A Record of This Time
By Shoshana

Mulder, this is a record of this time, a time you will have no
cogent memory of, I'm sure. I'm recording my journey, my quest for a
cure for your apparent madness. I am on a flight to the Ivory Coast,
to follow the evidence, follow the artifact. I am alone in my path
now, armed only with the knowledge Dr. Sandoz imparted to me before
the sound of gunfire took his life. I will use my science to find
your cure, as I meet you halfway this time, unable to ignore what I
have seen in the last few days. I won't close my mind to this. I am
the only one who believes you, and you know it, and you will never
forget it.

I could not tell you where I was going or for how long. You
collapsed in a heap at the sound of my voice through the grate in the
door. You permitted the attendants to restrain you in a chair,
still grimacing from the cacophony of sound in your head. Your fists
tightened into balls, your whole body tensed against the bonds at
your wrists and ankles. I could not leave without seeing you, but it
made my heart weep to see you like this.

I spoke to you softly, bending down near your ear, telling you that
it would be all right, that I was going to get you out of there soon.
It was not an empty promise. I will be back soon, and you will get
out of there. I didn't explain any details. A drowning man need not
know what color his life preserver is, what materials it is composed
of. You just needed to know that I had not abandoned you, that you
had a friend around you, not false friends with their own agenda.

You continued to contort your face in pain, still unable to shake
off the headache, the harsh din of sounds sweeping through your
troubled mind. I stroked your temples, I tried to soothe the anguish
away and you relaxed perceptibly while I whispered to you that I
would be back, I would never let you stay there forever. You nodded
and began to say something, so I knelt down to your cheek and you
said "Scully, Scully come back. Come back." I assured you I would,
speaking in low tones, turning away from the ever present cameras on
the wall.

I looked into your dilated eyes, result of the numerous drugs pumped
into you, meant to restrain you, to control your apparent insanity.
I knew better. I could see that you were still inside those eyes,
helpless against whatever force was causing disharmony in your mind,
torment to both body and soul. You asked me to bend to your ear once
more and your throat, sore from screaming, scratches out one more
message, soft and low, "Trust only yourself, Scully. Only yourself."
And then, even softer, "Come back to me, Scully. Come back to me."

You seemed exhausted. Your brief respite from pacing, yelling at
those four padded walls, allowed the drugs to kick in. I knew you
would not remain that way long, and I knew I had to leave, so I
kissed your forehead and smoothed your unruly hair back. You were
losing consciousness, so I leaned close to your ear, one last time,
and said, "I'll be back, Mulder. I'll be back very soon." I
motioned for the orderly, watched as you lapsed into a dreamless
sleep, then I strode purposefully out of the room. Neither Skinner,
nor Diana were in sight, allowing me a few minutes to consult with
your doctor and leave my cell phone number. I am still listed as
your next of kin and I'll damned if they make any decisions
concerning your treatment while I'm gone.

So I am on the plane now, Mulder, flying thousands of miles away to
follow the evidence, trace the origin of our woe. Someday I will let
you read this, someday when our lives, hazardous as they are, are not
made even more so by lies and deception. This will not break us,
we're too strong together to allow that. Whatever I find in Africa,
no matter how infinitesimal, I will bring it back for you. I will
always come back for you.

fin

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