TITLE: Convergence AUTHOR: Obfusc8er FEEDBACK: aobfuscata@hotmail.com CLASSIFICATION: V, SA, a little MT, a little MSR, fill-in for second run-through of "Monday" SPOILERS: Everything up to and including "Monday" RATING: PG-13 DISCLAIMER: These characters belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. DISTRIBUTION: Gossamer, Ephemeral, Mulder in Jeopardy... all others are welcome, but please ask first SUMMARY: "It doesn't have to end this way." WRITER'S NOTES: Written for the 4/03 fic of the month challenge at Mulder's Refuge. Thanks to Jenna for the wonderful beta and creative ideas! Thanks as always to my fellow Refugees for all your the support. *********************************** Minute forces pull and push on tiny, swirling particles. The smallest masses hurl through space around and between the larger ones. They all seek each other out. They strive for order. *********************************** Scully shakes her head as she pulls up behind Mulder's car. Only he could manage to have so many dilemmas strike at the same time. And the contraband water bed...he could have pulled that one off if it hadn't sprung a leak. The landlord had long since learned not to venture into Mulder's apartment. Scully sighs, turning off her car and looking carefully in the rearview mirror. The traffic on this street is particularly crazy, for some reason. She finally catches a break, and quickly gets out of the car. She hurries around to the sidewalk before a friendly-looking Volkswagen Beetle hurtling towards her has much of a chance to flatten her. "Oh no." She groans. A yellow piece of paper flaps rhythmically under a windshield wiper on Mulder's car. "He's really going to love this," she mutters to herself as she leans over to look at the ticket. He had stopped there ten minutes too early, before the parking zone changed. "Oh, Mulder." A helpless expression crosses her face for a second. She tries not to pity him very often...he finds it embarrassing...but this day is just spiraling out of control. How on *earth* does he do this? And today, with this on top of his other problems, she wouldn't be surprised if he ignored his growing piles of paperwork and spent the rest of the day reading his well-worn copy of The Lonely Buddha and chuckling to himself in the most annoying possible manner. *After* the meeting, that is. Scully can't help but reflect on how this all came about as she crosses the street...all of the unlikely turns in her life that have lead to this one day. The decision to pass up a private medical practice for the FBI, her subsequent decision to ignore Bill's attempts to micromanage her life, her assignment to find fault with Mulder's work, all the times that she followed (or lead) Mulder into some less-than-advisable situation despite her ownhidden fear, the countless instances in which she saved his butt from his own focused enthusiasm... even the times she stayed late at work, not because she had any pressing work to do, but because she simply enjoyed spending every possible moment with Mulder... It's all culminated in her chasing after him today like a mother hen, trying to herd him back to the safety (and numbing boredom) of the annual report conference. It's at this moment she realizes that reflecting while crossing the street isn't necessarily a good idea. The screeching tires and honking horn bring her back to the present. *********************************** The electrons spin as their various orbits are influenced by the larger bodies. The tiny particles are unaware of this, only following the laws of nature as they know them. Negative charges find positive charges and hold on to each other desperately. The electrons twist and leap along their fateful paths, mindlessly zipping along. The more massive protons and neutrons huddle together tightly, their very presence exacting control over their speeding satellites. *********************************** Scully waves to the halted driver in apology. The close call jars her attention back to the present. She hurries on across the street, as the other cars at the intersection have stopped. Her distracted movements were too unpredictable. She hopes she can catch Mulder in time to save him from getting officially disciplined for missing the meeting. She looks around for a second as she steps onto the sidewalk. She notices an "Out of order" sign on the ATM machine and frowns slightly, knowing this will mean longer lines inside the bank. Scully sees her own reflection growing in the glass of the bank's front doors as she approaches. Hopefully, Mulder will already be done depositing his check by now... She sighs, mulling over how on earth the sometimes overwhelming responsibility that is being Mulder's partner ended up in her inbox, right between the embarrassing junk mail and late expense reports. It's hard work, but she wouldn't give it up for the world. No one else she can think of needs, or deserves, total personal support as much as Mulder. She swallows hard as the dark reasons for his need flash through her mind almost instantly. She feels a cold chill accompany her thoughts of the shadowy figures that have manipulated both her and Mulder toward malevolent ends. It started with *her*...She feels almost guilty about that fact, but it was out of her control. As soon as she had seen his openly honest intentions regarding the X-Files, her whole outlook on the assignment changed. She had never followed through with the instructions given her, never truly went out of her way to debunk his work. It would have been easy enough for her to do so, simply because the science she loves so well can be twisted to present a facade of truth over misinformation. Sure, she often contradicts Mulder's ideas with science, but she knows it only gives him a reason to eagerly search for more evidence to bolster his own theories. She can see his eyes light up at those moments, and the life inside them feeds her soul. If only his roadblocks had stopped with her assignment... Her mind reflexively zips through a series of events that have systematically ripped control, or the illusion of it, from both of them forever. It had begun innocuously enough. They started with trying to drug his brains out and force his memories and annoying questions into a distant, unreachable part of his mind. Of course, that didn't work. He was too strong for that to stop him. Later, the forces opposing Mulder had merely tried to discredit his work by tainting his apartment's water softener with LSD, making his actions illogical, unpredictable, and seemingly insane. Scully remembers her relief at discovering that his wild mood swings and bad temper had been the result of someone else's tampering rather than his true feelings toward her. How short-lived that small piece of reassurance was. The first attempt on Mulder's life had followed close behind, and the idea of someone wanting to kill one of the few honest people left in this world makes Scully's fists clench. The Syndicate wasn't even satisfied with trying to murder him in a train car once...they had to try it again later. The feeling of helplessness she had experienced as she listened to him try to defuse the train car's bomb over her cell phone had become too familiar. It was a close scrape, and she never fully understood how he got out of it. He hadn't done so unscathed, for sure. It's not only the fact that they've tried to kill him on a semi- regular basis that bothers her now, it's the way they've used him like a disposable object. Then, when he was close to breaking open their deception regarding Gibson Praise, they began chopping him down piece by piece until there was nothing left to take from him. Scully feels a look of despair flash across her face, betraying her reflections for only a moment. She can almost feel the damp, smoke-tinged air pervade her lungs, her clothes, and her hair just as it had in the basement. The wet slapping echoes of dripping water, the only sounds in the room, had surrounded them both as they each tried to cope with the sudden destruction of Mulder's life work. It had seemed as if the hand of God had fallen upon him hard, punishing him for not knowing when to quit. Scully still struggles with that moment, for it plunges her into a strange combination of feelings that she does not know how to deal with. She had felt so close to Mulder... It was almost as if they were the only two people in existence, as she held his frighteningly motionless body close to her. It was "us against them", and he was the only one who could truly understand how intertwined their lives had become. No one else mattered. At the same time, she had felt amazingly and desperately alone. There was no way for her to comfort him, or even tell what thoughts were running through his mind. He was unable to communicate through his pain, and the silence was a stifling barrier between them. She knows him perhaps better than anyone else, but she can not imagine how deeply the loss of his dream into a wisp of smoke must have affected him. The malicious people pulling the strings on Mulder's life even rubbed some lemon juice into the wound by removing him from the division. Later that night, he had dragged himself to the door of her apartment. When she opened it, she saw a broken, dejected man who was about to crash to the floor. She had wrapped her arms around him, holding him up. The stubborn smell of smoke still clung to him, refusing to let either of them escape the gloom of the burned-out wasteland that was his office. She still remembers every word said that night. "Scully." His voice was scratchy and quiet. "I'm sorry. I just didn't want to be alone." He looked at the floor. She guided him over to her couch, and they both sat down. "Oh, Mulder..." She had started to try to express her feelings, but was interrupted. "Please, just hear me out. I couldn't get to sleep without knowing...that you're nearby." He had looked up at her, reaching in deeply with his eyes. "Let me stay here tonight." He patted the cushion of the couch so she wouldn't misunderstand his intentions. She remembers picking up his hand. It was ice cold. "Of course." She couldn't think of anything else to say. She had pushed him down onto the cushions and removed his shoes for him. After covering him with a thick blanket, she had retreated into her own room. But she never got to sleep that night. Within fifteen minutes, she had heard the quiet but unmistakable sounds of partially-repressed sobs coming from her living room. She could never stand to hear Mulder cry. The horrible memories flickering through Scully's mind mercifully cease within seconds. She prefers not to think of the threats that have faced Mulder all at once. Taken as a whole, they tend to overpower her emotional self-control. They do, however, reassure her now. Today is just a small challenge for Mulder compared to his usual problems. *********************************** Other factors influence the nuclear ballet, imparting more energy upon the sprinting particles, or alternately, sapping it away. Most of the electrons have found a comfortable groove and stay there, oblivious of all else. Other nuclei and their orbiters become complete, active bodies, attracting and repulsing each other in turn. They pass from one to another nervously until they find just the right partner to bind with. Each of the atoms takes on an identity, so they become quite antisocial until another compatible atom sidles up and introduces itself. Some of these atoms have met up and formed a group... a molecular orgy where each one shares the others' electrons. These include oxygen, nitrogen, hydrogen, and, of course, carbon...the life of the party! The resulting amines serve as building structures, bonding with more amines to form longer chains. Four of these have gotten together and created a protein. *********************************** Scully looks through the plate-glass doors of the bank. The light reflecting off of the smooth surface obscures the interior. Strange...She doesn't see very many people. Maybe Mulder didn't have to wait in a long line. She opens the first door leading into the entryway. The air pressure vacuum inside makes it hard to pull open, and the wind rushing by disorients her for a moment. She sighs. Here she is, coming to Mulder's rescue yet again. She's been very busy keeping his bacon out of trouble, but she's glad she hasn't had to travel that path totally alone. Within another split-second, as she nears her mirror image on the secondary door, she wonders how her role of surrogate mom came about. The whole situation had come upon her as a surprise at first. Mulder didn't strike her as the kind of person who needed protection when they'd met. Sure, he had taken plenty of chances before he met her. The Gunmen had happily filled her in about most of the details. They've helped Mulder for a price. He gets access to their incredible collective intellect, and they get to tell tall tales about him and borrow his video collection. Scully really does care about them, despite their attempts to weird her out. They don't hide their noble motivations very well. But now they've passed the baton onto her, and the danger facing Mulder seems to grow exponentially. Somehow, since she's come into his life, he has become a magnet for trouble. Probably not a coincidence, she thinks, suppressing a grin. What on earth? There is one person standing inside, but there doesn't appear to be anyone else inside...not even behind the counters. Scully opens the interior door and hurries through. She takes one good look at the room and stops in her tracks. *********************************** The protein with its madly wriggling atoms serves a higher purpose. Its polypeptides reach out with magnetic fingers and snag a passing atom of Iron each, instantly blushing red with success. The protein holds on to the Iron atoms for dear life, because they enable it to fulfill its true purpose, capturing and releasing rogue pairs of Oxygen. It stalks and prowls its environment from within a red blood cell. The vessel is cluttered with many identical proteins and other groups of needy molecules, including carbon dioxide. The protein gushes along in a watery solution, ricocheting off the other compounds and bouncing around inside a flexible membrane. The mass of fluid moves as one through an enclosed network of one- way streets. The entire system quivers with the power of the tirelessly pumping heart. The tumbling and hurtling protein slows as its tunnel grows wider. The conglomeration of molecules is a deep maroon tide, rushing forward rythmically in the vein. The protein finds itself inside a large channel, the vena cava. With a sudden vacuuming suction, the protein is pulled through a valve into the right atrium. It lingers there for only a dizzying instant before a resounding *thwump!* slings it through the tricuspid valve into the right ventricle. The protein careens wildly through the solution, driven by momentum, then is expelled out of the heart with a deeper, stronger *thwump!* The protein shoots down the pulmonary artery, now clinging desperately to its precious iron complexes. Suddenly, the huge artery branches off multiple times, and the protein's progress is slowed considerably. The artery narrows until each molecule can just pass through one at a time. The protein waits patiently in line, brushing up against the thin, fragile wall of the pulmonary capillary. The carbon dioxide molecules have mysteriously disappeared... A cataclysmic event occurs as the molecules of the membrane wall part slightly to allow pairs of Oxygen to pass through. The Oxygen atoms fall for the bigger, more attractive Iron compounds on the protein. They immediately go their separate ways and run off to redder pastures. Four Oxygens bond with all four Irons on the protein, and it has fulfilled half of its purpose as a hemoglobin molecule. The solution turns bright crimson. A very satisfied protein now moves on. It has just entered a rapidly expanding vessel, and soon rushes into the pulmonary vein. Two violent but controlled contractions later, and the left atrium and ventricle have expelled it into the aorta. The loaded hemoglobin tumbles downward as the thick artery extends along the thoracic cavity and into the abdomen. The hemoglobin has a few side trips planned on its way to unload the oxygen. First, it swings by the celiac artery and gets up close and personal with the stomach. Plenty of sugars jump onboard with the rest of the travelling molecules. The protein finds itself in tight company. The plasma solution is packed with many other hemoglobin-filled erythrocytes, plenty of bacteria-munching leukocytes, and a few stray clot-forming platelets. The red blood cell is becoming crowded with urea, creatine, and other noxious waste molecules picked up along the way. The hemoglobin becomes uneasy. It swings around and heads back down the aorta, bypassing the spleen and heading straight for the kidney. The winding, looping tubules guide the protein to the renal capillaries, where the unwelcome waste products are finally dumped. The protein feels much more comfortable now and continues on, flowing quickly to the large branch forming the iliac arteries that extend into the legs. Plasma carries the protein past more branches and splits until it has reached some capillaries near the surface of the quadriceps femoris. The low concentration of Oxygen in these muscle tissues disturbs the hemoglobin. The tissues lure the Oxygen atoms away from their Iron escorts. Its mission over, the hemoglobin rides the capillary back out and eventually ends up in the iliac vein, heading north. It's been a long day (actually, about ten minutes), and the protein rides passively back toward the heart with all of its cohorts. The blood they comprise circulates easily through the network of healthy vessels. The fluid does its job efficiently. Everything is running smoothly, and it all results in a living being, itself interacting with other beings in much the same way the wandering atoms within it do. The organism moves, communicates with, and manipulates members of its own and other kinds to become a part of an always-jostling, writhing whole conglomeration clinging precariously to a tilted, rolling rock. The system is humming along nicely, taking care of itself quite well. And then something goes terribly wrong. The steady fluid pressure inside the organism's network of blood vessels rises slightly, the heart pumping frantically. The adrenal glands release endocrine and adrenaline into the bloodstream, causing the blood to become a much more efficient oxygen carrier. The protein hasn't made it back to the lungs yet. The combination of speeding heartbeat and frantically pumping lungs makes the entire system shake and vibrate with anticipation. *********************************** Scully can't believe what she's seeing...some lunatic with a bomb strapped to his chest threatening to blow up the bank full of innocent people. She can't let this happen. It's not the fact that the guy is pointing a gun at her nose. She's been through that before. She wants to go for her own weapon, but she doesn't stand a chance now. It's too late. Something is off. Her heart freezes when she notices Mulder rising to his feet behind the gunman. He reaches underneath his trenchcoat. He's going for his sidearm, and Scully feels her stomach drop. This is all wrong. She wants to yell for Mulder to stop, but he's made up his mind. The guy senses the movement behind him and his eyes begin to sweep to his left, looking for the source. Everything seems to pass in slow motion to Scully. Her mind races, searching for a solution to this impossible problem. This situation seems strangely familiar, in a way. The same ethereal warning pulled at her consciousness just last Christmas. She remembers the chill that ran down her spine when she suppressed her own panic long enough to actually listen to what Mulder was telling her at the time. She had believed that he'd finally snapped, reaching his tolerance limit of polite scientific observations and her attempts to get him to see things more logically. Both relief and guilt had washed over her when she realized that he had not turned into a murderous betrayer. In that moment, when she was wallowing in a pool of conjured blood and her mind was open and desperate, she had sensed the same vague, distant guidance that she does now. She feels the helpless desperation rearing its ugly head again. Mulder begins to draw his gun from its holster and the man in front of her continues to turn and raises his right hand... Scully impatiently begs for that guidance now. *********************************** There are more signs of a catastrophic event as the number of platelets floating through the bloodstream suddenly spikes. The hemoglobin is surrounded by them inside the vena cava. The number of leukocytes also increases. By the time protein approaches the heart, the pressure in the vessel has lowered considerably. Blood sloshes through the over-expended heart like ice water. The contraction rate increases in a futile attempt to compensate for the lack of pressure. Chaos reigns as the protein flows into the left pulmonary artery. The blood's speed increases drastically. The tissue forming the artery has been breached. The vital pathway has been ripped apart; the portion reaching toward the lungs is defensively contracted. The blood spills out into the lung cavity and in between other layers of tissue. Some of it pools into the depression created by the .38-caliber bullet now lodged against a posterior rib, and yet more is aspirated far into the damaged lung, coating and drowning the tiny air sacs. The hemoglobin molecule, however, joins most of its neighbors in flowing out of the entry wound. *********************************** The blood covers Mulder's barely-moving chest, creating a surface both sticky and slick. Scully presses her hand against it firmly, but it is not enough to staunch the flood of life streaming with alarming speed from his body. *********************************** The organism in perfect health just moments ago is now dying. The pair have become one in many ways. They are closer now than ever just before they are about to be ripped apart with physical fury. *********************************** Scully is attuned to Mulder so closely, she can hide her primal fear no longer. A part of her is with him, and she senses that this wasn't supposed to happen. She feels his heart weaken under her hand, and her own seems to flail frantically inside her. Mulder's well-toned muscles have gone completely limp and his eyes stare at nothing. Her own eyes burn and sting as she feels a large part of herself slipping away. The rest of the mass of life and death around her seems to fade into the background. She mourns him even before he's gone, and looks up at the heavens with a desperate rage seething within. Her soul cries out to the unforgiving bundle of human life, and even beyond, that Mulder's death cannot be! He has too much left to do that no one else can or will. He owes her more shared time on this earth. He cannot reach deep inside her and win her confidence...prying open her soul and filling a vacuum she had always denied...and then leave her like this! She burns for him as her hands are covered with red. She waits for an answer. Any answer. And when it comes, she isn't ready for it. There is no way for her to comprehend...she only knows that Mulder will be given another chance, and nothing else matters. She is flooded again with the memories of her life as certain death looms nearby in the form of dynamite. Everything she and Mulder have been through seems pointed to a tragic conclusion. She tries to talk the lunatic out of killing everyone, but her mind is distracted by the nagging feeling that Mulder deserves something better... She wonders if she's ever really told him how much she appreciates him...how he's made her whole. They are both running out of time, and it's too late. She is shocked by the words that come out of her own mouth, but she never gets the chance to truly analyze their implications... "It doesn't have to end this way." *********************************** Thanks for reading!