Category:  Story, MSR, Angst/NC-17
The characters portrayed in this fanfic belong to Chris Carter and
1013 Productions.  No copyright infringement is intended and no money
may be made from this work.
Spoilers:  None.
Archiving:  Do NOT forward to ATXC/Archive anywhere, keep my name &
email attached please.
Note:  This fanfic is loosely based on  the film "The Dead  Zone".

TITLE:  EMPATHY
Author:  by syn
Feedback:  All comments welcome.  Send to synnerx@yahoo.com

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fox Mulder was going to take his time tonight.

Because he had time.  All the time in the world was at his fingertips
this evening, as he sat in Dana Scully's apartment, her perfume still
lingering in the air surrounding him.  She herself was drifting around
him, from room to room, taking care of tiny tasks, small items of
interest, before sitting beside him and taking his lips beneath her own.

His breath caught in his throat as she straddled his hips, her body
moving against his, her fingers kneading through his hair.  He made no
move to turn the tables on her, to push her onto her back or perhaps
to the floor beneath them, but instead, lie back and allowed her to do
as she would.

She took the lead willing and he found himself on his back, the soft
cushions of the couch supporting both of them, with her lips and hands
taking what they desired.  Everything became hot at once, the couch,
the room, the very air itself almost burned his lungs when he gulped
for breath.

But Scully allowed him no respite, and she claimed him that night as
she had for the previous six, and the six months before that. 
Mulder's hips bucked as her mouth took him in, without warning or
delicacy, and the sensations of warm rivers and dire love permeated him.

Life was too good. It worried him during the moments without her, but
with her, he'd finally accepted that happiness was a possible
component of existence, an extreme possibility even in the most
extenuating circumstances.  Their partnership, their fight, had not
been diluted or weakened by their coupling, as they both had feared it
might be, but had become surprisingly strong in its aftermath.

He was too screwed up.  She was too demanding.  And it shouldn't have
worked.

Not in a million years.

But...somehow...it did.

And Mulder wasn't going to question it.  Not now, with Scully giving
herself, her very core to him, with complete trust.  He cried out as
she lowered herself upon him, and soon, he forgot his pain.  There was
nothing left but heat and sweet water, and when she lowered her head
to his chest, he thought he heard her heart beating in the space
between her ragged breaths.

Oh, life...life.  You are too good to me, he thought.

Scully looked up at him and he wondered at the depths of a singular
pair of very blue eyes.  "Was that all right?" she asked, her fingers
entwining with his.  She kissed his chest.  "I should have asked
before I did that, I suppose."

Mulder smiled, a small, secret grin they shared.  "Well, too late now.
 But yes, it was all right.  It was much better than all right, but if
that's all you want to know..."

"Mulder, did you hear that Whitnall is transferring?" she asked, as
she rose and arranged her clothing back to some semblance of order. 
She'd become Bureau business again, as she often did after their
lovemaking, and he'd accepted it as part of her ways.

"No," he replied, taking her fingers away from the buttons of her
blouse.  He popped open the first one.  The worm is turning, he
thought, as he slowly opened each one as she hovered above him looking
as an angel from an ancient painting.  "Why is he leaving?"

"I'm not sure, Marcal told me on Tuesday, and I...oh," she murmured as
his hands kneaded her breasts.  "Oh god, Mulder."

"Mmmm," he replied, his mouth suddenly upon the hard center of her
nipple.  He felt with joy her slow release of inhibition and when he
rose to take her as she'd him, there was no more talk of the mundane
things that surrounded them.  He took her with his hands, his mouth
and his soul, and Scully cried after it was done, with tears of
happiness and disbelief.

Afterwards they crept to the bedroom and talked for another hour
before succumbing to sleep.  Scully lay her head upon Mulder's chest
and he wrapped her against him, happy in the safety...the warmth of
her body.

When Mulder awoke the next morning Scully was still in his arms and
the sun was shining brightly.  He lay still, listening to her
breathing, then shifted anxiously.  He wanted to get up, he had
routines that he still couldn't abandon, so he slipped out from
beneath her and went to the bathroom. He grabbed the running shoes
he'd brought over in his overnight bag and silently laced them up.
Bending over Scully's sleeping form, he gently kissed her forehead.

"Be back in a little while," he whispered against her ear before
walking out of the door and into the place beyond hearing, light or
hope.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fox Mulder opened his eyes as he'd done every morning for as long as
he could remember.

He saw white ceiling above him and it didn't surprise him.  He was in
a silent room, the decor unknown, but so peaceful it seemed almost a
dream, so he paid it little mind.  He viewed with interest the
crucifix on the wall to his left, the sagging and bleeding Christ
standing out from his surroundings.  There was an unused fireplace in
the room and the sunlight appeared a very bright white upon dull
stucco walls.  Everything around him was some shade of white and he
wondered at it. The linens on his bed were crisp to his touch and he
was very warm.

And he lay there for hours, thinking, but not moving.

When the door to the room finally opened and a woman walked in, also
dressed in crisp and flawless white, he accepted her as part of his
surroundings, not quite willing to question his dream just yet.  She
busied herself about him, paying him no mind, until she finally
hovered over him like an automaton, shaking linens and tucking
blankets as if by rote.

He finally caught her eye when she pulled his blanket down.

"Hello?" he said, more of a question then a greeting.

She dropped the pillowcase that was draped over her arm, her mouth
moving silently, but frantically, as though she'd been saved from
drowning and was now gulping for air.  She backed away slowly and then
stumbled to the door, gaping still.

"Doctor!" she cried out, gasping, perhaps crying or even laughing. 
"Doctor!"

She ran out the door. "He speaks!" she screamed and her voice echoed
down the hallways. "He speaks!"

~~~~~~~~~~

"Hello," said the man in white.

"Hello," replied Mulder politely.  "Who are you?"

"That's very good.  Can you tell me how many fingers I have up?"

"Three.  Who the hell are you?"

"That's very good.  What's your name?"

"Fox William Mulder.  I can't feel my knees, you know."

"That's very possible.  Anything is possible at this point.  I'd like
you to stay awake for the next few hours if possible.  Perhaps I can
play some music for you?  Do you like music?"

"Or my feet.  I can't feel my feet.  I like music.  Why can't I feel
my feet?"

"I have Bach here.  I wouldn't worry too much about numbness or pain
right now.  Either is miraculous.  Let me play you a symphony.  This
one is particularly soothing, I always find."

"This is a dream, isn't it?"

"There.  Symphony in D Minor, Opus 5.  See how soft the music is?  But
don't sleep just yet.  We'll talk if you like.  But no sleeping."

"But I'm already asleep.  I'm dreaming.  Aren't I?"

"As you say. But please, don't close your eyes."


~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her hair was much longer than it was the day before.

Mulder stared at Scully, at auburn locks that brushed way beneath her
shoulder blades, when just a few hours before they had barely reached
the nape of her neck.  How odd, he thought, but decided to pay it no
mind.  He still wasn't sure if he were in a dream, a strange sleeping
fantasy, so he remained silent on matters of appearance.

Instead, Mulder concentrated on the textures and sounds that
surrounded him, the whites, the linens and the music that played
softly behind his head without end.  He waited to hear Scully's voice,
a pretty word or two from lips he'd missed even in this short time,
the time of his waking dream. But he waited in vain.

For Scully would not speak.

She refused him any words, refused to meet his eyes, but continued to
stare somewhere beyond him, behind him, to the side, anywhere but
directly at him.  Mulder remained perfectly still as she twisted in
her seat, uncomfortable and stiff.

"What's wrong, Scully?  This color washes me out doesn't it?" he said,
trying to joke, but she turned white at the sound of his voice.

He tried again.  "What's wrong, Scully?"

She shook her head, two quick, sharp motions to each side, her hand
raised as if to silence him.  He watched as her fingers trembled
before him, her eyes darting through the colorless room.

"What's wrong, Scully?" he repeated, wondering if in dreams you had to
say all things three times.

He saw her eyes catch sight of the crucifix and finally saw her lips
move with small trembling vibrations.  "You had an accident, Mulder,"
she said, staring at a dying man, clothed in thorns.  "Didn't they
tell you?"

"They only tell me not to sleep.  Last time I was in the hospital,
that's all they told me to do.  Is this a new sort of therapy for
accident victims?  So, what's happened to me, Scully?  I think I've
forgotten."

"You were hit by a car when you left my house that morning.  I had
just made breakfast for you when I received the call.  I think I made
pancakes." replied Scully, her voice fading.  "Or waffles..."

"That morning. But, Scully how long ago was that?  Last week?  And
what kind of hospital is this?  Have I been here long?  You call it
that morning, Scully. How long could I have been here...a month?  Two
months?" he asked, a strange knot of fear tightening in his chest.

"Five years," she replied dully.

Five years, he thought.

Why that's not that long, is it?  What would that be? Two thousand
days?  Forty-four thousand hours?  When you look at it like that, it's
not so long, is it?  And if you multiply it into minutes, seconds
even, and think about how quickly such things can pass, it's not long
at all.

Is it?  But, as he felt hopeful, Scully began to cry.

"God gave you back to me," she sobbed, still staring out in the
distance, one hand twisting through her hair, the other covering her
mouth.  "But I wasn't prepared.  Forgive me, Mulder.  I'm sorry. I'm
so sorry."

"But Scully, it's not so bad now is it?" asked Mulder, his dry mouth
suddenly making it very difficult to speak.  "Is it that long?"

"I wasn't prepared.  I never expected it.  God forgive me, but I never
thought you'd wake up."  And her voice trailed off, the sobs taking
the stead of words. She got up and quickly fled the room, one hand
still clenched in her now long hair.

Mulder stared after her as she went and wondered why she was crying so
loudly.  It wasn't so bad.  Five years gone from his life...from their
life.  Only five years.

It wasn't so bad.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The doctor returned later that afternoon with two assistants.

"My name is Dr. Hubert Weiss," he said to Mulder brightly.  "And you,
Mr. Mulder, are going to be my greatest achievement.  Now, we are
going to sit you up."

Mulder stared at him, at the round face and large eyes underneath two
small circles of glass.  "I don't think I want to sit up.  Why have I
been here for five years?  Why didn't you tell me?  And why can't I
feel my feet?"

The doctor merely smiled.  "I like all these questions.  It shows
ambition.  Now, I want you to prepare to sit, by breathing deeply and
exhaling as we pull you up."

"WHAT HAPPENED TO ME?!" Mulder screamed and the assistants flinched at
the sound.  The center had always been such a quiet place.

"You've been in non-responsive coma for five years, Mr. Mulder, after
a nearly fatal car accident.  You were placed here for maintenance,
once it was determined that you could breath on your own. You've been
feed intravenously during this time and are experiencing muscular
atrophy due to your inactivity for that time.  Does this make any
sense to you?"

"No," replied Mulder, slowly.  "No, it does not."

"Well, life is like that occasionally, Mr. Mulder," replied the
doctor.  "Every day things happen that make no sense at all. But that
doesn't mean we shouldn't continue on with it, does it now?  That's
why I'm here.  Since you have come back to life, we must bring your
body back up to speed.  I know it can be done, and I know you'll want
to do it.  Don't you, Mr. Mulder?"

"No," repeated Mulder, staring at the ceiling.  "I don't think I do."

The doctor shrugged.  "You have no choice, my poor friend.  You are
fated to live.  So, live you must.  Now, prepare yourself as best you
can, as we will raise you up today and tomorrow and the day after
that, until you have reached your potential range of motion.  Take a
breath, Mr. Mulder, a deep one," he said, as the assistants grasped
Mulder by both arms and slowly pulled him forward.

Mulder saw the pain, the tiny white flashes behind his eyes before he
felt it.  Then the fire began, screaming through his arms and back,
his lungs convulsing for air at the mere act of sitting up.  He tried
to scream, but no sound would come out.  He was afraid of this pain,
but even more frightening was its absence, especially below his waist.

The blood began to drain from his face, capillaries shrinking and
collapsing, gravity working in a different way on them for the first
time in five years.  Mulder heard the roar of his heartbeat in his
ears and a protest of balance, making the room swirl in colors and
flashes of bright light against the white.  He tried again to speak,
to cry, to scream, but his lungs refused him the air he needed for the
effort.

So he stayed still, until they slowly lowered him back onto the bed
and the room began to twirl, finally sharpening into one point of black.

"Very good.  Excellent.  Tomorrow we'll try that for thirty seconds,"
said Dr. Weiss, his voice fading into the darkness.  "In a few weeks,
we'll work our way toward a minute."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was spring when Mulder realized that he couldn't walk.

"It's the atrophy, Mr. Mulder," Dr. Weiss told him. "I'm afraid you
weren't exercised properly in this facility, but to be honest, no one
expected you to ever regain consciousness.  There is still a good
possibility for improvement though, you must be patient.  Until then,
we'll teach you the use of a wheelchair."

It was two weeks later before he saw Scully again.

Mulder had rolled the wheelchair over to the bay windows downstairs
and sat staring at the slightly greener world outside.  Scully sat to
his left, her entire body sunken into a black leather sofa, her face
pale and thin.

"Your mother passed away two years ago," she began.  "As your legal
next of kin, I became executor of your estate which consisted of all
three houses and the surrounding property.  I sold Chillmark last year
to support your care here."

"How did she die?" Mulder asked, watching a small robin search for
sustenance.

"Stroke," replied Scully calmly, her dark clothing giving the illusion
of her sinking even further into the couch's depths.  "It was
catastrophic.  There was no visible pain."

No visible pain.  "I see," he replied.

"Cancerman is also dead," continued Scully quietly.  "He was found
floating in the Reflecting Pool by the Washington Monument six months
after your accident.  His name and identity are still unknown."

Mulder almost laughed.  "There goes the whole family."

"What?"

"Nothing.  And my work?  What happened to that?"

Scully sat up, rising from the sofa's depths.  "I continued that.  The
X-Files are still open.  And will remain so for the foreseeable future."

Something inside of Mulder sparked.  "You kept them open, Scully? 
Why?  Don't tell me you thought I'd come back and ask where my
werewolf file was, did you?"

"No," replied Scully, slowly.  "The X-Files were kept open because I
felt there were valid reasons to keep it active as a fully functioning
department of the Bureau."

"You have to be kidding."

Scully's eyes narrowed slightly.  "No, I'm not.  There were still
certain...questions...that were left unanswered in the wake of our
previous investigations, and it appeared the deeper Agent Tate and I
searched..."

"Agent Tate?" asked Mulder sharply.  "And who would that be?"

"Special Agent William Tate. My assistant."

"My replacement, you mean."

Scully took a deep breath.  "No, in reality, he was my replacement.  I
took over the supervisory duties and he was brought in to assist me. 
But I was department head, if not in name, certainly in spirit."

"You have an amazing way with words Scully," replied Mulder. 
"Amazing."  He turned the wheelchair around to face her.  "Tell me
something, Dana."

"Yes?" she replied, her pale cheek turned toward him.

"A very short time ago, a short time ago for myself at least, I was a
whole man who had a life, a career and a woman whom he loved.  Are any
of these things left?"

"You have two properties left, some soluble investments and Skinner is
still in the Assistant Director's chair.  I believe that you'll able
to start anew without too many obstacles besides your physical ones."

"OK.  That's my life and my career.  But yet..."

"I am not currently free, Mulder," she replied, blue eyes suddenly
burning into his own dark ones, with a strange shine.  "I'm sorry, but
surely you didn't expect me to be..."

"You don't have to give me the rehearsed speech, Scully.  I
understand," he said, turning back toward the window.  "But, I'm sure
you understand that what is five years to you, is almost yesterday to
me."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.  "I'm so very sorry."

"So am I," he replied calmly.  "But I plan on living, you know. I no
longer wish for the void."

"I'm glad to hear that, Mulder.  So glad," Scully said, her voice
breaking.  "And if there's anything I can do..."

"No," replied Mulder, wheeling back, away from the sunlight.  "Not
really."

He wheeled his chair away without another word.

~~~~~~~~~~~~
continued in EMPATHY 2/5
by syn
synnerx@yahoo.com



EMPATHY 2/5 by syn
All disclaimers in Part One
synnerx@yahoo.com

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night Mulder dreamt of all four elements.

He dreamt of water, very cold and suffocating, surrounding him with
dark whirlpools, without a shore in sight.  He was floating, but
around him lay broken bodies, strange floating creatures and unknown
ships passing by in the distance.

He dreamt of earth, cool and smothering, falling over him in great
tons of black walls, burying him alive as he screamed.  He could feel
the great weight of it pressing on his chest and legs as he sunk
deeper into its never ending depths.

He dreamt of fire, very hot and choking, billows of smoke blinding him
as he flailed.  The walls that surrounded him were made of flame, and
they blinded him with their brightness, their perfect, omnipotent
light.  Mulder felt fear, great fear, but there was no escape from the
fury of that place, the burning zone.

Mulder then dreamt of air, but as the clear skies unfolded before him,
he woke up, to the white room and his own numb fears.  He lay very
still for a very long time, waiting...

Waiting for his servants...his torturers, to come.

~~~~~~~~~~

"All right, Mr. Mulder, let's try it again."

The man's name was Henry and Mulder paid him little mind. Henry was a
tool, a helper, one who existed solely to restore Mulder's mobility
and strength.  Henry was strong, very strong, and Mulder had been
grateful for that strength, but little else.

"Go slow, now.  That's good.  Remember to inhale as you lift."

Mulder lifted the weights with measured movements, but one arm still
fell behind the other.  Henry grasped his wrists and slowly brought
Mulder's arms together in sync, delicately, and smiled as he did so.

Mulder grimaced and looked up at him apologetically, when he noticed
something odd.

Henry's eyes were bleeding.

Mulder no longer felt the strain of the weights or the pressure of
Henry's hands.  He watched with vague curiosity as the crimson streams
from Henry's eyes widened, turning deeper and darker red.  His mouth
opened, but no sound came out, as Henry's flesh lacerated before
Mulder's eyes, tearing away from bone and the streams of blood dripped
down onto Henry's pale green shirt

Suddenly, Henry's ear fell off.

And Mulder found a voice. But he wasn't sure if it was his own. "Don't
drive home tonight," he gasped, or thought he did.  "Don't drive home
tonight, Henry.  There's still time to stop it.  Take the bus home
tonight.  Don't drive home..."

"What, Mr. Mulder?"

"An accident. But there's still time.  Leave your car here tonight,
Henry.  Please promise me you will," said Mulder, the weights falling
from his hands, crashing to the floor.  "You'll promise me, won't you,
Henry?"

"But I..."

"NO!  Don't do it!  Promise me you won't!" screamed Mulder, as Henry's
skull peeled off before him.  "Don't drive home!"

"OK, Mr. Mulder.  I'm going to get the doctor now. Don't move, OK?"

"Don't do it, Henry!  Don't do it!"

But Henry was gone and soon there was nothing but white light and the
sharp pinch of a needle.

And when Mulder slept again, there were no dreams.

~~~~~~~~~

"Mr. Mulder?  Fox?  How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

"You frightened us yesterday.  Are you sure you're all right?  Please.
 There is no pride here, Mr. Mulder.  If you do not feel well, if you
are having problems with things other than the physical, please
understand that we fully accept and expect such things.  We only want
to help you make a full recovery, not only in body, but in mind as
well."

"I'm fine.  Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, Mr. Mulder."

"Where is Henry?"

"Perhaps some music, Fox?  I think we have a new Mozart concerto right
here for you to enjoy."

"Just tell me.  Where is Henry?"

The doctor became still...silent.

"Can I see him?" asked Mulder.

"No, Mr. Mulder, you cannot.  Henry is no longer with us."

Mulder stared up, at the perfectly white ceiling and it's tiny swirls
of paint and plaster.  "Did he quit?"

"No.  He did not.  Perhaps I should let you sleep now."

"I don't want to sleep.  Where is he?"

The doctor turned away.  "Henry was involved in an unfortunate
accident last night.  An automobile accident.  Why do you ask?"

"No reason.  How is he?" asked Mulder, trying to make sense of the
patterns above him.

"He is dead.  He went through the windshield.  It was instantaneous,
he was pronounced dead on arrival.  The doctors agreed that there was
no pain at the end."

No pain.  "I see."

Mulder turned toward the pale man beside him. "Tell me something, Dr.
Weiss.  How did I know that Henry was going to die?  You realize that
I saw this accident yesterday, don't you?  I saw everything.  His
blood, his bones... I even heard the squeal of the brakes.  You know
this, don't you?"

The doctor swallowed and nodded.  "Yes.  I heard you."

"So?" asked Mulder.  "How?  How did I know this?  How did this happen?
 Have you no theories or clues for me?"

"No," replied the doctor quickly.  "No, I don't."

"I didn't think so," said Mulder, his eyes closing tightly.  "I think
I'll take that Mozart now, if you don't mind."

The doctor looked relieved.  "Yes.  Yes, that's a very good idea. 
Mozart.  It will be very soothing, Mr. Mulder, I promise you.  Very
soothing indeed."

Mulder nodded.  "Good.  Oh, and doctor..."

"Yes?" asked the doctor nervously.

"Don't think that I don't appreciate your work.  Because I do."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Mulder visited the X-Files office on one summer morning, he found
that his wheelchair wouldn't fit through the door.

"Here, let me help you with that," said the dark-haired man behind
him.  He wore glasses and had a very white smile.  "This damn
building.  It's not meant for humans."  He slowly maneuvered Mulder's
wheelchair through the doorway, lifting and twisting the wheels in
ways Mulder could not.

"There," said the man, when Mulder finally was inside.  "Is that okay?"

"Yes, thank you.  By the way, who are you?" asked Mulder, taking in
his surroundings.  Very little, if anything had changed.  His
bookshelves were still in place, along with his clippings, neatly
pinned and even his display case boasted clean, familiar wares.

"Agent William Tate, sir," replied the man, holding his hand out
toward Mulder.  "You can call me Bill."

Mulder ignored his hand and continued to look around the office. 
"You're trying too hard, Tate.  How long did it take you to pull out
this all junk and put it back up?  A week?  A month?"

"Sir?" asked Tate, swallowing hard.

"This isn't my office anymore, so there's no need to pretend it is. 
And don't bother trying to tell me Scully put all this stuff back in
its place, because I know she didn't.  So, why did you do it,
Tate?	I'm sorry, but I don't have the clout I used to have around
here.  If you want a promotion you'll have to..."

Tate interrupted him.  "I was just hoping to make your return visit
here less traumatic."

Mulder looked up at him.  "You thought that coming here would
traumatize me?"

"I apologize for any assumptions...sir," said Tate, biting his lip,
his eyes narrowing behind his glasses.	"I was simply trying to be
thoughtful.  My intentions were honest."

"Oh," replied Mulder, wheeling over to Scully's desk, a neat slab of
wood with a spotless top.  "You know what they say about good
intentions, don't you Tate?"

But Tate was no longer paying any attention to Mulder's words.  "Agent
Scully should be here in a few moments.  If you need anything, please
let me know," he said coldly, as he sat behind his desk and turned on
his computer.

"Got a pair of legs to spare?" replied Mulder, as Scully appeared in
the doorway.  She stopped when she saw the wheelchair.

"Mulder?" she asked, even though she knew who it was.

"No, Ironside," said Mulder, making a neat circle toward her.

"Welcome back.  I'm very glad you to see you.  Have you met..." she
said, motioning toward Tate.

Mulder nodded.  "Yes we did.  He even decorated for me.  When's the
party starting?"

Scully looked up in surprise at the walls, then grimaced slightly. 
"Oh."  She nodded uncomfortably once more.  "Oh." she repeated.

"I just came by for a visit, Scully.  I'm not angling for my old job
back.  Actually, the prospect of it isn't as attractive as one might
think.  Besides," he said, picking up a paperweight and balancing it
carefully in his palm.  "My therapy is nowhere near complete and if I
remember correctly, this position requires a lot of running."

At this, Scully gave him a tiny grin.  "Lots and lots of running."

"Actually, the only real reason I'm here is because the Weather
Channel was starting to bore me.  Unbelievable as that might sound." 
Mulder put the weight down, carefully onto Scully's desk.

"I was talking with Skinner yesterday," said Scully, hesitantly.  "I
think that if you wanted to return to the Bureau there would be many
positions available that could be worked around your therapy schedule."

"There are consulting positions open in the VCU and the forensic
psychiatry units," interjected Tate, not looking up from his keyboard.
 "Very flexible, pays great."

Scully's frowned slightly at Tate's interruption, but Mulder turned
toward him with interest.  "Really?"

Tate looked up and nodded.  "Really.  I checked."

Mulder turned back toward Scully, the wheels of his chair squeaking
against the tile floor.  "What a guy.  Thanks, Tate, I think I'll look
into that.  And with my first paycheck, you and I can go out for
beers, eh?" said Mulder as he wheeled himself past Scully toward the
door.

"Uh, Agent Mulder?  Do you need help getting through the door?" asked
Tate rising, as Scully looked on.

"No," replied Mulder.  "For some reason I think leaving here will be
easier than coming in."  He went through the doorway without a
problem.  He turned back to both agents.

"Told you so," he said, and then disappeared down the hallway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Welcome back, Agent Mulder," said Walter Skinner, in the same brusque
tone Mulder had always remembered.  Mulder smiled at the sound, its
familiarity was a welcome constant.

"Thank you, sir.  I'd also like to thank you for approving my long
term disability, especially since my accident wasn't work related,"
said Mulder, rubbing his hand against the hard rubber of one of his
wheels, looking around at the still spartan office.

"That ultimately wasn't my decision," replied Skinner, slowly.  "So,
no thanks is necessary."

"Still, I'm sure you had a part in it and since it probably saved my
life, you have my gratitude nonetheless."

Skinner nodded.  "So, how are you in general?" he asked uncomfortably.
 "Besides physically, I mean.  Are you adjusting into your
surroundings at all?  I'm sure the changes around you must be
disconcerting."

"I don't know if disconcerting is the word.  It's lonely, I'll give
you that.  But for everything that's changed, there are a hundred
things that haven't," said Mulder staring at the flag behind Skinner,
curious at its fifty-one stars.

"Lonely, is it?" replied Skinner with a sharp curiosity.

"Even my enemies are dead, sir," said Mulder, shrugging.  "How much
more alone can you get?"

"I see," replied Skinner, shifting in his chair.

He suddenly straightened up, becoming pure business. "Agent Mulder, I
don't know if Agent Scully mentioned this to you, but since the Bureau
made an investment in your recovery, we would like to recoup it by
making use of your talents once more.  There are numerous positions
open throughout the Bureau that can be tailored to accommodate your
needs, such as part-time or at-home consulting.  Would you be
interested in such work?"

"It all sounds good," said Mulder casually.  "Whatever you suggest is
fine."

Skinner looked at him curiously.  "You do realize that a place in the
X-Files unit is not one of these positions, do you?"

"Yes.  That's fine."

"You no longer have any interest in your former job, Agent Mulder?"

Mulder met his gaze straightforwardly.  "No, sir.  I don't."

Skinner looked surprised for a moment, but covered it well. "I see. 
I'll talk with Whitnall again about the consulting criminal
psychologist position in the VCU.  He expressed great interest in
having you work with his team.  The pay is excellent, by the way."

"Good.  I can plan that ski vacation now," replied Mulder, backing up
his chair.  He felt a sudden twinge of guilt when Skinner raised an
eyebrow at his flippancy.  "Sorry, sir.  And please, don't think that
I don't appreciate your help. Because I do."

Skinner grunted.  "Good.  Keep in touch."

"Sir, can I ask you something?"

"Of course," replied Skinner, already shuffling files about his desk.

"Did we get a new state?  The flag behind you has fifty-one stars,"
said Mulder.

Skinner looked up in surprise and then glanced at the flag.  "Oh. 
Yes, yes we did.  Puerto Rico was inducted three years ago."

Mulder nodded.  "I see."  He shrugged.  "Guess that's just one more
party I missed."

"Guess so," replied Skinner, in a somewhat gentler tone.  "But there
are more things yet to come, Agent Mulder."

"Hope so," Mulder replied.  "I certainly hope so."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
continued in EMPATHY 3/5
by syn
synnerx@yahoo.com



EMPATHY 3/5 by syn
All disclaimers in Part One
synnerx@yahoo.com

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day Mulder was to leave the facility permanently, Dr. Weiss came
into his room with a giant yellow dog, a Labrador.  "This is Hunter,"
he said, handing Mulder the dog's collar. "You and he have very much
in common.  He was in a car accident some years ago, and if you'll
look closely, he has a slight limp.  But he's an excellent dog and I'm
sure you'll both get along wonderfully."

Mulder looked into the huge brown eyes staring up at him and heard a
tail beating furiously against the tiled floor.  "I don't know if I
can handle a pet right now."

Weiss shook his head.  "Hunter is not a pet.  He's a very highly
trained handicap assistance dog.  Don't worry, your relationship will
be completely symbiotic.  He'll take care of you, just as you will
take care of him.  Tomorrow, Lucille will come by to teach you his
commands."

Mulder ran a hand through the silken fur of the dog's head.  "I never
had a dog.  Sam was allergic."

"Sam?"

"My sister."

Weiss nodded and then looked around at the empty room.  "Ah. So where
is your family? You've had very few visitors, I've noticed.  I hope
you aren't shutting them out, Fox.  It's a very bad idea to be alone
at this stage of your therapy.  Very unwise."

Mulder shrugged.  "You're looking at my family."

"Oh," replied Weiss, looking surprised.  He was one of eight children.
 "Perhaps some friends can come over when you move into your new
house, no? Surely they all haven't left the state."

"No, they're all still in DC.  But she's sort of busy right now,"
replied Mulder, scratching Hunter behind his ear.

The doctor sighed.  "Well, we'll have to get you out more. 
Socialization is an very important factor in recovery.  There are some
support groups..."

Mulder interrupted him. "Doctor Weiss, I haven't had another vision,
not since the incident with Henry.  Do you think it was a singular
occurrence?"

The doctor turned pale.  "I wouldn't know."

"In your years of clinical experience with coma patients, have you
ever witnessed, read about or heard of such an episode or anything
similar to it?"

"No, I have never heard of it. The complete recovery of a long-term
coma patient is so rare that I have exactly two journal recordings
examining the phenomenon.  I don't know if you realize exactly how
lucky you are, Fox.  This is an opportunity that comes along for so
very, very few," replied Weiss, almost beseechingly. "And you must
take advantage of what has been given to you."

"So you don't believe what I experienced was a psychic event or
vision?" asked Mulder.  "Because I tell you doctor, it was very, very
clear.  It was no more intuition than a literal foretelling of an
actual event."

"As I said, I wouldn't know.  I'm not saying that I don't believe such
things could happen, or such a thing happened to you.  And while this
is very interesting, and we will examine it during the course of your
recovery, you have to prioritize, Fox.  You have to put yourself, your
body and your emotional health first," said Weiss, pulling himself up
from his chair with a groan.

"And the first thing you must do, is have some company when you move
into your new home.  I want you to call your friend and ask her to
come and visit with you. Or I'll send Hilda over, and you can discuss
Tony Bennett at your leisure," said Weiss, with the tiniest hint of a
threat in his voice.

Mulder winced.  Hilda was an elderly volunteer at the center with a
fondness for fifties music and endless chatter.  And it wasn't often
she got patients to speak with. "I'll call Scully," he said with
resignation.

He petted Hunter again, rubbing both furry cheeks briskly with his
hands and was rewarded with a pair of paws against his chest and a
warm pant against his cheek.  "This is a nice dog.  Very nice dog."

"His leash, bowls and food are in that package," said Weiss,
straightening out his white coat.  "Now, remember Fox, you must
prioritize.  Recovery comes first.  All other things are secondary.
Don't waste this second shot at life, for I am almost certain you
won't get another."

Mulder nodded.  "I know."

~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder chose the house by the lake, mainly because the surrounding
land was flat, and the house itself was one story.  Everything in his
world had become shorter, closer to the ground, if only by necessity. 
There were no stairs or high cupboards in this house, no basement
either, just one floor of interconnecting rooms, all with wide
doorways.  He moved easily throughout the house, and the hardwood
floors were readily navigational.

The local builders put a ramp in the front and redesigned the
bathroom, but all in all, the house was ready to live in immediately. 
To his great surprise, Scully had kept many of his possessions, even
his clothing and furniture in an inexpensive storage facility near her
house, putting the more valuable items and records in her mother's
basement.

One afternoon, the boxes were delivered and stacked in his now
sparsely furnished living room.  His old leather sofa suddenly looked
battered and dirty against the clean, new walls and he made a mental
note to buy a new one along with a rug and coffee table.  He started
to sift through the boxes, finding files and newspapers that he
remembered as being new, now yellow with age and dust.

Finally, Mulder tossed everything back into the boxes and debated just
throwing everything out, a part of his past never to be seen again,
along with almost everything... everyone, else.  With a sigh, he
wheeled into the kitchen, where Hunter was sitting next to his food
bowl with a wagging tail and forlorn expression.

Mulder smiled and poured out a large amount of dry food into the dog's
dish.  "This is meal number four, pal. I'd watch it, or your next
owner's going to be Jenny Craig," he said, scratching Hunter's head as
the dog began to crunch through his bowl.

The doorbell rang and Mulder rolled his eyes at the sound, as he
slowly backed himself out of the kitchen.  Weiss probably made good
with his threat to send Hilda over, and he mentally prepared himself
for two hours of chatter and four pots of herbal tea.

Hunter abandoned his food dish at the sound of the bell and ran in
front of Mulder to the door, sitting obediently to one side, tail
wagging furiously. Mulder opened the door slowly, carefully backing up
his chair as he pulled on the knob.

Scully stood in the doorway.  "Lake side property. I have to say that
I'm impressed," she said.  She was wearing a green hat and holding a
large pan.

Her eyes are very blue still, Mulder noted.  "Hello, Scully.  I'm
afraid you're too late for the painting party.  But the tub still
needs to be caulked."

He motioned for her to come in.

"Sorry, Mulder.  Building maintenance isn't one of my talents.  Why,
Mulder.  Is this your dog?" she said, looking down at Hunter.  The dog
sniffed at her curiously, then turned away and ambled back to his food
with a bored expression.

Mulder nodded, then grinned at Scully's slight pout in the departing
dog's direction.  "Sorry.  If you were a can of Alpo, I assure you,
you would have gotten a better reception."

Scully took off her hat and stepped inside, closing the door behind
her as she looked around.  "Beautiful house, Mulder.  A great choice."
 She looked around for a place to put down the pan she carried and
Mulder motioned toward the dining room table.

She placed it down carefully, and turned toward him.  "I brought over
some dinner.  I thought that we could break in your new china perhaps.
 What do you think?"

Mulder raised an eyebrow.  "Depends.  What is it?"

"Tofu burgers and wheat grass juice," said Scully flatly.  "With a
nice fat helping of oat flake surprise."

"Great," replied Mulder, wheeling past Scully toward the kitchen. 
"Those are my favorites.  My IV was filled with wheat grass juice
twice a week, you know."

Scully picked up the pan and followed him into the kitchen. "I'll
bet," she said, turning on the oven and putting the large pan of
lasagna inside. An hour later, the dinner was quietly eaten and after
it was gone, they both sat in silence for a long while.

"Well," said Scully finally, as the sky outside darkened completely. 
"I supposed there's some catching up you'd like to do."

"No, not really," replied Mulder staring past her shoulder, at the
thin slice of sky still visible from the window.

"No?" asked Scully curiously.  "Why not?"

"Well, this may not make sense, but as of recently I've realized that
these past five years haven't been a time where I merely existed in
total unconscious limbo."

Scully raised an eyebrow.  "Really?"

"Yes.  It was very odd.  It wasn't as though the world I once knew was
alive, and I was dead to it all, but I feel that I too had my own
distinct, albeit different, experiences while comatose. Sort of like a
five year cruise on an unknown ocean, if that makes any sense."

He saw the wonder fill Scully's eyes at his words. "So, while I'm
interested in what's happened while I was gone, it's not as imperative
for me to know as one might think," he finished with a shrug.

Scully looked at him for a long moment before replying.  "Mulder, you
can't imagine how strange it is, sitting here and hearing the sound of
your voice, the inflections, the very tones of your words again. You
just can't imagine."

She took his hand gently in her own. "I believe you when you say
you've grown in your own way while comatose.  Actually, one of the
thing I've learnt in the past five years is to be a bit more
open-minded." She smiled at his raised eyebrow.  "Believe it or not."

"I think I'm slipping back into a coma, Scully," replied Mulder with a
wry grin.  "Shock can do that to someone in my condition you know."

"So, maybe we'll forgo the update, and...I dunno?  Watch TV perhaps? 
I think you might enjoy Barbara Walters latest news magazine...80/120."

Mulder blinked.  "80/120?"

"She's nearsighted now," said Scully with a perfectly straight face,
as she rose to gather the plates. She jumped as Mulder's napkin hit
her square between the eyes.

"You grew a sense of humor too?" asked Mulder sardonically.

"No.  I was born with that, it just took you the last five years to
notice," she said carefully, as she walked away.

~~~~~~~~~~~

On a freezing winter's day, Mulder returned to the Bureau for his
first day of work.  He wheeled in slowly, his briefcase balanced on
his lap, with his suit and shirt very well pressed.  For the first
time in his life he was conscious of the impression he would make and
wanted it to be a good one.

"Welcome, Agent Mulder," boomed the Forensic Psychology unit leader,
Whitnall.  "I can't tell you how pleased, how honored, we are to have
you work with us.  The kids in the back are thrilled.  They've heard a
lot about you, you know."

"Thank you," replied Mulder.  "I hope I can live up to your
expectations."

"Phsaw," said Whitnall.  "Nonsense.  You are nothing but an asset to
us.  Now, anything you need or want, you just holler, and I mean that.
 Don't worry about your schedule or your work load, your position here
is completely flexible."

"I'm looking forward to working," replied Mulder, near tears for some
odd reason.  "I really want to work again."

Whitnall nodded sympathetically.  "And you will, Agent Mulder.  And
you'll do us proud.  I know that for a fact.  Now, I'll show you to
your desk.  We've tried to accommodate your needs, but if we've
failed, you let me know, and we'll try again."

Whitnall rose and motioned for Mulder to follow him outside, to the
communal office.  "I think you'll like it here.  I really do."

Mulder followed him outside, and noticed a wide path through the
center of the office.  He looked down and noted the fresh carpet
impressions, from where the other agents' desk had normally been
placed, but had been moved aside, presumably for him.  Well, it seems
I'm worth re-arranging the office for, he thought, as he wheeled past
the young agents who stood next to their desks, pressed and polished,
as if for inspection.

"Sir, welcome to FP," said the first agent, a young one, with very
dark hair.

"It's good to have you with us, Agent Mulder," said a female agent
with a soft voice.

A heavy-set, older agent patted him as he passed.  "You're gonna have
a laugh or two here, Mulder, guaranteed."

And Mulder looked up and nodded and smiled at each of his new
co-workers in turn, as he rolled toward his desk. He immediately noted
how isolated it was and how completely empty was the space surrounding
it, with the nearest desk nearly ten feet away.  He glanced up at
Whitnall, with a questioning expression.

"Just giving you some room to maneuver," whispered Whitnall.  "You do
need that, don't you?  If not, we can..."

Mulder nodded.  "Yes.  Yes, I do.  Thank you."

He glanced back at the rest of the room, still standing... still
staring.  He turned back to his desk, and took a deep calming breath. 
It was going to be all right, he thought.  This is your new priority,
the new beginning of your new life, he chanted.  But suddenly, out of
nowhere...

He wondered what Scully was doing at that moment.

And wondered if she was happy.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"The killer is known to have a fetishistic relationship with this type
of cloth."

The conference room was dark, except for the dim light of an overhead
projector.  Mulder shifted in his seat, staring at the screen with
interest.  He'd been with the Forensic Psychology unit for nearly
three weeks and had already grown comfortable there, within his own
quiet area, the familiarity of schedules and reports giving him a
welcome sense of safe routine.

"Most fetishists pick a more, what might considered, a more exotic,
feminine type of cloth, such as silk or satin or velvet, but he's
unusual in his choice of white cotton and because of the widespread
use of this material, it's very ordinariness makes it even more
difficult to pick him out or predict who his potential victims might
be."

Mulder thought quietly about the new comfort his life now had.  He
owned a house, a dog, he had a good job and felt, oddly enough, a
strange, albeit dark, peace within himself.  Maybe this is what these
five years in the void have taught me, he thought.  Acceptance... and
patience. These were good things, he believed now.

The right things for him.

"I'm going to now pass around some of the evidence that was taken from
the last abduction scene.  This is a triangular piece of white cotton
found on the premises, from the bedroom, of a victim who we believe
may still be alive and held in captivity by our assailant."

The young agent passed around the small white triangle.  It went from
hand to hand without too much attention, for finding the killer would
take more than this flimsy piece of material.  Whitnall handed it to
Mulder for inspection.  Mulder took it with the same indifferent
expression and prepared to pass it on to the next agent...

When he felt the weight of the earth upon him.

It was as in his dream, cool and smothering, falling over him in great
tons of black walls, burying him alive as he screamed.  He could feel
the great, terrible weight of it, pressing on his chest and legs, as
he sunk deeper into its never-ending depths.

He tried again to scream, but the earth filled his mouth and soon, his
lungs, and they became damp and perfectly heavy within his chest. 
Mulder felt the clawing of his own hands above him, and how futile it
all was.  He chewed on this earth, this thick dirt, but there was no
escape, he was covered completely.

He began to pray, pray very hard, for the light and the air, and when
he at last dared to open his eyes, he was at last, rewarded.

"Sir?  Sir?" said the young agent, the one with the dark hair, his
eyes huge above him.  "Are you all right, sir?  Please calm down, the
doctor will be here in a moment."

"She's dead," said Mulder, with calm and perfect clarity.  "This girl
is dead.  He buried her alive."

"It'll be all right, Mulder," said Whitnall, running thick hands
through his own thin hair, his fingers trembling.  "You just take a
deep breath if you can.  OK?  We're all here with you."

"I'm telling you she's dead," repeated Mulder, feeling the slight
scratch of the carpet against the back of his neck.  He was on the
floor, and to his left, the left wheel of his overturned chair spun
slowly.  "And he's on the hunt once more."

"Just be quiet for one moment, Mulder," hissed Whitnall, feeling
angrier by the second.  Oh, this was a foolish choice, he thought
bitterly. "All right?  Just one moment."

"Dead.  Dead and gone," repeated Mulder, no longer thinking of his
surroundings.  "She never had a chance.  But she's not alone."

"Hush, Agent Mulder.  Just hush."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
continued in EMPATHY 4/5
by syn
synnerx@yahoo.com




EMPATHY 4/5 by syn
All disclaimers in Part One
synnerx@yahoo.com

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That evening Mulder watched the lake before him turn shades of grey in
the early winter twilight.  There was a fresh snow on the ground and
he smiled as Hunter ran and rolled in its whiteness, chasing imaginary
creatures through the frost.  The great yellow blur was jumping,
bounding from one end of the property to the other, intent on
capturing snow between his paws.

The dog ran up to him and leapt upon his chest with a loud bark. 
Mulder put his forehead against Hunter's and wrestled lightly with
him, his arms held tightly around the thick fur-covered neck, jostling
him back and forth, snarling and barking with him.  He let the animal
go and when he turned back toward the house, he saw Scully behind him,
wearing a red coat, bright against the white snow.

"I hate winter," she said, walking over to him through the white. 
"Especially here.  I remember in California, how warm it was, even in
January."

Mulder didn't reply, but continued to look out over the lake.  Scully
knelt besides his chair, with slim fingers holding tightly onto its arm.

"I heard about what happened in the VCU conference today," she said
carefully.  "Is everything all right Mulder?  Because if you..."

"Ever have a vision, Scully?" he interrupted.  "A mental image of
never-experienced events so vivid, that while you are having it, it
becomes reality itself?

Scully shook her heard. "No, I can't say that I have."

Mulder took a deep breath of cold air.  "Well, I did Scully.  Right
there in that conference room today.  And it hasn't been the first one
either.  I've had two of them, both of events that I should have had
no knowledge of, but yet I experienced them as if they were happening
at that very moment."

He turned to Scully, his face lined with fear.  "And both of these
visions foretold death, Scully.  I knew exactly the time, the place
and the manner of the death of two people, one whom I'd never even
met.  It was as though I were there, present as it happened, and I
can't explain it."

Scully stared at the snow.  "Do you believe that these were psychic
experiences?"

"I don't know.  It's only happened twice.  But twice is two too many
times, Scully.  It's clear that this is no longer a random event, a
rare flash of insight.  And it frightens me."

"Strange.  I thought you'd be intrigued by such an occurrence,"
replied Scully, slowly.  "You've spent years searching out such
phenomenon, and now, here you have a case of it right within yourself."

"I don't want it, said Mulder sharply.  "I have a second chance at
life here, and I'm not going to waste it. I want a normal life now. 
I'm not interested in those things anymore."

Scully searched his face, with unbelieving eyes.  "Well, believe it or
not, Mulder, I am.  And I'd like to try and find out more about it. 
Would you be willing to let me try to do so?"

Mulder sighed and searched through to the cold air to see the stars
overhead.  "Why?" he asked.

"For the X-Files," replied Scully rising, brushing the snow from her
coat.

"You have to be kidding," replied Mulder, with a short laugh.

But Scully's face was serious.  "No.  I'm not, Mulder.  I haven't
continued the X-Files for the past five years on a whim.  I'm very
interested in the phenomenon you described, but..."

"But?"

"But I want to focus on its possible scientific explanations.  I now
believe that phenomenon like this are possible, Mulder, but have come
to the conclusion that these are manifestations of unknown, but fully
quantitative natural occurrences, ones that can be explained and
measured by science."

Mulder listened with curiosity as she continued. "I've learned that
the X-Files opens up an entire new world of scientific discovery.  And
instead of testing each occurrence against what I already know, I've
come to conclusion that I can forge new paths in knowledge, with the
cases I'm involved with." she finished, staring at Orion, the hunter,
above.

She turned back toward Mulder who was looking at her strangely, as
though seeing her for the first time.  "So, what do you say, Mulder? 
Game for another case?" she smiled at him.

Mulder turned away and nodded.  "All right, Scully.  One more.  But
this time..."

"Yes?"

"I get to call you crazy."

Scully smiled at him.  "Deal."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Well, Mulder the blood work looks normal."

Mulder sat uncomfortably between Scully and Bill Tate in the large
conference room upstairs from the X-Files office.  He was in no mood
to navigate the freight elevator and narrow doorways of the basement,
so insisted they meet there; in a clean, normal room, with bright
lights and pleasant, neutral decor.

"And the other results from your physical seem normal," chimed in
Tate. "Except for this unusually high serotonin level seen in your
spinal tap. But you're undergoing intensive physical therapy aren't
you?"

"Yes," Mulder replied distractedly.

"So that would probably account for that," said Scully, continuing to
flip through the charts in front of her.  "Now Mulder, you said that
these visions were experienced as actual events, not just an intuitive
phenomenon, correct?"

"Yes," repeated Mulder.  "The sights and sensations were experienced
as a cognitive reality.  The blood, the earth, the glass, sights,
smells, touch, everything."

"Maybe it was simply a tactile hallucination?" asked Tate, with a
shrug.  "Or perhaps you passed out during the rigors of physical
therapy or fell asleep during the meeting and dreamt it."

"Maybe," Mulder said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair as Scully
turned to scowl at Tate.

"I think you are underestimating Agent Mulder physical capabilities,
Bill," she said sharply.

But Tate met her gaze straightforwardly.  "I'm just throwing out
ideas, Dana."

Dana.  He calls her Dana, Mulder thought, as he watched the anger rise
between them.  "He might be right, Scully.  As I said, I have no idea
what happened," interjected Mulder.

Scully sighed and said nothing. She began to sort through the pile in
front of her and then shook her head.  "You know, I think I left some
results downstairs.  Would you mind if I went to get them?  I'll be
back in a minute."

Scully rose and hurried out as Tate and Mulder sat together in an
uncomfortable silence.  They both took turns staring at the walls, the
floors, then back to the table, when Tate suddenly turned to Mulder,
his face pale.

"I'm seeing her, Agent Mulder," Tate blurted out.  "I don't know if
you knew that."

"I assumed as much," replied Mulder quietly, not looking up.

"And?" asked Tate, swallowing harshly.

Mulder stared very hard at the pen he held between his thumb and
forefinger.  "And I wish you both nothing but the very best."

He heard a relieved exhale of air from Tate. "Oh.  I mean, I wasn't
sure if you...I mean," he stumbled for a moment before regaining his
composure. "Look, Agent Mulder, this has been a difficult time for all
of us, myself and Dana included."

"Really?" asked Mulder indifferently, twirling the pen in fingers,
watching the glint of the florescent shine off of the metal.

"Yes," replied Tate in a stronger voice.  "Dana and I met at your
bedside four and half years ago.  I was the lead investigator of your
accident, which Dana firmly believed was no accident.  She was
convinced that your enemies were behind it all."

Mulder looked up at this.

"But we never found any evidence to prove that.  Nothing. And she was
devastated, Agent Mulder.  Completely.  Not only by your accident and
subsequent condition, but the randomness of it all.  She so wanted
there to be a reason for what had happened to you, to both of you.  So
she kept searching, insisting on working with me, but still, we found
nothing."

Mulder turned back to his pen.

"Slowly, maybe only a year or two ago, did she truly come to grips
with the reality of what had happened.  That you were the victim of a
simple hit and run, and that your condition would never improve.  She
returned to the X-Files and we continued on together, working on
cases, and then..."

Tate hesitated.  "I won't go into any more details, Agent Mulder,
except to say that I love Dana.  More than I ever imagined I could
love anyone.  And I'd even go so far as to hope that she loves me in
return."

"I don't plan on coming between you, if that's what you're getting at,
Tate," said Mulder sharply.

"I understand that.  But I'm not sure Dana feels the same way.  This
has thrown her for a terrible loop, Mulder," replied Tate, almost
beseechingly.  "You've returned just when she'd given up all hope. 
And she's having a rough time dealing with it."

"I think you might be underestimating her emotional resources," said
Mulder, backing his chair away from the conference room table and
turning toward the door.  "Scully's strong, stronger than either one
of us, so whatever conflicts she has now, I know she'll deal with
them.  And as for myself..."

Mulder abruptly turned toward Tate.  ""I'm not the same man I used to
be.  My past is gone.  I have my future to look toward now.  I've been
given a second chance and I can't waste a moment of it on what could
have been."

Tate stared at him for a moment, unsure and then rose.  "I understand,
Agent Mulder.  I'm sorry if I've overstepped my bounds."

He held out his hand to Mulder.

"Can we shake hands?" he asked, with a slight smile, his hand
outstretched.  "I want us to at least work together with a certain
cordiality."

Mulder stared at the hand, five tight fingers hovering just above his
line of vision.	

He made no move to grasp it.

"Please, Agent Mulder," pleaded Tate, his hand trembling slightly. 
"I'm asking you as a personal favor to myself."

Mulder stared at him for a long moment...then took his hand.

And as their flesh met, Mulder saw the water.

It was the same as in his dream, the water. Very cold and suffocating,
surrounding him with dark whirlpools, without a shore in sight.  He
was floating, but around him lay broken bodies, strange floating
creatures and unknown ships passing by in the distance.

The first body Mulder saw was Cancerman's.

Floating in the Reflecting Pool, the Washington Monument casting its
ominous white shadow over him.  And hovering there, above the water,
shimmering in the dull lamp light...

Stood William Tate.

With a smoking gun in his hand, smiling his bright white smile.

The vision shifted, and as the water rippled, Mulder saw Tate with the
white-haired man, talking and laughing through the smoke, in a dark
and lush back room of a nameless club in some harsh city.  Drinking
tea and making plans of nameless horrors.  Mulder saw them shake
hands, just as his own hand was being shaken by Tate's at that very
moment.

Suddenly, the water cleared and he surfaced, gasping for air.

"Mulder?" said the person above him.  "Mulder, can you hear me?" A
familiar face came into focus as Mulder choked back to life.

"Scully?" he whispered, blinking in the light of the conference room.

Tate was nowhere to be seen.

"Yes, Mulder I'm here," replied Scully softly. He felt her take him in
her arms rocking him gently, her fingers tracing their way through his
hair.  "I'm here.  Don't be afraid.  I'm here."

He felt warm lips against his forehead.  "I've always been here with
you.  Always..."

~~~~~~~~~~

"We've run his name through all of our databases and came up empty."

"Run them again," Mulder replied, sifting through a large dossier that
sat on his dining room table, as Byers shook his head with a sigh.
Mulder had called the Gunmen over in the middle of the night, the
vision of the water still echoing through his mind.  The next evening
they'd arrived, but without much enthusiasm.

"All right, but I'll have you know, we did a most extensive search,"
he said as Langley struggled to refold two huge computer printouts.

"I know," said Mulder, flipping rapidly through photos.  "But do it
again."

"You know, Mulder, you can get one hell of a tax break on this house,"
said Frohike, staring out the dining room window, past the ice covered
lake.

He bent down and petted Hunter who lay sleeping next to the radiator. 
"Even the dog should be worth about six hundred."

Byers shook his head.  "I hate to say it, but this Tate fellow appears
to be on the up and up.  We've traced all his movements from high
school on, and nothing.  No alias, no military record, no unusual
banking or credit purchase history, not even an a record of any
international flights. He's never even been overseas."

"I thought you guys were supposed to be paranoid," replied Mulder,
pulling another file out of Byers' hands and quickly discarding it.

"What makes you so sure he's not kosher?" asked Langley, giving up on
the folding and trying to merely stack the pages as they fell.

"What makes you so sure he is?" replied Mulder, grabbing the printout
from Langley's hands and unfolding its entire length over the dining
room floor with a huge shake.

"He has a point there," said Frohike.  "Say, Mulder.  Did you know
that the Americans With Disabilities Act says you get preferential
seating for concerts?  Van Morrison is in town and I..."

Mulder looked up at Frohike, interrupting.  "What do you think?"

Frohike shrugged.  "Honestly? I think this Tate guy stinks.  But then
again, I've been accused of having an overly sensitive nose."

Mulder nodded and turned back to the printout.  "You might get those
concert tickets yet, Frohike."

"Good," he replied, sitting with a groan. "I'm in the mood for a good
live version of Tupulo Honey."

"Look guys," said Mulder, to a skeptical looking Byers and Langley. 
"I can't explain how or why I know that Tate is consorting with the
enemy, or even what his role is in all of this.  But if experience has
shown me anything, is that it's best to be prepared.  Right?"

"Of course, this has nothing to do with his current relationship with
Agent Scully, we presume?" asked Frohike carefully.

Mulder slowly looked up.  "No.  Why?"

Byers and Langley stared at the table as Frohike shrugged.

"Just wondering," he said, locking eyes with Mulder.

"Wait a minute.  Is this why you think I'm doing this?" he asked
angrily. "Digging up dirt on Tate so I can snatch Scully back? Is that
what you guys think? Because if it is..."

"Then you'd be doing a pretty low-down, dirty, rotten bit of business
and using us to do it," replied Frohike, as he leaned back casually,
looking at Byers and Langley who shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.
"But I really don't think that's your style, Mulder. So, if you say
there's something rotten in the X-Files office, I'm inclined to
believe you."

"Thanks Frohike," Mulder sighed. He turned to Byers and Langley. "Look
guys, I can't go into this right now, but I think that Tate, at the
very least, isn't who he's presenting himself to be.  But I need
proof.  More proof than the hunch I have now.  And I need your help. 
I've counted on you guys before, a long time ago, I know.  But can ask
you for this one favor?"

"Certainly, Mulder," replied Byers, taking a deep breath.  "That's
what we're here for.  To root out the hidden evils that may not be
visible to less informed."

"Wherever they may be," chimed in Langley, pushing up his glasses.

Mulder almost smiled.  "It's good to see that some things never change."

"It's good to see that you haven't changed either Mulder," said
Frohike, rising and carefully adjusting his fingerless leather gloves.
 "We were worried about you, you know."

He put a hand on Mulder's shoulder.  "Worried that all that time in
the coma had changed you.  That you'd given up.  "

Mulder swallowed dryly, shaking his head.  "I haven't given up. Not
yet."

~~~~~~~~~~~
continued in EMPATHY 5/5
by syn
synnerx@yahoo.com


EMPATHY 5/5 by syn
All disclaimers in Part One
synnerx@yahoo.com

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At four am the next morning Fox Mulder went out to his backyard,
pushing through the ice covered snow simply to stare at the early
morning stars, with Hunter sitting quietly at his side.

Change.

The stars, how I've always looked toward them, Mulder thought.  And
how unchanging they've been.  Their patterns and cycles, ever turning
in the same direction, a circular, seasonal movement without end.  How
consistent they are in their revelations and yet, their secrets are
still their own.  My time in the void has had no effect on them, he
thought, they are still ever changing, birthing and dying as they
always have, right before my eyes.

Some of them are dead already.

With a light that flickered its last, perhaps a billion years ago,
only now reaching here, this place where I exist.  Our realities are
different, but both exist within nature and time, the dead star living
still in some part of the void. Maybe I'm like that star, he thought.
Living through a void of consciousness and time, changing yes, but
still existing in this place...

A place which perhaps I've never left.

Mulder buried a cold hand into the soft fur of Hunter's scruff.  He
looked down and stared into huge brown eyes and suddenly saw the very
first one, the great wolf who forsake his pack, his woods, his very
freedom, to take his place beside an often cruel and thoughtless
master, one who didn't, couldn't, understand that it was only love,
simple and perfect, that had shaped his, that first wolf's destiny for
eternity, bringing him to the side of man.

Mulder then thought about love.

And realized, that maybe, that only once in lifetime, it could be like
the stars, or even destiny.  Eternal, shining even after death, in
some part of the void, an undeniable fate.  He continued to watch the
sky and as the sun started to rise, brilliant and red over the
horizon, it reminded him of Scully.

And he knew he couldn't deny her any more than the darkness could deny
the light.

With that thought, Mulder slowly wheeled back toward the house,
hearing the crunch of the snow underneath his wheelchair and the soft
pad of Hunter following him.  When he reached the kitchen, he heard
the phone ring.  He pulled off his gloves and picked it up to hear a
familiar voice on the other end.

"Mulder."

"Guess what?" Langley's voice crackled slightly over the line.  "I
think we've finally found something.  You know that car that hit you?"

"A little too well," replied Mulder.

"According to witnesses, it was a white 1992 Saturn with out-of-state
plates.  Well, we went through the Bureau's car rental records, and
take a guess who was tooling around in that very make of car the week
of your accident?"

Mulder felt the color leave his face.  "Tate," he replied, but not as
a question.

"Rented it in New Jersey five days before.  The best part is, while
the car's on record as being returned the day before your accident,
the rental shop owner distinctly remembers that it was never brought
back and can't figure out why the computer said it had been.  We're
going to follow up on it this afternoon."

"Thank you," replied Mulder, his knuckles turning white around the
receiver.

"Hey, no problem.  Actually it's pretty amazing how you pinned this
guy, because we thought..." continued Langley, but Mulder interrupted
him.

"I'm sorry Langley, but I've really got to go.  I'll be in touch,"
said Mulder, hanging up the phone.  He tried to steady his breathing,
but he felt the familiar hot blood rushing through his veins, his
pounding heartbeat forcing the air from his lungs in furious pants.

Those sons-of-bitches. He wiped a shaking hand over his mouth.  Those
goddamn bastards.  They'd finally given it their best shot, the final
plot to control his and Scully's fate, not through death, but through
hopelessness.  But the one thing they didn't count on is right here,
Mulder thought, enraged.

In this reality, I'm still the same man I always was.

And I haven't given up yet.

~~~~~~~~~~~

When Bill Tate walked into the X-Files office that Monday, he saw a
blizzard outside his windows...and Fox Mulder sitting behind his desk.

"Oh," said Tate, slightly surprised.  "Good morning Agent Mulder.  How
are you feeling today?"

"Not so good, Tate," replied Mulder, pulling a pack of sunflower seeds
from his pocket and pouring them out onto the desk.  He picked one up,
chewed it slowly, then tossed the empty shell onto the desktop.

Tate looked at him warily. "I'm sorry to hear that.  Oh, and feel free
to use my desk as a plate if you like," he said sardonically, nodding
at the rapidly growing pile of shells.

"You're still trying to hard, you know that, Tate?  You should relax a
little.  Or do I make you nervous?" said Mulder, cracking a seed open,
and discarding it.  "I suppose I should, considering how you never
expected me to return."

"Pardon me?"

"It *was* hard on you to see me come back, wasn't it?  But not exactly
for the reasons that I once thought."

Tate's eyes narrowed.  "Feel free to take out your frustrations on me,
Agent Mulder and throw my confidences back at me as you do so. 
Because I can plainly see that trying to be honest with you was a
mistake."

"Oh no.  Believe me, no one appreciates honesty more than I do.  It's
the lies that I hate.  The lies and the men who tell them," said
Mulder, his voice perfectly calm. "Tell me something, *Bill*. When you
left me there by the side of the road to die, did you ever suspect
that fate had something else planned for me?"

Tate blanched, but quickly regained his composure. "Oh, now I see it. 
It's all very clear."

"No, I don't think it is.  Not yet."

"I should have expected this," Tate whispered.  "You want her don't
you?  And are willing to go to any lengths to get her."

"Or is the notion that's there's something far greater in this
universe, a completely unthinkable notion?  I believe in fate now, and
so should you and the men you work for."

Mulder wheeled out from behind Tate's desk and came to a stop in front
of him.  His voice lowered to a whisper.  "Because I can tell you with
absolute certainty that you are going down, Tate.  And I'm going to be
the one to do it.  So get ready, because you don't have much time left."

"You son-of-a-bitch," hissed Tate. "Dana won't fall for this.  You'll
see.  She'll see right through you. You'll see who she believes."

Mulder didn't turn around to reply.  "She'll believe the truth," he
said, as he left the office, wheeling through the doorway with ease. 
"And I have yet to lie to her.  Unlike you."

And Fox Mulder silently wheeled away.

~~~~~~~~~~~

When Mulder saw Scully later that night, her cheeks were flushed
bright red, but not from the cold.  He let her into the house and
watched as she stormed past him, her boots clicking against the wooden
floors.  She ripped off her hat, her hair falling wild and red against
her dark jacket.  When she whirled around to face him, there was fury
in her features.

"I don't believe this," she said, her voice low, but still betraying a
terrible anger.

"I don't either," replied Mulder.

"Goddamn it, Mulder!" she cried out.  "Do you know what Bill told me
this afternoon?  He said that you accused him of being part of the
conspiracy, and not only that, but that he, himself, was the driver
who hit you that morning. What on earth were you thinking?  Were you
thinking?  How could you say such things?"

"Because it's the truth, Scully.  I saw it.  Saw it when I shook his
hand, just as with the other two visions."

Scully's eyes flashed. "Do you have any proof of this?"

Mulder gazed steadily at her. "Not yet, but I'm working on it."

Scully threw up her hands in a gesture of furious frustration.  "I
don't...I can't believe this," she said, near tears.  "How could you,
Mulder?  Is this what you've come back for?  To destroy what little
peace I've obtained after five years of hell?  Is it?"

She was crying now, her hands winding through her hair with short,
angry motions.  Mulder slowly wheeled up to her and took her restless
hands between both of his own, as she sank into a dining room chair
and laid her head against his shoulder.  He rubbed the cold fingers,
warming them as she wept, slow, thick sobs into his chest.

He brought each finger to his lips, and kissed them gently, before
taking the other hand and repeating the gesture.  Slowly, Scully's
sobs turned into deep, shuddering breaths and she lifted her head and
looked at Mulder, her face streaked with tears.

"It took such a long time," she whispered.  "So long to accept that
you were gone.  I read to you, Mulder.  Did you know that?" she asked,
as Mulder slowly shook his head.

"Every day for those first few months. Dozens of books, one of every
type.  Even though as a doctor I knew you couldn't hear, part of me,
the one that couldn't let go, insisted that somehow, you could.  I
read everything I thought you might respond to."  A tiny smile crossed
her lips.  "I even tried singing.  And if anything would have woken
you, that should have."

Mulder returned the grin, gently pushing her hair from her eyes. 
"Scully, I..."

She held up her hand.  "No, please listen to me now, Mulder.  But
there came a day that I had to accept that you weren't there anymore. 
Your body was there, but your core, that being which is you, was lost
to me.  Forever.  So I concentrated instead on continuing our work and
making it my life to find out what had happened to you and why.  The
next four years, that's all I did, Mulder.  It was my only goal in
life, this search, a search for the truth."

"And Bill was part of that search, right from the beginning.  He had
his own reasons for following me, I suppose, but he was as devoted as
I was.  In the past four years, he's never even given me the slightest
indication that his integrity had been compromised.  So yes, I gave my
trust to him, Mulder.  Not only with myself, but with something even
more important. My search for the truth.  Our search."

Scully took a deep breath before continuing.  "And now you want me to
believe, without any proof whatsoever, that he's been a lie all along.
 Even after all these years, after all he's done to try and help me
find out who did this to you and why, I'm supposed to accept it as
fact when you say that's he's lying."

"I suppose I do," replied Mulder, staring at her hands, running a
thumb over the delicate skin.  "But it's not for my sake that I'm
making these accusations.  I truly believe that he's dangerous,
Scully, dangerous to you as well as myself. He's dangerous to the
truth, because I think it's been his job to hide it all along.  And
he's been doing his job very well."

"Mulder," she said, suddenly, pulling her hand out of his and rising.
"There's a hearing being held tomorrow, being held by Section Chief
Whitnall.  He wants a re-evaluation of your mental and physical
fitness as a agent of the Bureau.  He's asked both Bill and myself to
testify."

She looked at him with misery in her eyes.  "And I really don't know
what to say to them."

"Say what you believe," replied Mulder softly.  "I would never expect
you to do anything less."

With a sigh, Scully knelt in front of him and grasped both his hands
between her own.  "I know.  But I don't know if you understand.  If
I'm forced to choose between you and Bill..."

"Yes?" asked Mulder, his mouth turning dry.

She smiled at him, her eyes filling with tears.  "He doesn't have a
chance."

Mulder returned the smile, his breath catching in his throat, every
part of his being aching for her. "I won't ask you to believe me
without proof, Scully.  I'm just asking you to consider the
possibility that it could be true."

"I will. But I have to give him the benefit of the doubt, Mulder," she
continued, rising.  "I owe him that much.  Can you understand that?"

Mulder nodded.  "Yes.  I can."

She picked her hat up with a sigh.  "You know, I thought I'd changed
so much over these past five years.  But the more I examine myself,
the more I realize that I haven't changed at all."

"Thank God," replied Mulder, taking her hand and squeezing it gently. 
She squeezed it back and walked to the door.  She opened it to leave,
but before she did, she turned back to him.

"No.  I haven't changed at all I suppose," she said, her features
backlit against the snow covered yard.  "Even after all this time...I
still love you more than myself."

And after she left, for the first time in many years, Mulder
wept....with happiness.

~~~~~~~~~~~

It was nearly midnight that evening when Mulder got an E-mail from
Frohike, triple encoded and password protected.  With a sigh, he
finally downloaded the text and felt his breath catch when he saw the
contents.

"We got him.  Details tomorrow morning.  Be by the phone 7 am. - F."

"PS:  Van Morrison goes on sale Monday.  Get both nights."

Mulder nearly slammed his hand against the desk in frustration, but
took a deep breath instead.  If there was one thing he still had, it
was time.  He debated calling Scully, but wanted to have the proof in
his hands to show to her.  It would be painful, this terrible betrayal
of Tate's, but from her tone, he wondered if she'd expected it all
along. Was their lesson of *trust no one* as deeply ingrained in her
now as it had always been in him?

He wheeled away from the desk, suddenly feeling restless.  Mulder
thought he'd developed some patience over the last few years, but the
fire had returned to him, along with his love.  Not only his love for
Scully, but his love for his lifelong work, of which she was an
inseparable, intrinsic part of.

The dark void which had stayed with him, even when he became conscious
had finally disappeared completely and he felt his soul strain against
the slip, like a greyhound ready to race.  He even knew he would walk
again, that it was just a matter of time before he stood once more,
putting one foot in front of the other, moving forward under his own
power.

Everything was his again, even the pain that had disappeared, replaced
by a strange numbness, had finally returned and he was glad for it. 
Mulder took another deep breath, and he finally willed himself to go
to bed, to prepare for the next day.  As he lay down, for the first
time in many years he prayed, not asking for or demanding favors from
heaven, but a simple prayer of thanks, merely for his existence.

He thanked God for Scully and with that thought he finally was able to
close his eyes and fall asleep.

But as he slept...he saw the fire.

It was the fire of his dreams, very hot and choking, billows of smoke
blinding him as he flailed.  The walls that surrounded him were made
of flame, and they blinded him with their brightness, their perfect,
omnipotent light.  Mulder felt fear, great fear, but there was no
escape from the fury of this place, this burning zone.

He opened his eyes with a start.

And was shocked to see that his room was filled with a very thin,
almost invisible haze of smoke. The terrible vice-like fear filled his
chest, but Mulder willed himself to remain calm.  He was on the first
floor, he reasoned, and either door was only a few dozen feet away. 
He reached out for the handle of his wheelchair, coughing in the smoke.

His hand came up empty.

For the chair was no longer next to his bed.  He flailed again in the
thickening smoke and began to yell for Hunter.  Finally, he rolled
onto the floor, and felt with relief that the smoke thinned
considerably the lower he held his head.  He began to crawl, slow
torturous movements to the doorway, using anything he could grab to
haul himself forward...the bureau, the door jam, anything that would
support his weight as he moved forward.

But when he reached the living room, he nearly turned back.  The
curtains were burning, sheets of flame, growing stronger and hotter by
the second.  Even a dozen feet away he could feel the terrible heat
rolling in waves against his face and hands.  Mulder began to crawl
faster, yelling for Hunter as he crawled, praying his dog would get to
safety without his help.

The wall to his left suddenly burst into flame and Mulder screamed
uncontrollably in terror at the sight, his great fear of it as strong
as it had ever been.  But he forced himself forward, refusing the
paralyzing fear that was threatening to kill him and take along with
it everything he'd just gained.

But he defied it, the fear and the fire, as he'd defied the void, and
refused to stop moving, even as the house burned down around him.  He
was only feet from the door he chanted to himself, only inches to go,
he made himself believe. It can be done...it has to be done, there are
no choices.  He heard Dr. Weiss' voice, clearly in his mind, urging
him on.

//You have no choice, my poor friend.  You are fated to live.  So,
live you must.//

He pulled himself forward another foot, choking.  The smoke was
completely blinding now and he was suddenly lost.  He tried to feel
his way forward, but could no longer see in front of him.  Slowly, his
lungs began to feel the slow burn of smoke inhalation, and he became
light-headed, seeing small flashes of light behind eyelids that were
tightly shut against the burning heat.

Oh, Scully, I'm sorry, he suddenly thought.  I'm sorry to leave you
again.  Forgive me.

But suddenly, he heard a familiar whimper and scratching noise against
glass.  Mulder reached out and felt something very soft in his hands
and then it left him, the whining noise and scratching becoming very
clear and loud in his left ear.  He turned toward the noise, and
giving himself one last haul, he suddenly felt glass of the backyard
sliding door, cool against his hand. Hunter whimpered as he shoved his
entire body against the handle, and together they slid the door open.

And together, they reached the outer air.

The snow was freezing against Mulder's hands and cheeks, but he
continued to crawl away from the house, grateful for the cold.  He
finally came to a stop a dozen yards away and rolled onto his back
gasping for air, his lungs still burning.  He could hear the
foundation of the house groan and creak, then crash to the ground with
a huge flare of embers.

He shut his eyes against the sight, and continued to try to gulp for
air, as the snow began to numb his back.  Suddenly, a warm creature
was lying next to him, nuzzling him with warm licks on his cheeks,
willing him to stay awake.  Mulder curled toward the warmth and lifted
his head upon the huge dog's back.

A moment later, the darkness took him once again, but void was still
nowhere to be seen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fox Mulder opened his eyes as he'd done every morning for as long as
he could remember.

He saw white ceiling above him and it didn't surprise him.  He was in
a silent room, the decor unknown, but so peaceful it seemed almost a
dream, so he paid it little mind. But, as he remembered the white
rooms of his past, he immediately sat up with terror in his eyes,
searching for the void or the touch of dreams that had haunted him so
relentlessly.

But all he felt was Scully's voice, warm against his cheek. "It's all
right, Mulder.  I'm here."

Yes, you are here.  As always, he thought.

He felt her arms enfold him and her hair brush against his cheek. He
breathed deeply of it, of all its silk and sweet scent.  Together,
embracing, they sank back into his hospital bed, her head buried in
his neck.  Tiny warm drops slid down his chest as he heard her start
to cry. Silently they lay together, entwined, and soon he heard
Scully's voice, soft against his skin.

"You were right, Mulder," she said.  "It was Bill all along.  Frohike
called me when he couldn't get in touch with you.  Skinner and I found
him outside of your house, watching it burn from the fire he set. 
He's being held in headquarters now, waiting for formal arraignment."

"I'm so sorry, Scully," he whispered into her hair.  "This must have
hurt you badly."

"Not as badly as I would have been hurt if I'd lost you again.  You
know, Mulder...I," she said, but stopped suddenly. He felt her shake
her head against his chest, as if trying to dislodge some terrible
vision from her mind.

"When I went to your house this morning, and saw what he'd done, I...I
couldn't even comprehend what I was going to do.  What would become of
me now?  I'd lost you before, but you were still alive and I never
lost hope, not completely.  I couldn't.  But, if you were truly dead,
then I'm afraid that my life would have been over as well."

She looked up and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of the
love in her eyes.  "And you know, without you, I wouldn't miss life
one bit," she whispered and as he pulled her to him, felt her warmth
and softness permeating his entire being, filling him with her light.

Mulder raised her eyes to his own.  "You know, I really don't think
there is a way to separate us, Scully.  I honestly don't believe it
can be done."

"Neither do I," Scully replied, curling into his arms once more and
taking his hand within her own.  "Neither do I..."

"Poor you," whispered Mulder, with a grin.

"Lucky, lucky me," she replied and suddenly, as their fingers
entwined, Mulder felt the air as in his dream and saw the clear skies
as they unfolded above him, revealing their secrets and star-filled
light.

And this the last vision he ever had, and three months later, Fox
Mulder decided he was going to take his time once again.

Because he had time.  All the time in the world was at his fingertips
this evening, as he sat in Dana Scully's apartment, her perfume still
lingering in the air surrounding him. She herself was drifting around
him, from room to room, taking care of tiny tasks, small items of
interest, before sitting beside him and taking his lips beneath her own.

And Fox Mulder thought once more, as his wheelchair sat discarded
among the other remnants of his past, along with all the memories of a
void that was forever banished...

Oh, life...life.

You are too good to me.

~~~~~~~~~~

The End.

synnerx@yahoo.com




==

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"How do you know I'm mad?" said Alice.
"You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~