Title: Reconciliation Author: Lydia Bower Classification: V Rating: PG-13 for a few bad words. Spoilers: Yep. Fifth season. Specifically "All Souls." Distribution: Anywhere, as long as my name stays put and it's archived in its entirety. Summary: Mulder and Scully have a conversation about God. Takes up right where "All Souls" left off. Author's Notes: Unlike most of my work, this one is safe for all to read--shippers and noromos alike, although there is some UST, and loads of DAL. This one is for the Screamers. Thanks for being so patient. Disclaimer #1: Mulder and Scully aren't mine and never will be. They belong to David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson. The X- Files belongs to Mr. Twinkly Eyes, the gang at 1013 Productions, and the suits over at Fox Broadcasting. No infringement is intended and no money is being exchanged. I do this for free. Disclaimer #2: The religious views expressed by the characters herein are not necessarily those of the author. If religious themes make you uncomfortable, you should probably skip this one. Reconciliation by Lydia Bower He was waiting for her when she stepped out of the church and into the blinding light of day. Leaning against the railing at the bottom of the stairs, his arms folded loosely across his chest, his eyes hidden behind Ray-Bans, Mulder stood watch. It took him a few seconds to notice her; long enough for Scully to successfully hide her shock at seeing him there. He straightened and turned towards her as she came down the stairs. "Mulder?" "Oh, hey, Scully." He pulled off his sunglasses as she reached the sidewalk, anchoring them in the neck of his t-shirt. "What're you doing here?" She watched as Mulder tried not to be too obvious about the quick head-to-toe assessment he gave her. When his eyes lifted and met hers, he jerked a half-smile. "I was hoping I could buy you a cup of coffee." Scully turned her head and glanced out at the heavy Saturday afternoon traffic. "You tracked me down to buy me a cup of coffee?" "Yeah," he quietly confirmed. She turned back and watched as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. She sensed his uneasiness, but gave him credit for maintaining eye contact. "Why?" she asked. "Why not?" he rejoined. "It's a beautiful afternoon. I was a good boy and got all my chores done." He shrugged and repeated, "Why not?" She studied him for a few more seconds before she dropped her eyes. "Mulder, I don't... It's really not a good...." She trailed off, thinking all she wanted to do was go home and curl up into a contemplative ball of tears and regret. "I could use the company, Scully." She glanced back up at him, noting the genuine need in his eyes, the silent plea. She was faced with a familiar decision: be there for Mulder or do what was necessary for herself? Whose need was greater? Ingrained habit, borne of her upbringing and her faith, kicked in and took over. "Okay, Mulder, one cup of coffee. But then I have to get back home." "Great. One cup and I'll leave you alone." He curled his fingers around her upper arm and guided her away from the church and down the sidewalk. "So... There's a coffee shop down on the corner. Or we could go to my place--it's just a couple blocks from here. Your choice." Scully looked up at him, a tiny smile successfully hidden. "Let's see," she teased. "Do I pick Starbucks and a wonderful cup of latte, or your apartment and instant?" "I bought a coffee maker a couple months ago, Scully. Did I tell you?" "Are you turning domestic on me, Mulder? Because I don't think I can't deal with that; not this late in the game." "No need to worry. I'm not gonna start bringing homemade goodies into the office. I just figured it was about time I started taking better care of myself." "Please explain to me what buying a coffee maker has to do with taking better care of yourself." He lightly nudged her, glancing down and giving her a smile. "In the grand scheme of things, not much. But it did make me feel like a grown-up." "The two aren't necessarily related, y'know." "Aw, gimme a break, Scully. At least I'm trying." Looking up at him, she knew he was. And in more ways than one. She still hadn't figured out what had triggered this impromptu meeting of his, but she was willing to take the time to find out. Maybe it would take her mind off other more painful questions. "Did your chores include stocking your cookie jar?" she asked. "Oreos, Chips Ahoys and Nutter Butters." "Sold," she declared. "It looks like your place, Mulder." He grinned at her and led the way. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Mulder's apartment was dimly lit and chilly. She kept her sweater on as he shed his jacket and left her in the living room, disappearing into the kitchen to start the coffee. She was standing in front of his desk, staring out the window, lost in thoughts of death and guilt and grief when he came to stand beside her, startling her. She glanced down at the mug he silently offered her, took it, and focused her attention back out the window. She was aware of Mulder presence: he was close enough to be felt, but not close enough to intrude. She was infinitely grateful for his keen sense when it came to her need for space. "A quarter for your thoughts," he finally said. She turned to him, bringing the mug to her mouth. "Inflation, y'know." She blew into the mug and cautiously took a small sip. It was surprisingly good. She swallowed another mouthful and leaned back against the desk chair. Mulder was sprawled on the couch, his legs propped up on the coffee table, ankles crossed. His mug rested on one long blue-jeaned thigh. "I thought you needed to talk to me, Mulder, not the other way around." He lifted his shoulders in a quick shrug. "Whatever." Was he working up the courage to tell her what was on his mind, or waiting for her to spill her guts? She couldn't tell. She hoped he wasn't expecting any great revelation from her. He'd been so good about not mentioning the events of the last week, other than helping her sort through the typical bureaucratic bullshit that surrounded the deaths of the priest and the four girls. The Messengers. Her mind instantly supplied the image of Emily slipping from her grasp. Of the blinding light and her daughter's last words to her. Scully ducked her head and suppressed a shudder. She blinked hard, fighting back sudden tears. No. Not here. Not in front of Mulder. "Hey, Scully?" His soft entreaty gave her something to focus on. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her eyes to his. Mulder had on his mischievous face--the tender version. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you look very nice. I don't get to see you in a real dress often enough." She was reduced to looking down at herself, absorbing this unlikely compliment. It wasn't that she didn't know Mulder appreciated her various...attributes, it was just that he rarely mentioned them. A long-ago conversation on a rock just off the shore of Heuvelman's Lake, and back-handed compliment, sprung instantly to mind. "Th..thank you," she sputtered, and unsuccessfully muffled a tiny, nervous chuckle. "You're welcome." She would never understand him. Not in a million years. She thought after almost six years, she'd be used to things coming completely out of left field, but he still managed to surprise her. "I need a cookie," she declared. Mulder cocked his head at the sudden change of subject, but went along with the shift with practiced skill. "Help yourself." So she walked to the kitchen, mug in hand, and raided his stash. She shook her head in amusement at the giant Mickey Mouse cookie jar (an item that never failed to make her smile) and lifted the rodent's head, digging through the contents of its belly and making her selection. She was nibbling on an Oreo when Mulder joined her. He popped a cookie in his mouth and leaned across her to grab the coffee carafe, refilling his mug. He took up a spot next to her, both of them leaning against the counter, the distance between them too small to be measured. "We used to go to church every Sunday when I was a kid," Mulder announced. He said it like he was resuming a conversation already in progress. Scully went still, waiting to see where he was going with this. "A Protestant church on the Vineyard. It was the one all the right people went to, if you get my meaning. It was part of Dad's method of fitting in, of portraying us as the perfect family. More for show than substance." He crunched up another cookie and washed it down with a swallow of coffee. "My mom's Jewish. Did you know that?" Scully shook her head. "No, I didn't." "Yeah, well, it's not something I talk about very much. It wasn't exactly a secret when I was growing up, it was just something we didn't discuss; especially outside the family. I think it made my mother ashamed. Not that she was Jewish, but that Dad made her set aside her religious upbringing for appearance's sake, and that she went along with it." Mulder shifted a little and continued, "I liked going to church. There was a mystical quality about it that appealed to me. There was something very...comforting in the rituals of sermon and prayer and hymn." Scully found herself reaching up and fingering the crucifix at her neck. "I think I was ten or eleven when we stopped going regularly," Mulder went on. "Dad was gone a lot then. In DC doing whatever the hell it was he was up to his eyeballs in. Mom was never really big on going in the first place, and she wasn't about to try to sneak us into a temple to hear her side of the story, so we just didn't go unless Dad was home. And then after Samantha.... After she was taken, we stopped going altogether." "Did you miss it?" Scully asked. "Sometimes," Mulder said after awhile. "But it was nice to sleep in on Sundays." They traded a glance and a smile. Scully thoughtfully nibbled another cookie and sipped some coffee. She was beginning to realize that Mulder wasn't exactly expecting anything from her. It was more that he needed someone to listen, and maybe pose the right questions. She thought about it for a minute and then asked, "When did you stop believing in God, Mulder?" She thought she was prepared for the answer; confident she knew in advance what he'd say. But he blind-sided her again. "What makes you think I stopped believing?" He trained his trademark deadpan gaze in her direction, and she knew she was gaping at him. She felt her eyes open wide, and one brow began an upward crawl. "I just assumed... I mean, you always seem so...angry when the issue of religion comes up." Mulder held her eye. "My disdain for religion has more to do with disillusionment than disbelief, Scully." He straightened up from his slouch against the counter and turned to face her, his arms folded across his chest. "I want to believe in the existence of God. But I don't blindly believe in everything, much as you might think otherwise. It's a nice idea and it gives people hope to cling to, but it's a hell of a lot harder for me." Scully set her mug in the sink and turned back to him. "Because of Samantha?" she quietly asked. Instead of answering, Mulder stuck out his hand. "Let's go sit down." Scully glanced at the offered hand, and after a second, took it. She allowed herself to be led back to the couch. She settled in while Mulder stayed on his feet. She'd felt the dampness of his palm against hers, had felt his tension, had known this wasn't easy for him. He didn't have to be sharing this with her, let alone volunteering the information, but he was. She felt a stab of guilt, recognizing how courageous Mulder could be when it came to exposing his vulnerabilities to her. She knew she owed him the same. Scully still hadn't been able to justify her fears when it came to confronting emotional issues with Mulder. He'd never given her any reason to distrust him. Just a few days ago, she'd confessed to him her visions of Emily. He hadn't dismissed her, or chided her, or done anything to add to her pain. He'd expressed his concern and his support, just as he'd done countless times before. There was no reason to continue being so reticent with him. And yet she was. Sometimes her actions were as puzzling to her as she assumed they were to Mulder. "I guess it started with Samantha," Mulder acknowledged. His voice was raspy and low, but steady. "After she was abducted, I spent a lot of nights on my knees, asking God to bring her back. I couldn't understand why he'd let her be taken, or why he'd let bad things happen to anyone." Mulder indiscriminately paced the small living room, fingering objects and shuffling papers on his desk. "I was a pretty good kid. I didn't give my parents a lot of grief. And I'd learned that if you followed God's laws, you'd be rewarded. I figured I'd earned my reward. I wanted my sister back. Obviously God had other plans." "God has his reasons," Scully whispered. "Maybe so," Mulder said a little harshly. "But they sure as fuck don't make sense to me." "It's not up to us to question why, Mulder." He barked a sharp laugh and remarked wryly, "So says the scientist." Scully couldn't blame him for his cynicism, or for his difficulty reconciling her faith with her science. She had her own problems trying to successfully integrate both aspects of her personality. "I'm a child of God first," she told him. Mulder held her eye for a long beat and then scrubbed his face, sighing deeply. "Lambs to the slaughter," he muttered through his fingers. Scully stayed silent, not wanting to provoke him further. He dropped his hands and studied her. After a minute he said, "I'm sorry. I'm doing it again, aren't I? Bring up religion and I tend to get nasty. Sorry." "Don't worry about it," she said, hoping he'd take her at her word. And he did. After a small nod of his head in thanks, Mulder said, "So anyway, where were we? Oh, yeah, okay. So I thought things were bad then, but they just got worse when I started profiling. After some of the things I saw, it became harder and harder to believe in the idea of a loving God. It didn't...it *doesn't* makes sense to me that a such a powerful deity would allow such evil in the world. It was around that time I decided if there really is a God, he lost interest in us a long time ago and moved on to bigger and better things." "You're angry with Him," Scully guessed. She could certainly empathize with that, even if she couldn't understand the depth of Mulder's pain. She didn't think anyone ever could. It was like any strong emotion: You could share it with someone, but you could never truly understand what significance it had in another's life. "Can you blame me?" Mulder asked. "After all we've seen... The ugliness, the greed, the deception. All the lives that've been lost or destroyed. Can you blame me for being angry?" She didn't really have time to formulate an answer. Mulder took two steps and collapsed onto the couch beside her. Tipping his head back with a sigh, he closed his eyes and added, "What amazes me, what absolutely blows my mind, is that you're not just as disillusioned as I am." His eyes came open, and he turned his head and peered at her, obviously waiting for a response, for some kind of explanation. Scully had been preparing herself for a query of this sort, having figured out early in their partnership that Mulder went into full attack mode when the subject of religion reared its unwelcome head. She'd been bracing for it since he'd started the conversation, all the time hating the fact that Mulder could put her on the defensive over such a personal issue. If she was to be completely honest with herself, it wasn't just the subject of religion that caused conflict between them. They were fine when arguing evidence and speculation; scientific and medical facts stacked up against theory and folklore. It was only when things turned personal that she became truly defensive. It was a life-long protective stance she'd taken, and was struggling to change; a decision she'd reached after her remission. It was so very hard sometimes, especially when it came to Mulder. But there was something in the way he said the words that told her this wasn't like the other times. There was no challenge in his voice, no arrogance. Only a wistful need to understand, a yearning. "I've been disillusioned, Mulder. I've been angry at God. Don't you think I've asked myself the same questions you're asking now?" "So how do you do it? How do you maintain your faith despite all you've seen, all you know? I don't understand that. I don't know how you do it." "The same way you do, I suppose." Mulder's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" She shifted on the couch, sitting up a little and turning towards him. Her knee brushed against his and rested there, the contact infinitesimal but vital. "You're puzzled by my faith and how I'm able to maintain it. But you have faith, too, Mulder, and have held to it just as tenaciously as I have mine. When I was in the hospital, you told me that your faith was in the truth, and I know that you believe it. But the church teaches us that *God* is the truth. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that we're not that far apart when it comes right down to it. We both have faith in the same things; we just call them by different names." They traded a long look, and Scully could see Mulder trying to come up with a logical (or even not so logical) retort. But then he glanced aside and closed his eyes. When he finally opened them and looked back over at her, they were suspiciously damp. They shown like dark emeralds in the low light of the room. "I guess...I guess I never thought of it that way," he said haltingly. "And you may be right, Scully, but that still doesn't explain why things happen the way they do. And I still haven't seen any definitive proof that faith makes anything easier to accept." "But that's what faith is," she argued. "It's accepting that we may never know, but hoping that what we believe in is the truth." "And you're comfortable with that?" Mulder said it with more than a hint of skepticism, which she supposed was only fair. How could she make him understand? She was just now beginning to come to grips with it herself. If only this could be easier for her--for both of them. But unspoken communication only went so far, and there were times when things needed to be said, no matter how hard it was to say them. No matter the potential risk inherent in allowing Mulder access to what she kept so closely guarded within her heart. Scully pushed up from the couch and stepped to the window, her arms wrapped low around her chest, her back to him. "I'm learning to be," she replied, her answer softly spoken. She could hear the creak of leather as Mulder sat up on the couch. "It's something I struggle with, because it's so hard sometimes. But I'm learning... I'm learning to...to let go." Mulder's voice was little more than a whisper. "Of what, Scully?" She dropped her head and closed her eyes, struggling anew with life-long habits, forcing the words out one by one. "My anger, my fears. My need to try to control everything in my life. My insistence on searching for answers where there are none to be found." She took a deep breath. "And Emily. My grief over her life and her death, and everything she's come to symbolize." She stopped and was met by Mulder's silence; one she felt as gentle and patient. It suddenly became very important that she know what he was thinking. She turned to face him and found him hunched over, elbows on his knees. She saw her grief mirrored in his eyes, and in a rare moment of surrender, allowed herself to find comfort in it. She wasn't alone, and she didn't have to be. Not as long as Mulder was in her life. "Mulder," she asked. "Do you believe my visions of Emily were real?" He studied her for a long moment, his eyes moving over her face. And then he slowly stood, and she found herself looking up at him as he came to stand before her. "I think you believe they were, and that's all that matters. Isn't that what faith is?" She found herself smiling, and Mulder returned it. She looked aside and murmured, "I suppose so." And then she felt his fingers brush against her cheek and she glanced up at him. "You deserve to find some peace, Scully," he told her, his voice warm and low-pitched. "You've more than earned it. Whatever it is I can do...whatever it is you need to find it...." His fingers came to rest on the nape of her neck. "I just want you to have what you need to make you happy." Scully wasn't sure where the words came from, but they felt right as they left her mouth. "I have faith in you, Mulder. I always have." He looked more than a little shocked by her declaration, but quickly recovered. Scully felt a twinge of guilt and vowed she'd remind him more often of how important he was to her. Finally, Mulder shot her a bemused grin. "Well, then I hope I won't let you down, Scully." "You won't." His hand flew up to cover his mouth in what she recognized as a nervous gesture. He dropped it, and before she had time to react, leaned in and kissed her quickly but firmly on the mouth. A second later she was being held in his embrace. There was a moment of tension that swiftly passed before she lifted her arms and slid them around his waist. "Thank you, Scully, for believing in me." She released a long sigh and smiled against his chest. Mulder made it sound like such a challenge, when in reality it was a very easy thing to do. It was all just a matter of faith. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ The End feedback to bower@cu-online.com