TITLE: Nothing Left to Lose AUTHOR: Michelle Kiefer EMAIL: msk1024@aol.com ARCHIVE: Just keep my name attached SPOILERS: Closure RATING: PG CLASSIFICATION: A, V KEYWORDS: Post Ep, Mulder/Scully UST DISCLAIMER: Mulder and Scully belong to Chris Carter and 1013 productions. AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thanks go to Kestabrook for beta-reading and friendship and to Jennifer for creating and maintaining my website. Visit the rest of my stories at: http://members.aol.com/msrsmut/MichelleKiefer.htm Nothing Left To Lose (01 of 01) By Michelle Kiefer A snatch of melody had been swirling around her mind all evening. It had taken up residence sometime after Mulder had come back to the car, and stayed as he led her through the nearby field. He had held her hand as they walked down into the clearing, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He seemed to be looking for something, yet showed no surprise in not finding it. He had been calm, almost peaceful as they ate a late dinner in the coffee shop across from the motel. She toyed with her tuna melt while she watched him polish off the meatloaf platter followed by a slab of coconut cream pie. The appetite that had deserted him since the beginning of the La Pierre case had obviously returned. And still the little fragment of forgotten song hung on. They returned to the motel and he asked her, almost shyly, to stay with him. She tried to hide her surprise, not at his need for human contact but at his easy expression of that need. He showed none of the desperation that had marked the night his mother had died, when he seemed tethered to earth by no more than the circle of her arms. The song, coming clearer now, played in her head as she brushed her teeth and applied moisturizer. Putting on her pajamas, she could hear the gritty voice singing, the words just out of reach. He was already in bed, drowsy eyes watching a flickering TV, when she left the bathroom. She slipped between the crisp sheets as if climbing into Mulder's bed was something she did every night. He stroked her arm and smiled, thanking her for staying. In what seemed like minutes, he had fallen asleep. It seemed ironic: the poster boy for Insomniacs Anonymous, sleeping soundly, and the woman who prided herself on being able to sleep anywhere, lying awake. Once, during her residency, she had fallen asleep on a morgue table. She'd have to tell Mulder that story sometime and about the toe tag she had found attached to her foot when she woke. Some joker had filled out cause of death as "All work and no play." The song that had eluded her all evening suddenly played clear in her mind. "Freedom's just another word for nothin' left to lose," Janis Joplin rasped out in blues time in her mind, and her body went rigid with that realization. Tension thrummed through her, and she couldn't lie in bed a minute longer. What happens to you when you have nothing left to lose? How do you find the motivation to haul yourself out of bed in the morning? She wondered how much loss a person could stand before it became just too damn much. Had Mulder reached that point? She crossed over to the chair and sat, watching Mulder sleep, illuminated by the moonlight that trickled in through a gap in the drapes. It was apparently some motel rule that that drapery couldn't meet properly in the middle. Mulder's white T-shirt looked almost blue in the light from the window. She studied the angle of his jaw and the stubble on his cheek with a scrutiny once reserved for her college textbooks. She drew her feet up onto the chair and wrapped her arms around her knees, as if it might keep her thoughts from flying around the room. Mulder had been abandoned by his parents for so long that their physical death was a mere formality. But he had told her from the start that nothing else mattered to him but finding Samantha. Had that changed somewhere along the way? Scully knew that she was important to him. The faith he had in her was staggering, considering the life he had led. From that night so long ago in a motel room much like this one, he had trusted her with his heart, and most of his secrets. Could she be the anchor he needed her to be? It was the stuffy driving-up-into-the- mountains feeling in her ears that alerted her to the visitor. Later, she would try to convince herself that her over-tired mind had played tricks on her, but she knew in her heart that what she had seen was real. That who she had was Samantha. The figure appeared partly transparent, and Scully could clearly make out the gap in the drapes through the girl's torso. She found herself captivated by the irregular smile, the warm expression in the eyes. It was a face arrested on the way to womanhood, baby roundness still showing in the cheeks. The girl stood over Mulder as he slept and laid an ethereal hand on his hair as if in benediction. Her gaze did not leave Scully's face as she smiled and bent to kiss Mulder's forehead. Scully sat, unable to move, as she marveled that Mulder did not wake at the girl's touch. The girl's eyes remained locked on Scully's, and she slightly inclined her head to Mulder. The meaning of this subtle gesture was not lost on Scully as tears clouded her vision. She felt a popping in her ears, and suddenly the girl was gone. Mulder woke with a start, and Scully wondered if he had experienced the same ear popping. He rose up on one elbow and squinted in the darkness. "Why did you get out of bed?" he asked. "I can't believe I got to say that," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "I couldn't sleep." Her voice hitched a little, drawing his concern. "Come back to bed. Hey, I liked the way that sounded," he said, raising the covers as an invitation. She smiled and returned to the bed, sitting, one leg tucked under her. "You're crying," he said as he wiped a tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. "What's the matter?" He sat up and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her. Scully was glad she couldn't see Mulder's eyes as she nestled her head in the crook of his neck. It made it easier to talk. "I saw something. I saw a young girl with long straight hair." He pulled back just a little to look into her eyes, and she wished he hadn't. Sometimes, it seemed as if he could see right down into her soul and it unnerved her. "You saw her...I'm so glad you saw her. My biggest regret was that you would never meet Samantha." She could see the tears resting along his lower lashes. "I think she was trying to tell me something, but I couldn't make it out. I think she wanted to make sure you would be all right." She brought her hands up to bracket his face. "Will you be all right?" "Yeah...yeah, I think I will be. If I had found out ten years ago, even five years ago, I think it would have destroyed me." He took one of her hands from his face and cupped it against his chest. "I think I was finally ready to face losing her. I think I have enough in my life now to handle it." He took her other hand and kissed the palm. The little song began again in her mind. "Janis," she thought, "shut the hell up." And she smiled. End (01 of 01) Freedom is just another word for nothing' left to lose Nothing', I mean nothing, hon, if it ain't free, no Oh, feelin' good was easy, oh ho when he sang the blues You know feelin' good was good enough for me Good enough for me and my Bobby McGee Me and Bobby McGee by Kris Kristofferson and Fred Foster