#ephesian

[randomfoggytiger]

The Hospital Where You Slept

Wherein I, a non-romcomist, repurpose While You Were Sleeping (including bits of dialogue) for my own ingenious reasons.

This was a beast to write.

****

Perchance

I perished in an arrogant self-reliance

Ages ago…

That life was blotted out-- not so completely

But scattered wrecks enough of it remain,

Dim memories, as now, when once more seems

The goal in sight again. All which, indeed,

Is foolish, and only means-- the flesh I wear,

The earth I tread, are not more clear to me

Than my belief, explained to you or no.

-Robert Browning

*****

The world shrank to his beating heart, desperate inhalations, and freezing sweat. Endless hallways stretched incomprehensible distances and shot up into staircases, groaning under the desperation of his pace.

Melissa Rydell had a cup to her lips, chin trembling, when Mulder burst through the door, yelling at her to put it down, yelling at Vernon Ephesian to put his hands in the air.

Vernon turned, figure glazed by the searing sun, and smiled. “We escape the judgment.” And collapsed.

An exhalation, the release of the pressure towards the precipice, before Melissa dropped the cup and began to convulse.

“Paramedics, now!” Mulder yelled, vaulting forward and pumping, pumping, pumping to keep her soul from leaving once more.

*****

The ER was teeming with blood and broken limbs and bendable bodies stuffed into thin, unforgiving waiting chairs. He kept wild-eyed pace with the gurney until paramedics forced him aside, one staying back to force his limbs away when Mulder was assaulted with the pungent stink of vomit, Melissa’s vomit, and nearly collapsed against the wall.

*****

Skinner had let him sit, unaccompanied, while their star witness's stomach was pumped. Mulder figured it had something to do with an unexplained marriage of his own, but both kept their own council and avoided each other's eyes.

The scent of coffee snapped him from the endless bend of his thoughts. White hospital styrofoam floated a few inches from his face, and a few inches from that miracle were two very blue, very serious eyes. Mulder blinked, shut out the clamor of Don’t die, don’t die, don’t die, and refocused.

“I was passing by and thought you needed a black coffee.” Dr. Dana Scully; and her eyes were still serious and his hands were still shaking.

He took it and nodded. “Thank you.”

She nodded in turn, politely. “I saw what happened earlier and couldn’t help but wonder if your wife was okay.”

Mulder jolted as sickening dread clawed its screaming way into his throat. “My wife?”

Dr. Dana Scully’s eyebrows pulled down and her arm shot out to steady him. “Have you been checked for injuries, too? Head trauma? Do you have a headache or feel nauseous in any way?”

“I’m fine,” he breathed, bending forward to hide behind his hands. Dr. Scully and the hospital and poisoned soulmates melted briefly behind the consuming process of regular breathing. “She’s not my wife. I’m just an agent assigned to her case.”

“I’m….” Mulder looked up, the confusion in her voice catching his harried attention. “I’m sorry. You were insistent she was your wife when you both came in.”

“Did I say that?”

“Yes, you were quite insistent.” She paused, eyes darting back and forth while she puzzled over his sincerity. “Most likely shock, if you don’t remember.”

“I think I-- she’s not my wife. Now.”

“Hmm. But you love her?”

He wheezed, amused. “More than life itself.”

*****

Angry threats and a shot tumbled down from the desk area; and Mulder reached for his gun and ran down towards the unfolding chaos. A disheveled man, grimed and desperate, was waving a weapon and demanding “Drugs! Painkillers! Anything!” at a small group of medical staff.

Dr. Scully stood in front, her serious eyes burning as she commanded Jerry to listen. “Jerry, put it down. The police will be here any minute; and it’ll be easier to explain if you aren’t armed.”

Mulder slowed, leveled his gun, and called, “Jerry! FBI, put your hands in the--”

In a split second, the crowbar was flying down towards the doctor’s head and a bullet was crashing through the air towards the addict's chest. Metal and man collapsed to the ground with a clang and a thud.

*****

Midnight heralded majestic calm to the intensive care unit, quiet and cold as nurses softly made their rounds and Mulder kept his vigil by Melissa’s bed. She lay attached to and surrounded by wires and machines and stiff, antiseptic sheets.

Skinner had demanded an update, sighed heavily over the expected “A coma, Sir, and difficulty in assessing the extent of the damage to her organs”, and insisted Mulder get some sleep. Neither believed he would.

Too keyed to sit, he rose and walked a lap around the room, studying Melissa’s face from different angles and trying, trying, to unlock more memories with a squint or a stare. Coming to a halt by her side, he reached out to clutch her hand before drawing back. It felt wrong. Everything felt wrong.

“Melissa-- Sarah. It’s me, Sullivan. Mulder.”

He shivered, torn; and sagged back into his seat, too weary to continue this conversation while standing.

“I feel that my soul has been searching for years. In my arrogant self-reliance, I’d assumed that search was for the answers to my sister’s disappearance, that with her had vanished any sense of rest or peace. And before finding you, I’ve been….”

He stopped, jaw clenching. “When I was a kid, I’d dreamt of a normal life-- y’know, spaceships and baseball and family. Life didn’t… life hasn’t worked out that way, for me. I have, I have fish; and an apartment; and complete control of the remote-- though that might not mean much to you, Sarah, if you’re listening, but it’s important to a guy like me.”

The machines beeped, beeped in time with her heartbeat. “But… I don’t have anybody to laugh with; or share what I find every day in my work-- people or creatures no one can begin to quantify. I’m Spooky Mulder to everyone else: a joke they keep around to drag out of the basement when they can’t solve their own problems fast enough; and that's all they want to see.

“I think our souls found each other, bound across time and always searching; and I think we were destined to find each other now when we have no one else. To fix the mistakes of our past, Sarah. To make it right.”

*****

Dr. Scully announced her entrance by the click of her approaching heels; and, smiling, he turned in time to see her sweep aside the partition curtain and give him a sympathetic head tilt.

“How’s the arm?”

“Seen better days,” she admitted, self-consciously nudging the sleeve back for inspection. An ugly blue-and-blackening mark smeared the underside of her forearm; and he winced as she shrugged and covered it back up. “I wanted to thank you-- it’s not every day an FBI agent saves me from a deranged pill addict.”

“And it’s not every day I get to be on the other side of a tactical negotiation. You did pretty good under pressure.”

“Well I should, since it comes with the territory,” she replied, and smirked when he chuffed acknowledgement. “I was headed home but wanted to see how you two were doing.”

“I’ve been told she’s going to be sleeping for a while. Coma.”

“Coma? Do you know how serious?”

“'Not expected to wake for a while' serious.”

“Do you mind if I take a look at her chart?”

Deflating from his affirmative, Mulder stuttered. “I don’t... know if she’d be comfortable with that.”

“Right. Sorry.” She ducked her head, embarrassed, and made a show of looking at her watch. “It’s getting late, so I’d better….”

“Dr. Scully--”

“Dana’s fine, Mr. Mulder--”

“Mulder.”

“Excuse me?”

“I even made my parents call me Mulder, so.” He shrugged. “Mulder.”

Her smile downturned, tamping a quiet laugh; and the cold began to recede, anguish slinking away as fear turned back to fouler places.

“Scully," he began again, "do you believe in love at first sight? Or have you ever seen somebody that you knew would love the real you if they knew you? That they'd do anything to spend eternity with you? Have you ever fallen in love with somebody you haven’t even talked to?”

She squared her shoulders; and Mulder got the distinct impression she’d be crossing her arms if one wasn’t already injured.

“Logically, I would have to say no. Love at first sight is usually driven by hormones and attraction more than deep or lasting connection.”

“But if you know they’re the one, if your soul is crying out for them in a way you can’t possibly understand or quantify-- in a way that science can’t explain-- would you still think that feeling was only hormones or attraction or something larger than yourself?”

“What? Fate? Destiny?”

“Maybe-- or maybe something as simple as two souls reuniting across each lifetime.”

Mulder was surprised Scully seemed to be weighing his words, watching her mind work through different routes of attack before her gaze landed on Melissa. Her face softened; her posture relaxed.

“Mulder, there are explanations that science offers to these questions; and I believe the answers are there. But I don’t know what you believe and… and it’s late, and I need to go home.”

He nodded, smiled for her sake; and she smiled for his, nodded, and slowly turned back to pull the curtain.

“My next shift is tomorrow night, if you don’t mind me looking in on you.”

“I’ll be here,” he answered, good-naturedly patting the arm of his chair.

Scully pushed up an eyebrow, gave an enigmatic twist of her lips, and vanished, heels tapping further and further into the distance.

*****

Someone was shrieking at him. Mulder bolted upright, arms reaching simultaneously for his gun and Melissa before the fog in his head cleared and he found himself thronged by two small boys and four strangers. Doubling over in relief, he heard excitement turn to anxiety and mild horror.

“Oh, we’re so sorry--”

“Morgan! Conner! Get off of Mr. Mulder’s arm--”

“We didn’t mean to scare you--”

“--just dropping in and didn’t think--”

“--they jumped you, rather excited bunch--”

“Dana said that you had--”

Scully burst through, parting the Red Sea of cross and crucifix necklaces. “Mom, don’t crowd him-- Charlie, keep the boys from the wires-- Hessa, could you please pass me the blanket he dropped? Mulder--” she wheeled back around, caught between exasperation and nervous energy, “--sorry. My family heard about our exploits yesterday and insisted on coming here and thanking you in person--”

“We hope we didn’t disturb you,” said one of two brown-haired women Mulder assumed was Mom. “The boys were excited to meet a real FBI agent and escaped before Charlie could wrangle them into order.”

“But Grandma--”

“Grandma, we didn’t--!”

“Both of you hush,” the younger, black-haired woman cut in. “Mr. Mulder, we’re very sorry. They must have given you a heart attack.”

“Well, they, uh,” he chuckled, rubbing at his chest, “they put a new meaning in ‘up and at it’.”

“We’re sorry, Mr. Mulder.”

Scully swiped the blanket from the boys’ mother, folding it neatly as she primly replied, “He prefers to be called Mulder, Conner. And now,” she added, plopping her handiwork carefully over Melissa’s feet, “that we’ve scared him half to death, I think it’s time we all packed up--”

“Mulder? Name’s Charlie Scully. Pleasure to meet you.” Charlie Scully stuck an arm over his sister’s shoulder, grinning when her shrug off wasn’t tall enough to nudge him away; and Mulder shook it warmly, fond of this domestic display now that the buzz had dissipated from his ears. “We were all headed out for an early lunch-- care to join us? Get some fresh air and some good food in you?”

A good meal turned out to be a McDonald’s drive-through, American-red and glistening off a land-of-the-free highway; but Mulder ate it down, contentedly listening to the family chatter until Scully’s voice cut in with a sharp, “Mulder, is this your motel?” Gouging the sleep from his eyes with a ketchup-scented fist, he peered out the side window while both Scully boys rotated, anti-gravity style, somewhere further behind him.

It was his motel, alright: grungy and garish, morbid and foreboding. Even a particularly unlucky window had cracks and patches that eerily lined up with the horizontal scratches etched a couple feet wide into one of the separating walls.

“Charlie, keep driving. We’re going back to Dana’s place.”

“Mrs. Scully--”

“No arguments. There’s no way I can leave you here in good conscience, Fox, when Dana has a guest bed you can use.”

Scully, passive, didn’t disagree; and Mulder couldn’t think of a reason that didn’t begin and end in an argument.

*****

Mulder’s stakeout was disrupted again by the advent of Scully’s kitten heels.

“Mi casa es su casa,” he said, listening to her abruptly halt, then figure out and take in stride his astute hearing.

“Hopefully not for much longer.” Consolingly, she added, “Her vitals look good. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Yeah.”

A crinkle and crunch caught his attention, pulling his eyes away from Melissa’s respirator to the burrito that Scully was carefully unwrapping as nonchalantly as she could.

“Scully, are you snacking on the job?”

“It’s my lunch break. I’m running on four hours of sleep and just enough adrenaline to feel a bit rebellious.”

“I’m sure there’s a federal offense somewhere prohibiting that behavior.”

“Well, now you’re my accomplice; so, I don’t rate prison very highly on my list of concerns.”

“Partners in crime. I like it.”

“Hmm.” She chewed slowly, peeling back another paper layer. “I was thinking about what you said last night-- falling in love at first sight. I did, once. And it ended in heartbreak.”

“How so?” Leaning back, Mulder tried to stretch the cramp out of his right leg, mostly to no avail.

“It was a profession, not a person. When I was in medical school, I had… aspirations to leave it all behind. The FBI recruited me, and I almost accepted.”

“You were recruited? Scully.”

“I know. Melissa-- my sister, Melissa-- never lets me live it down.”

Mulder watched her methodically peel another layer away with more than necessary attention. “Did you accept?”

Softly clearing her throat, she answered, “No, uh, no. Things were complicated at home; and I didn’t think it was wise to add to the… complications by disappointing my parents. They would have considered it as an act of rebellion, you see.”

“I see.” He thumbed the blanket still folded on Melissa’s feet. “Was it?”

“No. I don’t think so, anyway. I wanted to make a difference in the world, prove myself beyond medicine, if I could. High ambitions, possibly unrealistic ones; but…” Looking down at the half-finished burrito, Scully smiled to herself and handed it over. “Sometimes we bite off more than we can chew. At least in medicine I get to meet FBI agents without the commitment.”

Snickering, he prodded, “What happened after recruitment? You decided medicine in Tennessee was enough for you?”

“Oh, no-- I moved here after my father’s death. No reason, really; I just... had to get away from the sea. It was coast to coast my whole life, and the allure of that lifestyle wore thin after….” her fingers made a sweeping motion, “Everything.”

“I see. Was Tennessee far enough away?”

“I suppose. Not as 'big city' as I’m used to, though.”

“Aw, it’s not so bad. Graceland’s tucked away around here somewhere.”

“You're an Elvis fan?”

“Mmhm.”

“You put the ‘fan’ in ‘fanatic’?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“That’s what all Elvis fans say. It begins with the music and ends with the conspiracies.”

“That’s what I like about you, Scully, you cling to your science despite all evidence to the contrary. Elvis is out there, and he’ll prove it to you someday.”

“And so is Bigfoot, the Mothman, and the Chupacabra.”

Mulder sat up, transfixed. “Everyone’s got their faith, Scully, and you’ve just spoken mine.”

“I have two rowdy nephews who I’m making up for lost time with, Mulder. Learning about things that go bump in the night are the least of my troubles.”

“Well, if you ever want to investigate those interests further, march right back to the FBI recruitment office and get partnered up with me.”

“Yes, Sir,” she teased.

Even so, another sort of feeling shot through Mulder-- the bitter cry of an old, loyal friend electrifying the gooseflesh on his dying skin-- and left him silent, shaken.

*****

It was the fourth day of pulling the night shift with Scully and sleeping it off in the guest room-- grabbing a simple breakfast with Maggie, Charlie, and the family before bed-- when Melissa, her sister Melissa, flew in with aplomb.

“It’s nice to meet you, Fox. Mulder,” she rectified, shooting a patient smile at Scully’s sharp glance. “I’ve been told not to call you 'Fox'.”

“Melissa, turn on your tact switch, please.”

“Hello to you, too, little brother.”

Amidst the rushed “hello”s, Mulder caught a softer, “Dana, you’re glowing-- I haven’t seen you this happy in years,” before he dashed away to get ready.

“Bill and Tara are only a couple hours behind me, Mom, so we should all be packed in by midnight. Hope you have the room, Day.”

“Clearly,” Scully dryly responded while Maggie twisted around to give her eldest daughter a more welcoming “You always have a home here, Melissa.”

Sweeping by, Mulder stooped to whisper, “Very generous woman, your Mom,” to Scully, and waited a second for her rejoining, “Always generous with what isn’t hers” before sailing away for his shoes.

Melissa saw them off at the door, her smile less enigmatic, more cunning. “Have a nice night Dana,” she waved, blowing a kiss after both of them and shutting up the household chatter with a swift slam of the door.

“That’s a first.”

His partner-in-crime’s acquiescing “Yes” was less jovial, more ruminative.

*****

“Mom wants to throw a celebration for when Melissa wakes up,” Scully amended, yawning her way through a forkful of salad and croutons.

Melissa Rydell, Mulder noted, was hooked up to less machinery, though its mechanical clackery still hummed in alternating soothing or nerve-wracking chatter. Today, he supposed, it was the latter.

“Mulder?”

“Hm? Oh, that’s… that’s good.”

“Mulder.” Melissa’s heart beat between them, calmly, incessantly. Stronger every day. “Why don’t you ever talk about her?”

“About who?”

“Melissa-- you always avoid the topic or give one-word answers. I don’t know anything about her other than she’s the love of your life, that you’re devoted to her, and that we sit here, day after day, waiting for her to wake up. I mean, you’ve never even touched her hand while she’s been here.”

Mulder wanted to shift away from her chair, but that would scoot him closer to Melissa’s bed. He settled for sliding forward, changing his mind, and sliding backwards. “She’s very important to me.”

“I’m not trying to make you prove anything to me, I just--” Scully grabbed the second blanket she’d stored at Melissa’s feet and attempted to sweep it over her shoulders. Mulder watched her struggle for a bit before reaching over and carefully adjusting it himself. “Thank you. I want to know her, Mulder-- as a person, not a patient.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Well… what’s her favorite ice cream?”

“Ben and Jerry’s.”

“Ben and Jerry’s…?”

“Ben and Jerry’s.”

“Mulder, that’s a brand, not a flavor.”

“I never thought to ask.”

“We’ve spent almost five days side by side and you already know how I prefer my coffee, what vending machine I don’t like, and which breakfast sides I’ve marked as the greasiest; but you don’t know Melissa’s favorite ice cream flavor.”

“I don’t, Scully. What else?”

“Fine.” There was a calculating look in her eye that didn’t bode well. “When’s your anniversary?”

“We have a couple different ones.”

Sharp, palpable anger settled between them, heat building under his collar as his palms sweat and her face solidified into immovable reproof.

“Mulder--”

“No, Scully.”

“Will you just hear me, please.” She waited for his nod. He gave it, grudgingly; and she continued. “I don’t believe you know anything about this woman other than an ideal or fantasy you’ve built up in your mind. You don’t need to tell me about the case or how you met or even what drew you to each other for me to know that you are pursuing the wrong path.

"Do you really know her-- Melissa Rydell; not Melissa, the woman fell in love with at first sight?”

*****

They spent the rest of the shift apart, meeting up when it was time to leave and pensively filing into their respective seats in Scully’s modest car.

Bill and Melissa were at the door when Mulder drove up; and he wished this were any other morning when the distance between himself and their younger sister could be more easily disguised.

“Billy, this is Fo-- Mulder; Mulder this is Billy; and Dana, this is Billy and Mulder.”

“Har har,” Scully huffed, hauling herself past Melissa into Bill’s arms, past him to the shoe rack.

“Mulder,” Bill Scully said, sizing him up before offering a handshake. “Heard you’re part of the family now.”

“‘Fraid so,” Mulder quipped, then winced when Scully flinched.

“Bill, don’t jockey him for your old room back. Mulder didn’t even know the concept of a guest room existed until Mom practically threw it at him.”

Melissa whistled, looking between the two of them. “C’mon, Dana, we’ve got a nice cream cheese bagel with your name on it.”

*****

The guest room had been stifling-- the antique clock’s thick ticking thrust him back into the heavy, methodical beeping of Melissa Rydell’s life support-- and Mulder, overheating in the thinnest cotton layers he could find, sought solace in Scully’s car. It was an old ritual formed from long stakeouts with a roster of unsociable partners that lasted mere weeks before leaving Spooky to his dusty theories and dustier passenger seat. This time he was the passenger, cranking up the aircon and ripping out whatever cash he had in his wallet to toss onto her side of the glove compartment. He could lose a dollar or two in exchange for needed space.

When the driver’s side door opened, he bolted upright, blearily assuming he’d overslept; and was confused when the wrong Scully sister dropped into view.

“Fox, Mulder, whatever, I need to talk with you. Just a minute?”

“Um.” Half-expecting Melissa to park herself wherever she liked anyway, he shuffled upright and waved a hand at her. “Come in.”

She stooped then stopped, catching a swirling dollar with her fingertips. “Why’re there bills everywhere?”

“Because the gas is on.”

“Okay.” Swishing uselessly here and there, Melissa gave up and slammed the front door. Mulder wondered if the impulse to hit all the locks was paranoia or prescience before she slid back a few feet, opened the back door, and scooted in, perturbed but seated.

“Dana’s been… off today. And I’m not trying to get involved in your affairs, but I really think you should tell her.”

“Tell her what.”

“I really think you should. She’s feeling displaced and unprioritized; and sooner or later she’s going to decide this back and forth isn’t worth the effort and cut her losses.” She bobbed her head to scout him out through the rear view mirror. “Dana came home subdued and grieved; and her feelings for you are really raw--”

“What--” Mulder bent his head feverishly until he found her in the mirror, too. “Melissa, Dana and I do not love each other. Dana is not in love with me-- and everyone knows I’m in love with Melissa and waiting for her to wake up.”

“Please, you haven’t been in love with her since the moment I arrived. You’ve been conflicted, and those conflicted feelings have been clouding your judgment to--”

“Melissa, I don’t want to hear your... this. And if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to get some more sleep before I have to drive back to the hospital.”

She sat back, studied him a long moment, then sighed, defeated. “Maybe I was just crazy, or hopeful, or I noticed something between you that neither of you will recognize--” shooting him a pointed look, “--but it’s hard to think of your baby sister going it alone, y’know? Even if she chooses to do so.”

Almost a week of emotional roller coasters and somehow, someway, Mulder gathered, a cruel trick of the universe was about to toss him down another dip. “'Go it alone'... how?”

“I haven’t had a chance to talk it over with her, but after some educated guess work and some spying of my own,” Melissa smirked at him, joyless, “I’m pretty sure she’s pregnant.”

Down the dip he goes.

“And Dana’s more than capable of taking on single motherhood alone, but….”

Somehow, someway he found his voice. “She’s been drinking coffee... so, so, I don’t think she’d be….”

“She hasn’t, Mulder. I’ve been watching. Have you seen her, at the hospital?”

He hadn’t.

“I’m never wrong about Dana, as much as she wishes I were.” Melissa tapped his shoulder and popped open the door again. “And I really think you should tell her.”

*****

The restaurant was packed, families and singles escaping the hot June weather with the promise of swift customer service and big, cheap meals stacked on impossibly large plates. Scully, of all people, had suggested it, wanting to show off the “local grub” to Bill and Tara, flicking Charlie when he whined about being an afterthought now. The sizzling smell of grease and fatty meat and salty snacks and rich desserts burrowed into the thick, tightly woven green carpet and practically varnished the sturdy, simply carved wood paneling that stretched from the floor to the bottom of each window.

It was Heaven to a man like Mulder and the Slough of Despond to a woman like Scully; yet she tucked away a modest serving while he limped half-heartedly through his meal, watching her untouched coffee cool and stale with the blooming conviction that he was going to lose the undivided attention of the one person who hadn’t grown sick of his company. His eyes met Melissa’s across the table, and she nodded slightly at him, convincing him that she was convinced this was another sign of his lovelornity.

Well, tough-- for her and for him. He was flying back to Washington D.C. at some point; and whatever friendship he and Scully had recently formed would likely have disintegrated with distance, regardless. Melissa would dote on the newest family member while making moon eyes over ‘what could have been’ and Bill would get his guestroom back and Maggie would move back into the room he, Mulder, vacated; and wouldn’t they all be one hunky dory, happy-go-lucky family?

He’d wait long enough for Melissa to wake up, and recover, and they’d….

The last of his appetite was gone.

*****

Having accepted the probability of an uber Scully, Mulder packed his resentment judiciously away with any expectation beyond a kind but temporary friendship; and pulled out chairs and opened doors with a vengeance. Everyone else raised eyebrows or exchanged surprised glances except Melissa, who watched them drive off with doom and acceptance in her eyes.

The evening haunt now alternated with vigils at Melissa’s bedside and more frequent trips from Scully’s favorite vending machine-- down the hall, up a floor, back down the elevator-- to the ICU common area where he would loiter with water or a snack for Dr. Scully to grab as she passed. By eleven, most of his offerings were piled on her seat in Melissa’s room and he was questioning how medical staff made it through their repetitive rounds with little time in-between for breaks.

Activity on the ward slowed around 1 A.M., leaving room, Mulder noticed, for Scully's suspicions to be awakened.

“Is this the fourth bottle of water?” she asked, sidling up slowly, intercepting his zeal with an outstretched hand.

“Fifth. Drank the last one.”

Sighing, Scully led the way back to Melissa’s room, her sneakers-- this was the first night he’d seen her without heels-- squeaking across the freshly mopped floor with punctuating emphasis. She practically groaned when the leaning tower of snack bars came into view.

“Mulder, if this is about last night, let’s just-- move past it.”

He nodded, eyeing the stack as it slowly slid into staircase formation.

She sighed again. “What is going on here, Mulder? And I don’t intend to let this go until you tell me the truth.”

“Melissa followed me out to the car this afternoon. She told me.”

Those serious, blue eyes had widened, sweeping over his face before looking away. “What did she tell you?”

“That she thought you were… pregnant.”

“What?” Scully snapped forward, ramrod straight, sneakers stamped unthinkingly on the front of his shoes, seeking secure footholds with the grace of two concrete bricks. She stepped back, aware, when Mulder crinkled his right eye in pain. “Sorry. I’m not-- why…”

“You’re not?”

“I’m not.” Her hand reached out, assuring. “I’m not.”

Another flash of Scully or someone like her bent over him, dragging what he knew to be his dying body across the earth. Companionship. Trust. No man left behind.

“I wanted to try IVF.”

The vision was gone; but the peace remained. Scully still stood by his side-- littler, now-- gripping his arm supportively as she slowly and succinctly kept him grounded. “The treatments are expensive, and grueling; and they’re not guaranteed to work. Bill and Tara have been trying for almost two years, without success.”

Mulder nodded, encouraged. “Hm.”

“I don’t know how Melissa could have figured that out, though.”

“You weren’t drinking your coffee.”

Her head dipped, chin tilted out. “I’ve been tapering off, because….”

“You were weaning yourself in preparation.”

“Anyway, now that that’s cleared up….” Embarrassed, Scully walked to the snack pile, grabbed a protein bar, and routinely unwrapped it.

A long pause-- as such pauses are before life-altering decisions-- bridged the gap between her confession and his admittance; and, steeling himself, Mulder sat, swiped up the little tower, and motioned for her to sit, too. A little quid pro quo.

“I was twelve when it happened. My sister was 8. She just… disappeared out of her bed one night. Just gone, vanished."

*****

Melissa Rydell woke on the thirteenth day, gargling past her intubation tube, wailing and screaming for Vernon Ephesian.

*****

“Agent Mulder--”

“Sir, she’ll know me, she has to, we just have to bring in someone who can help her unlock her memories--”

“Repressed memories are very different from brain damage, Agent. And might I remind you that the extent of her damage is so severe that I expect you to tread very carefully. There are already compromising questions being asked about your involvement in this case--”

“Like what? That I’m manipulating a vulnerable woman to prove an egomaniacal theory? That I’m using my influence to mold her into my beliefs, like Ephesian did? Like they think I want to do?”

“You will stand down on this, Mulder. If you wish to see that woman recover enough to make a statement on behalf of the late members of the Church of Seven Stars, then I suggest you direct your anger towards a productive course of action.”

“And what’s that, Sir? Let her lose that side of herself because no one here wants to admit that Spooky was onto something? That the FBI was able to save one alive from Ephesian's second attempted mass suicide because of my theories? Is that not good enough for your report--”

“Mulder!” Scully appeared abruptly to his right, anchoring her hand on his arm as she swiveled from one red face to the other.

Both men heaved, locked into position in case either of them decided Agent Mulder was going to do something stupid.

“Mulder, I need to speak with you-- privately.”

The gridlock eased, Special Agent tugged slowly away from Assistant Director with future intent etched in the straight edge of each tight shoulder. She walked him to an empty hospital room; and both politely waited for the door to shut before turning on each other.

“Mulder, you are compromising your position on this case when Melissa Rydell has barely woken from her coma, let alone remembered any pertinent evidence to prove your assumption?”

“Scully, you've heard what I found-- the dates, the testimony, the pictures--”

“And what I’ve heard is circumstantial evidence that is moot without her corroborating testimony. Look, I’m not happy about this, either, but you can’t fit this woman or her memories into what you want her to believe."

“Scully, it’s not what I want her to believe, it’s the truth! Do you expect me to deny it because it’s inconvenient? That’s not who I am.”

“Mulder, I’ve seen things that I can’t explain, too-- I’ve witnessed them with my own eyes. My father--” Scully’s face fell, but she recovered momentum in a blink, “--appeared to me minutes before my mother called to announce his death. I know. I know! But it might not be what really happened-- and if it is, it might not be the whole truth of what happened. Just because you saw it or felt it, doesn’t mean it’s what you understand it to be. The truth is out there, Mulder. But so are lies. And the ones we tell ourselves are often the easiest to mistake for the truth.”

*****

Mulder spent his last night in a Tennessean motel, meeting up in the odd, early hours of the morning with the Scullys for breakfast. Red-rimmed eyes, disheveled hair, and pillow creases at odd sides of his face marked a night of exhaustive, useless effort.

The Scully boys gave him bacon bits from their plates, the Scully brothers kept the coffee coming, and the Scully women fussed and distracted at the appropriate moments. Breakfast eaten, they clung to the silence, knowing only that they didn’t want to break it. Then Mulder made a motion towards his watch and skidded out of the booth, Morgan and Conner following close behind. The Spooky Mulder Fan Club: members, two. It was bittersweet; and he gripped them on either side as they walked to the van and drove to the airport.

Maggie pulled him aside before he could check in. “Fox, I want you to call as soon as you land. Promise me, fresh from the plane. I remember how it was for my husband to return to his base, alone, with his family thousands of miles away. One of us’ll be waiting; and Charlie and I’ll be flying back to Maryland in a week or two, and I don’t want you to even think of avoiding us. Drive down and I’ll have some good cooking ready for you.” And she hugged him and he hugged back, murmuring wordless noises between them.

“Don’t forget to give us a ring, too, Mulder,” Charlie added, cutting in for a goodbye shake while the boys ping-ponged back and forth between both for hugs and hair ruffles. Bill gave a decent nod and an approving grip while Melissa and Tara and Hessa traded off with slow approaches and graceful scuffles away.

Scully was last, of course. “You call,” she whispered. He nodded.

*****

“Scully.”

“Hey, Scully, it’s me.”

“...Mulder?”

“Yeah. I called because I just got back from a case-- real gruesome one involving sorcery and plastic surgery, you’d ’ve loved it.”

“I see.”

“Anyway, I, uh, wanted to check-in and say, that… I reached my apartment, safely.”

“No kidding.”

“And that I hope your mom got my first message, fresh off the plane.”

“She did. I heard she liked it.”

“That’s good.”

“...Mulder, is there a point to this particular ���check-in’?”

“Uh huh. I was wondering if you were flying up with Melissa and Bill and Tara for-- any time soon.”

“Uh… no. I’m not, any time soon.”

“Oh.”

“But I thought, maybe, you would be flying down for a statement for the Ephesian case. I read it's still wrapping up.”

“I could. Is Dunk ‘N Fry still keeping its heavenly, greasy doors open?”

“It should be.”

“And I could cross-reference some casefile notes with you. Got an interesting one on a goat man sighting.”

“El Chupacabra?”

“No-- that’s an animal, not a goat man, Scully. This one’s the real deal.”

“Uh huh.”

“So, I’ll-- I could touch down in… two days.”

“They must really need you back in Tennessee for the case.”

“Well, Scully, I have to confess a little something.”

“...Sure, okay.”

“There’s this girl I want to see.”

“...Does she have a name?”

“Yeah, but she prefers I not call her by it.”

“I see.”

“And there’s a place-- a very special place-- to me that I want to show her. A sabbatical of sorts, to reconnect and… get to know her better.”

“Don’t you know each other pretty well?”

“Pretty well. But I’d like to know her better.”

“I’ll bet she wants to know you better, too.”

“I hope she doesn’t mind a road trip. It’s part of my nature to wander.”

“No, I don’t think she will. I think she’d like to wander around a bit, too.”

“Does two days sound too fast, too soon?”

“Two days sounds perfect.”

“Okay.”

“Just a second.... Gotta go, duty calls.”

“Go save the world, Scully.”

“I'd need a lot more than two days' time, Mulder."

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

******

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

Tagging @today-in-fic!

[holy-mountaiin]

Day 3 - The Image Lost

SCRIPTURES:

Genesis 5-6

Psalm 12

Ephesians 3

Below you will find each audible version over beats, visuals and "helpful tools." At the very bottom you will see a "read & rant episode"

Genesis 5 (NASB)

GENESIS 5 (AUDIBLE) ON STREETLIGHTS:

GENESIS 5 (VISUAL) ON GIDEON FILMS:

 Genesis 6 (NASB)

GENESIS 6 (AUDIBLE) ON STREETLIGHTS:

 Psalms 12 (NASB)

PSALM 12 (AUDIBLE) ON STREETLIGHTS:

Ephesians 3 (NASB)

EPHESIANS 3 (AUDIBLE) ON STREETLIGHTS:

VISUAL ON THE BIBLE PROJECT:

HELPFUL TOOLS

Ephesians part 2 by Isaiah Saldivar

Ephesians 2-3 by Spoken Gospel

Walk with God - Streetlights

Psalm 12 - Spoken Gospel

[sartorialadventure]

[godslove]

[hiddenplacx]

Don't be arrogant towards those who don't believe in God, don't point out sins as if you weren't a sinner just because you think you're more righteous; if you're saved today, it's the result of grace and not your own merit. Be humble!

[artthatgivesmefeelings]

Sophie Fremiet (French, 1797-1867) La Belle Anthia, 1820

[gabebrodudeman]

[moderntradwife]

[heart-for-god]

Ephesians 6:2

[gentlemanmotorslifestyle]

[reformedfaith]

Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.

Ephesians 4:32

[wiirocku]

Ephesians 6:18 (NLT) - Pray in the Spirit at all times and on every occasion. Stay alert and be persistent in your prayers for all believers everywhere.

[i-used-to-be-an-anti-feminist]

Christian men, if you think you can read the verses directed at wives and opt out of the rest or just sweep the commandments given to you under the superficial covering of the "love" you bring to a relationship by default, you are heaping SO MUCH judgment upon yourself.

Do you know what it means to really love someone? Do you know what it means to be one with them? It means that you should approach your role selflessly. You should not be putting any burden upon your wife you would not bear yourself. When you belittle, ignore, dismiss, neglect, hurt, or make selfish demands of her, you are in fact abusing yourself in all of these ways, and God will hold you to account.

You aren't owed a wife. Marriage isn't some cute little arrangement where you get sex and and a maidservant in return for sporadic contributions of affection whenever you happen to be feeling generous. Marriage is a weighty commitment in which you are giving your life to someone you respect and admire enough to serve until you're dead. Anything you ask of her is supposed to be for her benefit (and the rest of your family as it grows). It isn't about you, and if you think for one second that it is, go read the entirety of the passage you're so quick to rely on, and then go read the Gospels to learn what "love like Jesus loved the Church" actually looks like.

Your entire job as a husband is to ensure your wife's spiritual, emotional, and physical wellbeing, and so many of you are failing at that before you even try because you're looking at what you can get out of her instead of what you can give.

[aspirant1598]

[godslove]

[andallshallbewell]