Dana is as fragile as porcelain. I don't know if any of the others notice, but if they do, no one mentions it. We have wrapped her in satin and silk, gauze and lace, ribbons and roses, like one wraps a precious teacup before packing it away. One careless word and she might shatter. I am doing my make-up in front of the large gilt mirror on the wall of the church reception room. I wonder how many brides have been here before. I wonder how many were as close to the breaking point as Dana is. I can see her behind me, reflected in the mirror. She isn't crying--she never does, as far as I can tell. It would be out of character for her to do so now, but there is a stillness to her features that I find upsetting. She is holding herself in check with every ounce of willpower she has. She is doing this for the wrong reasons, and I think she knows it. She is confusing love with practicality; romance with comfort. I give this marriage five years or less, even though I would never tell her that in a million years, although maybe I should. I wish that I had the courage to try and end this thing, but I am caught as surely as she is. What would people say? And besides, I've invested nearly a thousand dollars in this fiasco, between the dress I'll never wear again, uncomfortable shoes, elaborate hairstyle, presents, the stripper hired for her party--the list goes on and on. My husband would kill me if he found out I sabotaged this wedding. I imagine Dana might feel the same way I do, only to a much greater extent. How do you stop a juggernaut like a wedding? Certainly there is no pretty way to do it. So instead of telling Dana to run while she still can, I adjust my dress to fit more squarely on my shoulders and go over to where she is standing to embrace her. "You look beautiful, Dana." Dana smiles at me. "So do you." "Are you almost ready?" "I suppose so, Jen. I--" She breaks off and her eyes go wide. I whirl around to look behind me and see nothing there to incite that sort of reaction. "Dana, are you all right?" "I need some air," she murmurs, and rushes out of the room. Her mother stares after her. "Dana, where are you going?" she calls, but Dana does not stop. Maggie looks at me helplessly. The two of them have been sniping at each other all day, and I think Maggie is afraid she'll make things worse. "I'll go to her," I say, and I leave the room, trying not to totter on my too-high heels. ************** I'm discovered by one of my bridesmaids as I stand in the corridor by an open window. I wish Keith and I had just gone to the courthouse to do this like I wanted. I never desired all this, but somehow it has been foisted upon me. My small, simple wedding has become an all out event. Maybe what I'm feeling is just stage fright. Still, why would I hear *his* voice in my head? It's not second thoughts, it can't be. It must be performance jitters. Soon all the eyes will be on me and I hate that. "Are you okay?" "I'm fine, Jen," I say, repeating my eternal litany that really means, "Leave me alone, don't get too close, I can take care of myself." "Dana, you're as white as a ghost." "I just needed a breath of fresh air. The perfume in there was too much." "You're not having second thoughts, are you?" "No, of course not. Why would I be having second thoughts?" Good question. Why indeed? "You are sure you want to do this." Her statement is almost a question. Of course I'm sure. I love Keith. He's a wonderful man. We'll be very happy together. "Don't be silly, Jen. I'm just nervous, that's all." Shut up, Goddammit! I cringe inwardly for taking the Lord's name in vain in a church of all places. I make a mental note to add it to the list of sins that I need to confess. I forcibly clamp down on all thoughts of Mulder. I've managed not to think of him through sheer dint of will for nearly three years. Why can't I seem to do so today of all days? I haven't been Scully for so long. Whenever I am addressed as Ms. Scully, my first response is to say, "Please call me Dana." I am Dana now. Soon I will not have Scully even for a last name. I will be Dana Moore, a whole new person. Mom sticks her head out of the door. "Are you ready, Dana? It's almost time." I bite back the urge to snap at her. This wedding has made me a teenager again: sulky and insolent. I have an irrational need to push her buttons. If I had a cigarette, I'd smoke it, if only because I know it would upset her. I can't wait until this is over and all the arguments over china and dresses and banquet halls can be forgotten. All I want is a normal life. If I have to go through all of this to get it, then so be it. I take a deep breath. "I'm ready." She turns back to the people inside the reception room. "I hope everyone's ready because the show is starting." My stomach lurches. Please don't let me throw up. Please don't-- My stomach gives another lurch and I bolt for the restroom. I make it only as far as the sink before vomiting. I wish the voice would go away. I feel feverish and shaky so I run water to wash my mouth and dab at my face. I've ruined my make-up and I try to fix it with trembling hands. Mom's going to love this. I guess the parade will have to be delayed a little longer. "Dana, honey, what's the matter?" my mother asks. I turn around and she enfolds me into her arms. "This is supposed to be the happiest day of your life and you're miserable. I felt the same way when I married your father. I threw up before walking down the aisle too. Everyone said that I was doing the wrong thing and that I was fool, but I went ahead and married him anyway, because deep inside it felt right. Your father and I were very happy despite our differences. I wish he could be here to see how beautiful you are today." Her eyes cloud with tears. "I'm sure Keith will make you every bit as happy as your father made me." Mom helps me to fix my face then herds me out of the bathroom. I know this dance we are about to do by heart and my mind wanders as we line up in our places. No one told me not to marry Keith. In fact, everyone told me I should marry him. He makes me feel safe and secure. I want to add that he makes me happy, but I have to be honest with myself. I'm not happy. I'm content, though, and that will have to be enough. I resist the urge to turn around. He's not beside me. I left him behind years ago when he stopped being a man and tried to be a god, and ended up as a monster. I tried to save him but failed. I failed him and myself. I couldn't bear to witness his destruction so I fled to safety and normalcy and sanity. I wanted to learn the truth as much as Mulder, if not more, but the price he paid was too high. There are secrets better left in the dark. I have learned this, if nothing else. It is my turn to walk down the isle. Bill takes my arm to lead me to my future husband. I am struck by the unreality of the situation. It feels all wrong. The man waiting for me should be taller, somehow. His hair should be darker. He turns as we approach and his eyes should be hazel, not brown. Bill stops as we reach the spot where Keith stands, waiting. I dutifully kiss his cheek and he puts my hand in Keith's outstretched one. I begin to smile. I can do this after all. I shout in my mind. I have stopped questioning Mulder's presence in my head. He's using his accursed power on me this time. I know everyone is staring at me but I don't care. I turn toward the priest, as I am supposed to, but this insane conversation continues. "Dana, repeat after me. I Dana..." "I Dana..." His scream reverberates in my head and I clutch my temples. The force of his agony rings through my mind. I am killing him. He is killing me. Damn him for doing this. I can't take this torment and I begin to quiver as his pain lashes me. In response all I can feel is nothing. I wonder if he is gone for good. I open my eyes. I feel the eyes of everyone in the church bore through my back. They all wish they had a better view of this near disaster. I look at Keith. "I'm sorry. It was just a dizzy spell, I guess." Keith reaches out to take my hand. "Dana, I can't do this." "What?" "I can't. I don't love you. I don't think you love me. It isn't fair to either of us to do this. I think we'll end up regretting it." What the hell just happened? Have I missed something? I feel cheated somehow. Here I was, about to make the ultimate sacrifice, when the moment is snatched from my grasp. I reflect on these thoughts. Keith is right. So was Mulder, for that matter. Still, that doesn't stop my flare of anger. I am being left at the alter. "Keith--" He squeezes my hand. "Someday you'll thank me." He turns to address the congregation. "Everyone, we're very sorry, but Dana and I have decided to reconsider this. Please feel free to go to the reception, though. It's all paid for, so you might as well enjoy it." I think of the crab puffs and veal marsala and feel ill again. The people in the pews murmur among themselves. This will be a great story to tell at the office on Monday. I've become an anecdote. Lovely. "Dana, I'm sorry. Do you forgive me?" "Of course," I murmur somehow. "Of course." For lack of anything better to do, I shake his hand. The sense of unreality I had before has returned. No response. He's gone, I guess. I turn to my maid of honor and she hugs me hard, trying to give comfort. I cry all the tears I've held back, ruining the dress she will never wear again. Somehow this makes me cry harder and I don't resist when I am led from the alter and away from all of the staring eyes. ************* I wanted to run after Scully the day I learned she was marrying another man but my running days are long over. I have a souvenir of my search for truth, justice, and aliens--my foot, or rather, what's left of it. I can walk, which is something, albeit with a limp. I am no longer the dashing young agent I once was. I use a cane to help me walk, and I suppose the cane is somewhat dashing. It makes me romantic, I think, like the hero in a gothic novel. It makes my memories of being tortured almost bearable. I don't mind, not really. Well, actually, I do, but I pretend otherwise. I tell myself I don't miss the road and the seedy hotels. I've found all the truth I needed to find. I'm better off the way I am. Some days I believe this. I teach now. I share, as much as I can, my secrets of mind and psyche with these young men and women who are so eager to uphold the laws of this country. In my spare time I write. It takes up my time, which is a mercy. I've had numerous articles and two slim volumes dealing with aberrant psychology published under my own name, but I wonder what Scully would think if she knew that I'm about to have a novel published. It is under a nom de plume, of course, but I think that Scully might see herself in its pages should she ever chance to read it. She would see me as well. In my novel we end up together. I've already started writing another, and in this one we will also not screw everything up. At least not forever. By the last page we will have gotten it right, finally. On paper we will live happily ever after. This is my world now: teaching, writing, and physical therapy. My life is not the exciting thing it once was. I wonder if what I said to Scully could be true--perhaps next time we will get it right. In the meantime, I write books about what should have been. It will have to do. There is a knock on my door and I am startled. My heart leaps, as it always does. Scully? No, of course not. It's never Scully, as much as I want it to be. The rubbing showed me the last glimpse of Scully that I'm ever likely to see. My wish was indeed a curse after all. I struggle to get up, wondering where the damn cane is. I swear it has legs. The knocking becomes insistent. "I'm coming, I'm coming," I croak. It is Sunday and I haven't spoken since Friday. I've got to get out more. Maybe go see a movie. "Keep your pants on." I fumble with the locks and open the door. It is Scully. It really is. I clutch my cane, glad for its support. Without it I would have surely tumbled to the floor. "Well," she asks, after I make no move at all, "aren't you going to invite me in?" ************* I am shocked by what I see but I try not to show it. I can hardly believe that this shadow is the Mulder I left behind. I notice the cane and look down. His feet are bare and I see that most of his right foot is missing. I can't stop the shudder that runs through me. Skinner told me what happened to him, but somehow it didn't seem real until now. Mulder sees what I'm looking at and shuffles so the mutilated foot is behind the other. "Come in," he says in a voice barely above a whisper. He looks at me like I am a dream. He closes the door then turns around slowly. We look at each other awkwardly I am the first to break the trance we are caught in. I walk slowly toward Mulder and hold his face in my hands. He is thinner than I remember. "You look like hell, Mulder." "Thanks, I missed you too." He pulls back from me and makes his way to his couch. Nothing here has changed at all. I almost feel like I've stepped back in time. "Come on, sit down. Tell me...everything," he says. "It's good to see you again." Seeing you again, Mulder, is painful. I should know better than to open old wounds but I had to see you again. I had to know if is indeed too late. Somehow I think I was given a second chance. I just don't know where to start. "When's the last time you ate anything?" "Beats me. Sometimes when I write I forget to eat." "You're a writer now, Mulder? I heard that you were teaching at Quantico." "I still do. The writing is more like a hobby." "I'd love to see what you've written." Mulder looks momentarily panicked. "Or maybe not." "No. You can read it after we eat. What sounds good to you?" "Thai. I haven't had Thai in ages." "Thai it is." Mulder picks up his phone and begins dialing. I sit on his couch and think that this is the best I've felt in a long time. Here, in Mulder's musty apartment, I feel like I've come home. *************** We talk for hours before I feel brave enough to give her the novel. I sit in front of my computer and type furiously, trying my best to ignore her. We have been very casual about this, but inside me is a mass of churning insects. We have gone from estrangement to close friends in just a few hours. We have slipped into our old relationship like you slip into an old bathrobe. It isn't enough for me anymore. I wanted to see her again so much that I was willing to use that cursed piece of paper for one last time. Now that she's come back, against all logic, I find that I want more after all. I saw into her mind for one brief, breathtaking moment, and I wish I could do it again. I would give almost anything to know what she is thinking right now. I force myself to be patient. Maybe after she's read my novel. Maybe then I can tell her what I feel. I wake when her hand touches my head. I have fallen asleep in front of my computer; not for the first time, either. I look at Scully and see her face is distraught. "What is it?" There are tears in her eyes. I try to think when was the last time I saw Scully cry. I can't remember. She unexpectedly comes and curls up in my lap. I am stunned but not stupid--I hold her and ask her again to tell me what's wrong. "I just...I just want to know where it all went wrong. I want things to be like they were in your story, Mulder. I know that's impossible, but..." "You just want a normal life, with a husband and two point three children and a dog and a cat. You want what everybody wants." "Not the cat. I don't like cats." "Fine, no cat. Scully, I can't promise you the American dream, but I do love you. Stay. Stay here with me." "And if I leave?" "If you want to go then I can't stop you, but another part of me will die when you leave. I don't have too many more parts you can kill off before there's nothing left of me. I know I'm asking a lot from you. It's just that I can't lose you again. Not when I've been given a second chance." Scully slips from my embrace and walks about my apartment. "I already decided, before I came here, that I would come back to DC. I don't want to live in Charleston anymore. Everywhere I go people ask me what happened with Keith. I can't take it anymore, but I hate to think that I always run from my problems, so I have decided to run back to one." She takes a deep breath. "I've been offered a new position with the FBI." "Slicing and dicing?" "Yes, as you so charmingly put it, and for nearly twice what I was making working for the medical examiner in Charleston. I suspect Skinner was involved somehow." "He always did have a soft spot for you." "Actually, Mulder, I think he's worried about you." "What?" "He told me you were here living in an ivalid-ish state." "I'm crippled, not an invalid." Scully winces but forges on. "He thinks you need someone to take care of you." "So you are going to be my nurse now? Feed me and give me baths?" "What do you want from me, then? To stay here but watch you waste away to nothing?" "I want you to be my wife, dammit!" I explode. This was not how I pictured proposing to Scully. I have conjured up dozens of different scenarios, but none of them went quite like that. "Mulder?" "I'm sorry, Scully. I shouldn't have said that." "No, no. Say it again." "I want you to be my wife, dammit?" "Try it without the dammit." "I want you to be my wife." "Okay." Okay was also not a response I had envisioned. I, however, am not picky. I will take what I can get. Still, an imp that cannot be squashed completely prompts me to say, "Are you sure?" "Same old Mulder. Some things never change. Didn't anyone ever tell you not to look a gift horse in the mouth? Let's take a page from your own book, Mulder, and try to be happy. Hell, statistics say that we'll probably fail, but let's at least try." "No big wedding, though," I joke. I don't need to read her mind to know that this is exactly what she's thinking. "A man after my own heart," she says, and kisses me softly on the lips. The End Hope you liked it. Feedback can be sent to kellylynn73@comcast.net. I promise that if you send me a message I'll reply. Kelly