Cord of Communion By Barbara Barnett Part 1/4 Spoilers: NA, MM, Pilot, Ice SRA Rating (Part 1: G--other parts--don't know yet :) Comments always welcome Barbara462@aol.com May archive Disclaimer: Characters and some of the scenes property of CC, DD, GA, 1013, etc. No infringement of copyright intended. Purely for enjoyment of the home audience, and all that--oh yeah--some references to Jane Eyre belong, of course to Charlotte Bronte The silence stung them both like frostbite. Scully was the first to move, avoiding Mulder's eyes--an easy task since he was staring dourly at the ceiling tiles. She looked down toward her lap, and with a sigh, stood and left the office--*his* office--wordlessly. Closing the door quietly, she looked at the nameplate, shaking her head bitterly. Although Scully had an office--a cube, really--she had always thought that she had earned the right to equally share the office housing the X-files section. But in nearly 4 years, she didn't even warrant a desk. She had risked so much for the X-files. In the final analysis, much more than Mulder had, Scully thought. After all, it was Mulder's choice to sideswipe his career, his personal life, risk it all, for the sake of a quest. Mulder had been right. She was *assigned*. Yeah, assigned. Assigned to derail and debunk the X-files, to scuttle the career of one Fox William Mulder, to destroy him and in so doing guarantee herself a position within the Bureau of high visibility and influence. But she did not take the marked path, opting instead for one more circuitous, more intriguing--and one that would not harm Mulder. A path taken, not by design, but by instinct that told her that Mulder was *good*--a passionate, compassionate, seeker of truths. Instinct told her that this man should not be destroyed, no matter who ordered it. But now it had come to this: a frosty silence leading to an unspoken goodbye. Scully stood frozen on the other side of office door, eyes closed. A single tear escaped her closed lids. "Goodbye Mulder. I hope you find what you're looking for. Have a good life." The words were whispered, coming inaudibly upon her lips. She turned and walked out of Mulder's life, leaving nothing behind but a faded rose petal. Mulder had not noticed Scully's leaving until he heard the soft sound of the office door closing behind her. Finally he looked down and toward the door. She had not even said goodbye. Mulder's eyelids fluttered shut as her words flooded back to him. "This is my life." Her stony expression bored into his soul like a branding iron. "Yes," started in reply, earnestly, hopefully, "but it's my..." He couldn't finish the sentence without sounding patronizing. Damn it, he thought. Dana, your life *is* my life. When you hurt, so do I, as if whatever has injured you has injured me as well. Mulder's head ached. He buried his head within his hands, trying to rub the pain and sorrow from his eyes. He wanted to reach out to her, to heal her. He had no clue where or how to begin. But he had to try. *********8:30 AM--next day******* Mulder arrived in the office first. He smiled, happy that his efforts to rise a half hour early had paid off. He placed the Office Square bag on the desk, carefully laying the dry rose petal on top. He noticed an interoffice envelope on his chair. He switched on the computer and opened the envelope, sitting heavily in desk chair. He felt more calm than he had in days, certainly more than when he was on the enforced vacation, Graceland or not. His computer booted directly to his email account. Two messages waiting. "Message #1: from A.D. Skinner--Agent Mulder, see me ASAP when you arrive this AM." "Message #2: from Agent Dana Scully to A.D. Skinner CC: Agent F. Mulder--Request for reassignment to Quantico any available pathology or teaching post, effective ASAP, requesting personal leave until assignment can be finalized." It took several seconds until Mulder realized he'd been holding back his breath. As he finished reading the second message his face flushed, igniting nerve endings from the top of his head to his feet. "NO. No. NO." Nothing else would emerge from his mouth, now parched and acidic-tasting. He stood, realizing he needed to hold the back of his chair to keep from falling as his knees gave way. He steadied himself and paced the spare office space like a caged lion, still holding onto the interoffice envelope. His hands shook violently as he attempted unsuccessfully to remove the paper from the large envelope. Finally he tore the envelope, spilling the contents on his desk, scuttling the rose petal to the floor. Steeling himself for what was surely in the IOE, he sat, scooping up the petal and replacing it on the plastic bag. He took several shaky breaths and opened the note, handwritten on personal stationery. "Mulder-- I hope you find all that you are seeking. I wish you nothing but the best. Have a good life. Goodbye. --Scully" End part 1-- Like so far? Let me know. :) Cord of Communion By Barbara Barnett Part 2/4 Spoilers: NA, MM, Ice, Pilot SRA Rating Comments always welcome Barbara462@aol.com May archive Disclaimer: Characters and some of the scenes property of CC, DD, GA, 1013, etc. No infringement of copyright intended. Purely for enjoyment of the home audience, and all that--oh yeah--some references to Jane Eyre belong, of course to Charlotte Bronte. Mulder sat paralyzed at his desk. Unable to move, nearly unable to breathe. His heart, however, was nearly in tachycardia, trying to fight its way from beneath his skin into scattered ruins. Gone. Not involuntarily ripped from him as when the X-files had been closed down after Deep Throat's assassination; not abuducted; not kidnapped; not part of a grand scheme to derail their search for the truth; just gone. Shock became confusion, bewilderment, finally to hurt as the horror of what had transpired began to reach full impact. "Oh God, Scully, what have I done?" As surely as if he'd been shot in the head, Mulder felt the mortal blow he'd not considered--not for a long time. It was quick. The words terse. She couldn't even say them to his face. What had he done to thus wound her. He had to pull himself together. Meet with Skinner. What had she told him. Surely she must have given him a reason. Something that said this was temporary; that she needed some distance from the X-files; that she would return to them--to him. Anything else was unthinkable. A logical explanation. There must be. But what? He thought back to the day before; the week before; the month before. Had they really grown so far apart, beyond repair? Had the breach become unmendable? He picked up the phone, speed dialing her number. No answer. Not even a machine to talk to. Skinner. Mulder pulled himself together a bit and headed up to the A.D.'s office. Skinner's assistant averted her eyes as Mulder walked through the anteroom dazedly. "He's expecting me." He barely got out the words. Skinner looked up from his morning briefing papers and cleared his throat. He motioned for Mulder to close the door. Mulder silently prayed that Skinner would do all the talking. He didn't think he'd be able to utter more than three words in succession. "Agent Mulder, I think you know that Agent Scully has requested to go back to Quantico. She told me that she felt the X-files project had become a dead-end for her and she felt it was time to move on after nearly four years. I was most surprised to hear it. I had always felt the two of you were one of the best teams in the FBI and it would be a shame to split you up, despite the odd cases you endeavor to solve. Your solve rate was the highest in the bureau, even on the more "mainstream" cases you've occasionally worked on. But, I feel Agent Scully has earned the right to chart her own career path in the Bureau, and I've approved her request. She will be in Quantico effective next Monday. You will, I assume, continue with the X-files, much to the chagrin of just about everyone, I'm sure. You will not be assigned a partner, I know that is your wish, and you, too, have earned the right to chart your own course. I just wanted to bring you up to speed. I'm sure you and Scully have already discussed this at much greater length, so I won't keep you any longer. Thanks for stopping by." Mulder stared at the floor, wanting to say something, but unable to form the words. "Thank you sir for letting me know," he said quietly. "Sir, I'm unwell, I think I'm going home for the day." "You look a bit peak-ed. See you tomorrow then." Mulder stopped back at his office to pick up his coat. His eyes fell on the faded rose petal. Picking it up sadly, he left for home. He knew there would be no messages from her, but Mulder's heart sped up when the red light blinked at him upon his arrival home. He sighed in frustration when it turned out to be an offer for a hot stock tip and an invitation to get together with Langly and Byers for a pickup basketball game. Mulder sat heavily into his couch, rubbing his large hands into his face. How did it happen? Mulder removed the rose petal from his jacket pocket, contemplating it, feeling its surfaces. Scully. Had he done this to her? Taken the rose in the begining of its full bloom and used it unappreciated, untended until it became a faded, dried out image of itself. Had he caused Scully to become dissatisfied and angry on the inside, even as her physical beauty grew ever more intense? The silence in his apartment rang in his ears. How often did he cherish the blessed silence, the peacefulness of solitude that it afforded him as his own brain nearly exploded with images, ideas and questions. But not now. He begged the phone to ring. He checked his cell phone, making sure it was powered up and that the battery was charged. Scully. What have I done to you? Maybe what she had told Skinner was the truth. That she needed to get her career back on track; that she needed to get a life. Wasn't that what she'd told him, too. "My life seems to be an endless line, one step forward, two backward." She had been sent to spy on him; to destroy the X-files and him in the process. But she'd become his best and only hope; his best and only friend. And maybe that was the problem. Was he so very needy that he only took and never gave. She'd earned his trust and he gave it to her without reservation. Was it really so very one sided? He knew he had the tendency to become self-absorbed, and when a lead or a case might lead to finding Samantha or the conspiracy goons who'd killed his father, he was obsessive, nothing else mattered at those moments. He hated that part of himself, but he couldn't prevent it. So, he'd withdraw, shut his partner out. He knew she resented it, especially when she had risked so much for the pursuit of *his* truths. But they were her truths, too. She needed to find out who'd killed Melissa and who stole months from her own life, and why. She'd always been there for him when it came right down to it. No matter what she might have believed, she had always believed in him, as he believed in her. Now that was gone. Forever end part 2 Cord of Communion by Barbara Barnett Part 3/4 disclaimers, etc. See part 1. Quote from "Jane Eyre" by charlotte bronte Done. No looking back, now, only foward. So why did she still feel rotten? She'd betrayed him. Betrayed his trust in a fit of anger, a quarrel. She closed her eyes and opened them quickly for all she saw were images of Mulder. Iowa, that first case together. She was scared out of her skin. He'd scared her of course. Those marks on her back. Unbelievably unprofessional of her to run in to his room terrified, undressing in front of him, who she'd been sent to destroy. Only at that moment he could have destroyed her, her career, everything. She had literally thrown herself into his embrace. He was shocked. She knew that. He could have laughed at her as he examined her back in the candlelight, or worse, taken her actions as a kind of seductive move and responded in kind. That *was* his reputation. But he was only reassuring, kind, sweet. They had talked and as he spoke of terrifying memories, his personal history, something touched her deep inside. He was in pain, and she understood pain. But there was also passion. He unnerved her as he disarmed her. Mulder did not trust easily, and who could blame him? But he trusted her, even when she pulled her gun on him. He trusted her despite his own knowledge that he was uninfected with that ancient parasite, but not so sure that she was unaffected. But he trusted her enough to know she wouldn't hurt him. Couldn't hurt him. The rememberance brough acid to her mouth. Have I hurt you now? She tried shaking the thought from her head, regrets forming pins inside her scalp facing inward and downward toward her heart. She could feel him, even now, haunting her soul through some invisibile cord. She shivered, even as the warm sun streamed upon her from her apartment window. "I hope you find her, Mulder. I hope you find your Samantha, so you too can live again, please believe me." She spoke the words inaudibly, wondering if they reached him deep in his thoughts. Ah, but he'd found Samantha once. At least he thought it was her. And then he'd traded her away to--Save Scully's life, she remembered, remorse tugging at her heart. "Why didn't you tell me it was Samantha", she had asked him at the time?" "You'd have never let me go through with it." And of course he was right. He needed to make a choice and had done so without reservation. They should have talked about this, this chasm that had grown between them recently. She now realized that, too late. Their communication broken down, they had been reduced to cruel comments and snide remarks. A desk. She *had* a desk. She knew that. But she needed a desk in the X-files office. But it wasn't about a desk. How could he not know that? "This is not about you, Mulder. Well, maybe it is, indirectly..." It was about him. She had felt vaguely dissatisfied for some time. She followed him around like a puppy dog; followed his whims; his leads. She was tired of being his foil and only his foil. She wanted more. She knew it then, and he wasn't listening. But maybe she wasn't talking loudly enough. Maybe he needed more than a faded rose petal for a clue. He was, after all, a man. Intuitive, but still a man. "All this because I didn't get you a desk?" He had used the line to break into the frostline that was ever deepening between them. His voice was pleading, begging her to open up to him. His inner voice cried out to her soul: "Please, Scully, please tell me what's causing you so much pain. I want to help you. But you have to show me how." But Scully refused to listen, to hear his real voice call out to her. She was weary of searching his eyes for deeper meaning, his cadences for connection. "This is *my* life, Mulder" "Yes, but it's m...." She knew what he wanted to say. Now, on playback. But at the time, all she could think was how arrogant he was being. Her stony expression had frightened him off, frightened his inner voice from emerging into words to address her directly. But it's over. He must hate me. But he'll get over it with the first case involving EBE's that comes across his desk. But then she remembered. How had she forgotten? He *never* spoke of it, and she'd only heard rumors. But suddenly her mouth went dry as she thought back to the time when Duane Barry had kidnapped her. She remembered so little of it. Almost nothing. Just that she'd lost three long months of her life. She'd heard how Mulder had almost suffered a breakdown. He barely ate or slept, had nightmares and had been seen nearly catatonic on several occasions mouthing words that never escaped his lips. He'd resigned, only to have Skinner reject his resignation. He'd sought revenge upon her abductors. She'd heard a rumour that he'd been offered the opportunity for revenge, but had made a decision to come to her bedside, instead. She smiled, remembering how she sensed him there, his hand on her arm, genly stroking it back to this world. His tears falling softly on her gown, like gentle snowflakes awakening her. He had never spoken of it with her. Why? She knew, she understood he wished to spare her from the pain her kidnapping had caused him. Wished to keep from her how much she meant to him. But why? Why not share that, such a beautiful sentiment. She knew. She understood. He believed that the depth of his caring ran in one direction and that she would not return it in kind. And now he'd be proven right. At least in his mind. She had never spoken her feelings to him. They'd never discussed this equisite *bond* of theirs, this special cord of communion. Now where had she heard that term before. Ah, yes. Bronte. She found the passage in her old dog-eared copy of Jane Eyre. Rochester says to Jane upon his telling her they must be forever separated (since he was marrying someone else): "I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you, especially when you are near to me as now. It is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a simialr string situated in the corresponding corner of your little frame. And if ...two hundred miles or so of land come broad between us, I am afraid that cord of coummunion will be snapped, and I should take to bleeding inwardly..." What have I done, Mulder? Her head filled with a frightening image. How could she have been so impulsive. She looked down toward her lap. The front of her blouse was bloody. Scully's nose was bleeding. end part 3 Cord of Communion by Barbara Barnett disclaimers, rating, etc. in part 1 Part 4/4 Three days later. He tried everything. He'd reread Gravity's Rainbow. He'd always meant to do it, and now at least he had the Internet guidebook to Pynchon's labrynthine tome. He rented a new crop of adult videos, just to ease the pain a bit. He couldn't touch the stack of casefiles on his coffee table. Just looking at them made him shrink back in horror...and think about Scully. He had tried her phone over and over. At least now he got her machine. He'd left one message. "Scully. Please let's not let it end like this. I understand if you need to do leave. It tears at my heart and my soul that you felt unable to unburden yourself to me. I know it had nothing to do with your not having a desk. Please believe that. I want nothing else but for you to be happy and have all you want out of life. If it can't be the X-files or you don't want it to be, that's fine. But please don't shut me out. I know I'm responsible for alot of how you are feeling now. But I want us to be able to talk it out. Not as partners, because we're no longer that. I understand. But as friends. We've always had the ability, Scully, to communicate without words. But maybe that time is past and we both need more than that. Call me. I want to know that you are alright. If you don't want to say anything else, just let me know that. Please. I love you. I always have. It's not something you need to reciprocate or even react to. But I need you to know it." The phone rang. Mulder leaped for it, banging his knee on the coffee table and sending the stack of X-files scattering across the floor. "Mulder, it's me." He held his breath. Her voice was grave, serious. "Scully." He could say no more, his voice dangerously close to breaking. "Mulder, I...I've been in Georgetown Hospital the last couple of days. Just some tests. There's something I'd like you to see. Could you come down? I'm in the Oncology Unit, radiology consult room." "Oncology? Scully...I...are you ok?" She didn't answer. There was fear in his voice, betraying the gnawing at his heart. His eyes burned inexplicably. "I will be right there." Unshed tears bored through his eyes. He could scarcely see. end part 4/4 Cord of Communion 5/ by Barbara Barnett disclaimers in part 1 (comments always welcome) (Takes place at time of Memento Mori and later) Cancer. The words and thoughts of the past three days seemed irrelevant, petty and trite. There was a new enemy. One that would take both of their efforts to beat. He could think of nothing else now. Nothing else mattered. Yes, they had to talk about *it*, but it could wait. He had picked up a ridiculously large bouquet of flowers on the way, his only pause between hanging up the phone and getting to NE Georgetown. A gag gift, really, a silly comment he could fall back on as a defense. But no defense could have shielded him from the blow of cancer. Inoperable Cancer. Now they knew it was the same cancer that had killed Betsy Hagopian and all of the MUFON women, and was killing Penny Northern. They had gone to Skinner together. In his heart Mulder felt that Scully should have gone straight for treatment. But Scully needed to intellectualize the situation. He would support her decision in front of Skinner if he needed to. But then upon the first exertion, chasing Kurt Crawford down that dark alley, her nose began to bleed. "I'm fine Mulder!" Her steely glare chased him away. But he stood vigil outside the washroom as she washed up. Then Kurt had told him the facts. That all of the MUFON women who were taken were either dead or dying. The news sent Mulder reeling and when Scully emerged from the washroom, his reddened eyes betrayed his deepest fear--that Scully, too was dying. And now, days later, he waited for her, damning himself for sending her to Penny and straight into the hands of Dr. Scanlon. He kept vigil through the night outside Penny's room, mind racing, the words from Scully's journal feeding his sorrow, seeping through his soul, keeping her close in his heart. "Stay strong, Scully and so will I," he said to himself. "Come back to me." And she did. A healing embrace in a deserted hospital hallway. The tension draining from them into a dark shadow on the floor, they knew words would have been inadequate--and unnecessary. Scully rescinded her transfer request, and nothing was spoken of it. His pain and hers, supressed, sublimated. They had both been wrong and wronged, apologies given and granted wordlessly, soul to soul. **************** Two months later Scully seemed better. More energetic, relaxed. Recent MRI's had revealed no further growth of the tumor. Familiar patterns resumed and the backdrop of sorrow and impending loss receded somewhat. The occasional nosebleeds were worrisome but, according to the doctors, only a mild symptom. Then it all came flooding back. The doubts, the rift, the chasm that had been all but forgotten in the struggle against Scully's cancer. The remission was over, triggered by an imposter, one Eddie van Blundht. No matter how hard he endeavored, Mulder could not get the scene, the impossible scene, from his mind. It had become laser emblazoned in his memory. He'd been terrified for Scully after Eddie had locked him in the janitor's cage. He knew. The man, no matter how dully affable he seemed was a rapist, a serial rapist. Mulder knew, was certain that Scully would be Eddie's next victim. What would he use? Drugs? Use Mulder's body and face to get into Scully's personal space, drug her with the infamous date-rape drug and... Mulder tried blinking the image from his mind as he helplessly waited to be freed. Finally, the janitor returned. Fear became panic as he realized they'd returned to Washington. He reached for his cell phone. Shit. He took that as well. Somehow he got back to DC. All he could think of is to get to Scully. A terrifying thought hit him somewhere along the way home. Eddie would rape her using Mulder's own body. Scully would think...God, no, as if that deception would make the deed even more horrific. Mulder didn't even stop at his apartment. Even if he had, Eddie had his keys, his car...Scully, he had to get to Scully. Rational thought had abandoned him long before the moment he reached her apartment door. Locked. He clenched his eyes. "Scully, please be ok," he silently pleaded as he focussed on breaking down the door... Shock and confusion alternately played on his face. Scully looked at him and the figure on the couch beside her, about to kiss her. She gasped and pushed Eddie away, still looking from him to Mulder standing in the doorway. Mulder felt violated, as surely as if he, himself, had been raped. And in a sense, he was raped. He stood frozen in the doorway, watching himself, relaxed, comfortable, cuddling and kissing Scully for that brief second. He said nothing, silently cuffing Eddie. He didn't even hear himself as he perfunctorily asked "Are you hurt, Scully?" Hurt? Right. He couldn't help it as felt his body go cold and turn to stone. He was hurt and angry. Angry at Eddie, of course, but angry with himself, and, inexplicablly, at Scully. But why Scully. He tried to supress the anger he felt, but it was becoming too intense as it built seeped through his mind and heart. The frostiness had returned to the X-files office. The promise of redemption that the evil cancer had triggered in it's wake receded, exposing the chasm between them. Eddie had called him a loser. A born loser calling him a loser-by-choice. He was right. An even bigger loser than Eddie. Eddie had been able to break though Scully's reserve, get her to relax, be happy. Eddie had exposed the truth to Mulder--about himself and his inadquecies. And it hurt, terribly. He could barely look Scully in the eyes. He wanted to talk about it, needed to talk about it, if only he could find a way. He...no, THEY would find a way to work through this. They had to. There was no other way. ****************** 1:05 AM several days later A sleepy voice. "Scully." "Scully, I didn't want to wake you. But I need to say something and it can't wait until morning." "Mulder, are you ok?" She was now awake. He body tensed, alert for danger. "I'm so very, very sorry. For everything I've done and not done these past years we've been together. Too numerous to count, I'm afraid." She felt him smile weakly on the other end of the line. "We need to talk. Really talk. I...we...can't go on like this. I truly can't bear it." "You're right, Mulder. We *do* need to talk. How soon can you be here? I want to work this out. We need to work this out. I've plenty of things to be sorry about, too." THE END!