DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Feel free to post and archive at will SPOILER WARNING: Demons Post Ep Story!!! RATING: PG CONTENT WARNING: Angst city, MSR, CLASSIFICATION: V SUMMARY: Scully's personal journal entries surrounding the episode "Demons". It also alludes to the Season 4 Finale and, IMHO, sets it up in such a way I can make it till the fall! AUTHOR'S NONSENSE: This is my first try at first person. Also, I am ignoring that CC managed to get Scully from DC to Providence in a time that would probably only be possible with assistance from the Concorde. DISCLAIMER: : These characters are not mine and, right now, I don't think Chris Carter deserves them. I will begrudging acknowledge that the Sadistic Surfer Boy thunk up the X-Files, 1013 Productions gives him a nice way to get a lot of corporate write offs and Fox Television really pulls the strings. I'm not making any money off then and will return them in a lot better shape than CC left them at the end of Season 4. We Belong (1/1) Personal Journal of Dana Scully My mother once said that nothing good comes from the ringing of a telephone between the hours of midnight and 8:00 a.m. She's a very wise woman. I should listen to her. When Mulder called from Providence, my only thought was getting there. He sounded bereft. Like he was drifting in a stormy sea, no lifeboat in sight. In all the years I've known him, the one thing he has had to cling to was his memory. The ability to recall memories like a random access computer got him - hell, got us -- through some pretty frightening times. He does it so often, I expect it. Rely on it. So when his memory fails, it is an almost physical blow. Hell, I felt the impact several states away. He was trying to sound calm, but I could see through the words. Time, recent time, had been swallowed into a void. No way to retrace his steps. No way to know what had happened. He wasn't even sure where he was. Thank god for "Return postage guaranteed" motel key chains. The stupid drive took several hours. My nerves were not helped by the stretch of construction just outside Providence. Sitting there, waiting behind a row of cars that stretched out in front of me like a chain, I fought the urge to pull out my badge, wave my gun at the hapless flagperson and drive across the freshly oiled road. I'm sure I chewed a hole in my lower lip waiting. As the processional of cars was lead through the construction zone, car by single car, I breathed in the pungent smell of the oily tar and focused on calming myself. Mulder was in some kind of trouble. I had to be strong for him. I was just afraid of what I would find when I opened the door of the motel room. Now, in the aftermath of yet another dark abyss, I stop and consider. What I found and how I reacted. I can't say I acted, although to an outsider I probably looked in total control. From the moment I found him crouched in the shower shaking, I was on autopilot. The doctor mode trained into me during years of medical school and hours of residency kicked in. Triage - diagnosis - treatment. That was my mantra. Focus on the objectives. Forget this is your partner, the man you've shared more with in the past four years than anyone else in your lifetime. Forget your feelings. Focus outward. Focus on the patient. Once I had calmed both of us down, we were off on yet another search. Another quest. Pulling in leads like so many strands of thread to be woven into a tapestry. Colours pulled from every hue and tone. Names of people neither of us recognised. A car Mulder didn't recall driving. Jigsaw pieces laying randomly before us. Slowly a pattern emerged. The house Amy Cassandra painted over and over again. At first I though Mulder was lost. Maybe his sense of direction had fallen victim to whatever had suppressed his memory. But then, there it was. Looking older and overgrown, but still the same house. When Mulder fell, clutching his head staring blankly ahead, my heart stopped. It's being doing that a lot lately. Moments freeze in my mind and crystallise like prismatic sculptures. Colours float through them, reflecting beyond the moment. The instant Mulder opened his eyes and recognised me, my heart started again. It took all my strength not to throw my arms around him and beg him not to leave me like that again. I've noticed that the fine edged control I've maintained throughout my life is starting to slip away. Too many nights I wake up in tears. Tears for what is happening my life. Tears for not having control. Tears for Mulder and what this is doing to him. Like the proverbial last straw on the camel, his back is bending toward the earth. I reach out to support him, but am unsure of whether he'll accept my help. It's so hard. But we've been through so much together, I will not abandon him. Anyway, back to the house, Amy Cassandra and Mulder. As we entered in the house, I felt a chill in my spine. This was not something I was going to let on to Mulder. But, in retrospect, it was there. Almost as if I knew what we would find. Logically, I guess I could have concluded that we would find the Cassandras. That's just how things were falling into place. Like something from cinema noir. After that things seemed to unfold in almost an ethereal sequence. Mulder accused of murdering the Cassandras. Mulder unable to recall anything that would either support or deny his guilt or innocence. The young police officer who put a gun to his head. The sound of the gunshot stopped my heart, yet again. As I approached the cell where the young man's body sat propped against the wall, I pressed the doctor mode button in my soul. It never gets easier to deal with death. Really it doesn't. If anyone tells you it does, they are lying through their teeth. It is especially hard when death is violent and unnecessary. The trip to the young officer's apartment confirmed the image of a young man lost in an obsession. For a moment, I thought of my own partner. His obsession sometimes pulls him into a darkness that frightens me. Until now, I've been able to anchor him to the world. But I worry what will happen if one day I'm not here to pull him back from the abyss that tempts him. The sequence of events after the officer's death, blur in mind. Between the overload of information and the level of fatigue I was struggling against, I'm amazed I held together. Mulder's Mother seemed out of touch--even more than usual. I've always suspected she knew more than she's told Mulder. Now, I'm certain, but it's not my place to ask. His mother or not, I would have grilled her slowly over a pit of coals if it would have cleared Mulder's mind. Sometimes I contrast our mothers. My Mother is strong with a moral compass that has righted me many times. She is my touchpoint. The person I turn to when I am trying to make a decision. She doesn't make the decision, but she helps me make it. Mulder's Mother, or what I have experienced of her, is very much like a child. Running. That describes her. Running from the past, hoping that if she just ignores it long enough it will go away. I just wonder if she is prepared to bear the cost. I remember the doctor. Well, calling that man a doctor makes me almost want to mail my medical credentials back to the AMA collect. As physicians we are supposed to police ourselves. Keep crackpots and lunatics from experimenting on the desperate. That is Mulder. Desperate. For answers to questions he is really just beginning to formulate. I think he is afraid of the questions as much as the answers. I know I am. Back to the American answer to Dr. Mengele. When I got to the office complex and they were driving away with him, my only thought was getting answers. My Mother once told me that there is a certain look I get in my eyes that makes even the biggest opponent crumble. She observed this when I was in a high school and a certain young man stood up Melissa for her senior prom. Instead of playing the passive little sister, I stormed over to his house and hauled him outside. Found him watching rented WWF videos with several of his toadish friends. Within five minutes, he'd confessed to having lied to my sister. Asking her to the prom was a ruse set up by a group of girls who hated her. Within ten minutes, I had names. By the end of the night, all those girls were reconsidering their decision to take advantage of my sister's willingness to believe. Oh, and from that point on, my reputation at school changed. I had a very quiet few years in senior high school. When I saw that man, his eyes mocking my questions, I became 'Dana the Avenger', as Missy had called me back then. He knew something. Something that I needed to know. There was no time to ask nicely. I didn't. Undoubtedly, I'll hear from Skinner for my attitude with the suspect, but I really didn't care and still don't. As I approached the summer house. Knowing Mulder was in there. Knowing he'd undergone one of the good doctor's memory enhancing treatments, I felt my heart stop again. My greatest fear was finding him one the floor, his weapon beside him. Dead. In someways maybe what I found was worse. The look of absolute terror on his face has been burned into my memory. He was wound like a spring, ready to explode. At someone. At anyone. The true subject of his anger was not available. He needed a substitute. I was never afraid he would shoot me. We've been through too much for that. I *was* afraid he might shoot one of the deputies I could hear creeping toward the house. Looking up I saw the back wall was covered with mirrors. Mulder's demons, his thoughts, maybe this could give him the release he needed. Quietly I whispered. "Mulder, turn around and tell me what you see." His eyes broke from mine and he turned on his heel. "Oh my god," he breathed. "I see it, Scully. I see it all. And I remember." With that his hand tensed around his weapon and the room shook. I let him shoot. I let him empty the clip against the rage in his soul. When it was over, he slumped to the floor. As I crossed the small space to him, I felt my heart start to beat again. My arms slipped around him and I lay my head on his back. His breathing was ragged and tense and his heart was several speeds faster than any doctor likes to hear. But he was okay. Behind me I heard the local sheriff in the doorway. Without losing hold on my partner's crouched form, I turned toward the door and shook my head. The sheriff backed silently out of the room and closed the door. We stayed there for a long time. Mulder slowly began to respond to me and we moved to one of the bedrooms. The police had left and we were alone. As I lay in the arms of the man who is my lover, he told me what he had remembered. The truths he had been searching for were more than either of us had contemplated. His sister was only a small part of it. Mulder was part of it. I was part of it. The dam broke and the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. It seems like an eternity since I accepted our lives are tied together. Since we allowed ourselves to take the last step in our relationship. No one knows. We've been careful of that. But the truth is that we are bound together like a mainsail to a ship. A thousand tethers holding us in place. Even if one breaks, the others hold fast. That's us. So many connections that nothing - not even death - will severe them. I felt his arms tighten around me. His breath warm on my neck. The silent communication between our hearts and minds and souls stirred. As we made love for the first time in weeks, we laid claim to the possibilities of tomorrow. The knowledge that we belong together and nothing can separate us. As our bodies join and we move in each other's rhythm, I understand. His need to know. And what the knowledge means to both of us. The morning sun broke through the window and I rolled deeper into the arms that had held me through the night. Quietly I opened my eyes and moved to watch Mulder sleep. The lines that I have seen in the past seemed finer. As if learning the truth had erased them. Dropping a gentle kiss on his neck urged him into consciousness. As we dressed, we planned our cover story. We have always been good at cover stories. The one we had to concoct on our drive back to DC was going to be an epic of mammoth proportions. But it was necessary. Necessary to protect both of us. Necessary to protect those we love. Necessary to the revelation of the truth. As we pulled off the freeway the radio was playing 80's hits. Pat Benatar's powerful, clear began. Mulder looked at me. Into me. And smiled. His hand reached out and across the seat and took mine. We listening in silence. Images played against the backdrop of the past several days. "I've invested too much time/To give you up that easy/to the doubts that complicate your mind." I smiled back at him. His lips move, almost silently, "Thank for not giving up." We do belong. To the light, the thunder, to all of it. But most of all we belong to each other. As the last notes faded, we pulled into the parking lot of Mulder's building. He reached across the seat of the car and took my hand once again. Our eyes met across the expanse of the car. Our plans were made. And things will never be the same again. END "We Belong" was written by D.E. Lowen and D. Navarro is on the Pat Benatar Album Tropico that was released in 1984. It is used without permission, but with love and the sense of awe that her music always inspires in me!