TITLE: IN SILENCE WE SPEAK (1/1) AUTHOR: LA RATING: PG-13 (some swear words but nothing anyone should be offended by. I've heard worse on school playgrounds!) CLASSIFICATION: VA...bordering on R (yikes!) SPOILERS: a little of every season so far. KEYWORDS: MSR SUMMARY: Mulder's thoughts as he holds vigil beside a seriously hurt Scully's bedside. Do me a favor...SPREAD THE WORD! Post anyplace you want! To Gossamer, to axtc, shout it from the rooftops! The more places, the better!!! Just let me know where it ends up and keep my name on it somewhere! :o) DISCLAIMER: Once upon a time, there was a surf-god named Chris Carter who came up with amazing characters on a very cool show. He owns them and I've heard he doesn't LIKE to share! These characters are also the sole property of Gillian Anderson and David Duchovny, who give them soul, life and purpose. I bow to all of the aboves greatness. That said...please don't sue. No money and no time to fight it. Guess what, kids? I have no medical background. I'm a graphic designer. Any medical descriptions are purely my conjecture so don't pick on me if it's wrong. :o) FEEDBACK: is craved. I appreciate all that is said so don't disappoint. You can reach me on my cell phone or LAinNJ@aol.com. Try the email addy first. Then I WILL respond! DEDICATION: To Chris...looks like I finally cleared the writer's block hurdle. Yeeha! IN SILENCE WE SPEAK by LA There are many times in our lives when the world is painted shades of gray. We call it uncertainty. I'm wishing now for that shade of gray, because the clarity of black and white is agonizing. The black and white of it is I made a mistake, an unforgivable mistake, and only now can I even begin to fathom the unconscionable cost. I vowed to myself after Samantha was taken that I wouldn't ever look back on why I couldn't stop it, why I was powerless. Of course, much to the chagrin of those around me, I do anyway, on a daily basis. Spooky and his single-minded obsession. I'll go so far as to admit that, for a long time, I was being single minded. That changed the day Dana Katherine Scully walked into my office. It was then that my one-track mind opened up at least a little bit, allowing other things to unfold. My quest for the truth is as strong as ever, prodded on by events which I try to control and often cannot. By things I have seen and have been told to forget. By heinous and evil forces that seek to destroy nearly everything they touch. Call the continuance of the quest what you will. Call it guilt. Call it self-destruction. Call it condemnation. But DON'T call it single-mindedness. For single-mindedness will destroy me, and right now, I can't afford for this to be my end. Right now, Scully needs me. She needs me to be there for her when she wakes up from her enforced sojourn into the world of dreams. From her much needed rest from reality. >From her coma. Coma. What a strange word and yet it speaks volumes to those around you. Coma. Add an M and it becomes COMMA. An addition, a but, if you will. There has to be an addition to this. I refuse to believe that this will be it. That she will be reduced to this state of suspended animation. For someone who uses her mind so much, to have it harmed is one of life's great ironies. Like a painter losing his arms in an accident. Or a flower in the summer dying in an early fall frost. I need her to be awake and talking with me. I crave her voice as if it were the last drop of water in the desert. She is so much a part of me that I can barely function without her. And haven't been since it happened. Over twenty- four hours ago, my world ceased to be MY world. Instead, it became Scully's world, only holding tight for her. The accident. My mind wanders a bit over the details that have become engraved there, stored away in a filing cabinet under "Stupid Things I Have Done". Scully knows it's my fault and yet she is doing me the good grace to keep mum about it. Trying to save me once again. Hey Scully, I'll take the reprimand if you would just wake up. Where was my train of thought? Leaving the station without me, once again. Oh yeah, the accident. We'd received a tip that our suspect was going to be at the new factory construction sight on New York Avenue. Against Scully's judgement, we went in alone, with no back-up support. She didn't think he'd be there anyway, but still, proper procedure and all. So strange, really. SHE didn't want ME to get hurt. She wanted me to be more cautious and to stick together at all times. I'm not sure how it happened, but we got split up. Before I knew it, she had gone up to the second level of the factory to look around. She never saw him coming. I spotted her and as I came up behind them, he rushed her with a tremendous tackle. I was too far back to stop him and he sent her sprawling over the railing down to the concrete floor 25 feet below. Without blinking an eye, I emptied my clip in him, the entire thing. Overkill, Scully would call it. If only she would wake up and tell me so. She is giving me the silent treatment to punish me for being stupid. I know her so well. Typical Scully. She usually arches her eyebrow and gives me The Look. Guess she figures I'll get the message if she doesn't tell me outright this time. Got it, Scully. Won't do it again. Will stick to you like crazyglue. Come back to me and you have my word. Words. What good are they, after all? Everything that has happened in 5 years has come down to some pretty abominable words. Words I never wanted to hear in connection with my partner. Skull fracture. Swelling of the brain. Fractured vertebrae in her upper back and neck. Shattered shoulder. The doctor said that once she started falling, she must have tried to roll to take the impact with her shoulder. That would be Scully...always thinking ahead. But boy, did it end up failing. She took the entire brunt of her fall on her right shoulder, which compressed into her spine and did the damage there. And somewhere in this, her head bounced like a damn basketball. The laws of physics exact a high price from a 33-year-old woman flying through the air. Maybe if I concentrate hard enough, I can will my spirit into her to return to me. But my mind, not unlike her's, seems to have taken a smallish vacation. As soon as the doctor mentioned the words "brain damage", that was it. I was gone. Brain damage. I choked when he said that. Scully can't have brain damage, I responded. She's a doctor and an FBI Agent. She has no room for brain damage in her work. I suppose I became a little hysterical because he told me to go sit down for awhile while he spoke with Mrs. Scully. I refused and demanded to be told the entire truth. Back to the truth again, Mulder. Why is it that this one little word can wreak so much havoc in my life? If I was a baseball pitcher, I guess my catch phrase would be "strike". And I would pursue it with as much zeal as I could muster. This must be the reason that I always played right field. They must have known back then that I would be too obsessive about the "strike". Am I obsessive about the truth? Do I take unnecessary chances with regard to it? Scully would say yes on both counts. And so we come full circle back to single-minded search for the truth. After listening to the doctor, I don't want to search for the truth any more. After hearing what he said and seeing the look on Mrs. Scully's face, I loathe the truth. Oh Scully, I don't think even you want to be part of this. I give a lot of credit to the doctor. He seems to have built an immunity to hysterical relatives and friends. He calmly explained to the two of us that due to the skull fracture, Scully's brain...Scully's brilliant brain...is swelling. And with this swelling comes the chance that irreparable damage is or has occurred. But he doesn't know how much. Or if she'll even wake up. IF. Please, not IF. It has to be when. When you wake up, we'll go over our case notes and I'll write the reports. Sound fair, Scully? Ever since he told us, I have been stroking Scully's arm and gently talking to her, never wavering, never faltering. I have cried many tears and now part of her sheets are wet. I hear a slight stirring and lift my head, hoping that she is coming out of it. But it's not her. It's her mom. She is telling me to get a cup of coffee. Take a breather. I can't go, I tell her. What if she wakes up while I'm gone? What if she asks for me and I'm not here? What if she slips away while I'm gone? But she knows. Maggie Scully is a true student of human nature and knows what I am feeling. She pats me on the shoulder and leaves to get the proffered cup of coffee. So much sadness in her life, and now I have added more. Waiting for that ass kicking from you anytime now, Scully. It must be my lot in life to cause people I love pain. My mother can barely look me in the eye after I accused her of having an affair with the man who has an ever-present Morley dangling from his lips. I don't think my father ever really forgave me for not saving Samantha that night. And now Scully. Everything that has happened to her has been because of my quest. Her brother called me a sorry son-of-a-bitch. Maybe he wasn't too far off the mark. Mrs. Scully called him to let him know what happened. He asked if I was there. I could tell by the look on her face as she held the phone in Scully's room. He said he would try to get here, but wasn't sure if it would be later rather than sooner as he was scheduled to ship out the following day. That was yesterday. I'm told he will be here sometime today. He doesn't need to waste his time with finger pointing and accusations. I'm your man, Bill, Jr. I might has well have been the one to push her over the railing with my own hands. I tighten my grip on Scully's arm. Maybe if I hold on tight, she won't leave me. Maybe she'll feel the pressure and the love that's behind it. The love. Love. Why does it take things like this to bring you to your senses? To make you realize what you should have all along. I love Scully. She is my world. She keeps me together. She is the missing part of me that was gone for so long. I don't feel inadequate when she is there. I feel as if I could be king of the world when she passes me a rare smile. There is so much passion in the unspoken word. We can say it all with our eyes. Quick, Scully, open your eyes and tell me you love me too. Wishful thinking, Mulder. You'll be lucky if she even speaks to you after this. She will probably request a transfer. Maybe back to teaching at Quantico, maybe a new life without the Bureau. It has brought her nothing but sadness, after all. The brilliant and enigmatic Agent Scully stuck in the rut that is known as The X-Files. She should have been a SAC by now, maybe even a section chief. Hell...probably even an AD. I can't help but be amazed by her. After everything that we have gone through, Scully has stood by me. Catching me when I fall. Picking me up when I stumble. For her to leave now would be the end of the world. I am not a man of prayer, but I beg of whoever will listen, do what you may to me but DO NOT let this be her end. It can't be Scully, not for you. xxxxxxxx Alone I sit here again. Scully's brother has just left after spending "quality time" with his little sister. I can only wonder if she had any idea he was here, if she has any idea that ANY of us are here. Her other brother, Charles, is stationed in Japan and is unable to get home just yet. He is trying. Charles' arrival can't help but be a breath of fresh air, especially after dealing with Bill, Jr. He called me on the carpet about his sister's condition, though I can't say that I blame him. But he has an inherent sense of bad timing to cause such a scene in front of his mother. Funny, I never knew Maggie Scully had so much fire in her, though it makes sense when you know her daughter. She told Bill to think of his sister and if he couldn't manage that then he should either shut up or leave, because this wasn't the time or place. He responded that he was thinking of his sister and that I was the one who was not. After everything she had been through with the cancer, for me to knowingly jeopardize her life this way was unforgivable. Scully, I swear to you, I didn't knowingly do this. I wish with all my might that I had been the one to go over that railing, to take that tackle from that punk. If only to spare her this. This uncertainty. But I can hear Scully's voice now, even as my mind drifts. 'Would it be any easier for me to sit here and watch you sleep?' As usual, she is right. She told me the last time I was hovering close to death that she never wanted to go through that again. That she couldn't stand the waiting to see if I would be okay. If I would become me again. I have to agree with her. It's a bitch waiting to see how the end of this drama will play out. I guess that's why when I read books, I skip to the end to see what happens. Please, let this be a happy ending. xxxxxxxx How strange when you think about people when they do their jobs. You inevitably think 'Do they like it? Is it what they always wanted to do?' I found myself thinking this when the nurse came in to change Scully's IV and check her bandages. She offered me a small, sad smile. She has seen this too many times before. Seen people wait and hope for just one more breath, one more heartbeat. I went and sat by the window while she did her duty, not even taking the opportunity to go and clear my head. I have to stay close to Scully. It gives me a comfort that I seem to crave. I watch the nurse intently, hoping that Scully might respond to her ministrations, even to utter a cry of pain. Of something. I know that when she wakes up, she will be hurting. So maybe it's good that she is sleeping through her body's initial shock and reaction. I must admit, though, that I am tired of watching her sleep. I want her awake and now, damnit. I want her to curse and yell. I want her to bitch about the hospital food and the lack of privacy. I want her to piss and moan about being dependent on someone to help her up. I want to hear her voice again. I NEED to. Oh, I can think of lots of things I need. I need someone to wake ME from this nightmare I have managed to plunge us both into. I need to feel her reassuring squeeze on my hand as I hold hers, telling me she'll be okay, that nothing can keep her down. If cancer can't, then neither will some bump on the head. Bump on the head...that's a good one, Mulder. The nurse finishes her job. She adjusts Scully's blankets and picks up her instruments. She looks over at me and announces that the doctor will be in to check on her in a few minutes. I shake my head, unable to voice a response. Instead, I stare at Scully's face as I hear the nurse sigh and walk out of the room. Tentatively, I walk back over to her bedside and sit in what is now known as my chair. I pick up her left hand and look at it. A strong hand, one that can flash it's way through an autopsy or hold a 9mm gun. It is soft, as you would expect, but it is not a dainty flower. Scully uses her hands, you can tell. They speak volumes about her. I spy a tiny scar on her thumb. I rub my fingers over it and wonder how it got there. Another "souvenir" from our tenure together? Or is this something from her childhood, a badge of courage. I'll have to ask her when she wakes up. When. I insist it will be when. I want to take both of her hands and hold them close to my heart, but I'll settle for one at the moment. Her right hand is across her body, almost protectively, even in sleep. They immobilized it when they rebuilt her right shoulder. I guess I'll have to call her my bionic woman for all the pins and metal they used to accomplish that feat. She'll set off airport metal detectors for the rest of her life. I'm sure she'll love that. Not. xxxxxxxx Doctor Curtis has just walked in the room, followed by Mrs. Scully and Bill Jr. She smiles at me warmly, the concern evident in her eyes. Bill Jr. looks at me in disdain, his loathing playing across his features even as he outwardly acts civil towards me. I capture his gaze with my own, taking the silent berating. I deserve it, I know. The doctor is oblivious to this silent exchange. Instead, he is shining a penlight into Scully's eyes, checking her pupil response, of which it is at a bare minimum. Hey Scully, the idea is for you to come back to me. Not go farther away. He announces that he scheduled another CT scan to see whether the swelling has gone down or not. Mrs. Scully asks what if it gets worse. He replies that they will then have to perform surgery to relive the pressure. He emphasizes that this is a last resort. They will only do it if there is no sign of the swelling going down by itself. And what are her chances then, I hear a voice ask. My voice. I'm not going to lie to you, Mr. Mulder, he says. Right now, her chances of survival are getting slimmer. Please...PLEASE lie to me doctor. I can't stand the truth anymore. Lie to me and tell me that she's doing fantastic and the worst news is that she'll have a permanent neck ache from her fractured vertebrae, which will need daily neck rubs from me to alleviate. Lie to me and tell me that she will have no sign of brain damage. Lie to me and say that her shoulder will be good as new. Fuck. Just fucking lie to me because I sure as hell can't handle the truth. xxxxxxxx It's dark now. Time is lost on me, and personally, I don't care. As far as I'm concerned, time can go straight to hell. After all, it is only telling me that we are creeping towards another day lost for her. Another day lost for us. The CT scan showed us that there is no change. I suppose this can be construed as a good thing. The doctors won't operate unless the swelling gets worse, and it isn't. But neither is it getting better. I sigh and rub my eyes. Shifting in my chair, I see her face as the moonlight splashes across her features. She looks like an angel trapped in a dream. Somehow though, I don't think that angels have dents in their heads. Then again, my angel has always been different. Always marching to the beat of her own drum. The beat that is now matching the heart monitor hooked up to her. You know, Scully, we had tickets to the Redskins game this weekend. If you didn't want to go, you could have told me. This is no way to break a date. I lay my head by her side and gently weep again. I am steadily losing the precious control that I have tried to rebuild and it isn't fair. I am crying for her. I am crying for me. I am crying for what might never be. xxxxxxxx How can it be morning? Where did the night go? I sit up and stretch, taking in my surroundings. Everything looks the same. Same chair. Same bed. Same person in it. Scully is still lying there, but there is something different. Something is changed. And then it hits me like a ton of bricks. Her eyes are open. Her beautiful blue eyes, eyes that can see through to my very soul, are open. I stand next to her so she can see me and look into my own. I am hoping there will be recognition. Some spark of remembrance. That she knows me. And Scully.... MY Scully, doesn't disappoint me. She gives me a small smile, a very weak smile that thrills me to the bottom of my heart. Scully remembers me. She takes a small breath and grimaces as she feels the pain in her head for the first time. Then, looking at me again, in a voice that is barely above a whisper, she speaks. She says words that send my heart soaring to the heavens, and I find myself letting the tears that I tried so hard to keep in check, fall freely, splashing on her hand, which is clutched to my cheek. Scully told me she loves me too. -Finis Comments greatly appreciated. LAinNJ@aol.com