Title - Harold's Gift
Author - Donna
Email address - donnah@donnas-stories.com
URL - www.geocities.com/Area51/Quadrant/4571/
Rating - G
Category - MSR, angst
Spoilers - Elegy
Keywords - MSR, angst
Summary - After she saw Harold in her rear view mirror, 
what did she do?
Feedback - Please
Archive - Anywhere, just please keep my name and let 
me know so I can visit

Disclaimer - Mulder, Scully, the Lone Gunmen and 
Skinner all belong to Chris, 10-13 and Fox - Bless them 
for it!!  No infringement intended.


Harold's Gift


She watched him make his way inside.  He hadn't spotted her car, no
reason for him to look for it.  She knew she'd been avoiding him,
she'd admitted that much to herself while she was waiting.  He was
later than she'd thought he'd be.  She could have let herself into his
apartment to wait, but she wasn't entirely sure how he'd feel about
that.
 
He was moving slowly, barely lifting his feet from the pavement, as
though that was too much effort.

Maybe she shouldn't bother him after all, except . . .  except she
couldn't make herself look in her rearview mirror again.

He was inside, out of sight now.  That made the need to see him even
stronger.  She found herself bailing from the car and hurrying across
the street.  Fortunately she didn't have to wait for the elevator, the
need to see him suddenly overwhelming her.

She hurried down the hall and knocked on his door before she allowed
herself to analyze it.

He opened the door, and the look of curiosity turned rapidly to
concern.  "Scully?"  He reached for her, pulling her inside.  He shut
the door, but didn't release her.  "What is it Scully?  What's wrong?"
He touched a tear that was trailing down her cheek.  It startled her,
she hadn't been aware she was crying.

"Come in here, sit down."  He seated her on the couch and squatted in
front of her.  "Are you okay?  Did something happen?"

She shook her head, suddenly unable to speak.  "Okay, you just sit
here.  I'm gonna make you some tea."  He took her silence for assent
and, after scanning her face one more time, moved quickly into the
kitchen.

She sat staring at her hands clasped tightly in her lap, unaware he
was watching her from the door.  His chest was tight.  He'd known she
wasn't okay.  He shouldn't have gone off on her at the facility, but
he was so damn scared.  It was like she was fading away.  He shuddered
at the thought.

The microwave jerked him back to the present.  He dunked a bag of her
favorite tea in the mug and hurried back to her.

He slipped the mug onto the coffee table to steep and took the seat
beside her.

"Scully?"  He took her hand into his.  It was icy, which alarmed him
on a deeper level than he was willing to admit.  He took her other
hand as well, rubbing them lightly and then bringing them to his lips.  
He blew warm air on them, then turned them over and placed a kiss in
each palm, mindful of the cut she'd received earlier.

He looked up, expecting her to get after him, instead she was watching
him.  "Tell me what happened Scully."

Still she hesitated.  "Scully please, trust me."

"I do."  She whispered.
 
He held her eyes for a long moment, "Then talk to me."

"I . . . I saw him."

His brow furrowed, "saw who?"

"Harold."

"You went down to the morgue?"

She shook her head.  "In . . . in my car."

"I don't - "

"When I left you, to go home . . . I looked in my rear view mirror and
. . . I saw Harold sitting in my back seat."  She looked up, almost
hoping he would laugh or brush it aside.  Instead she saw the fear in
his eyes.

He swallowed.  "Scully, tell me what your doctor said."

Her eyes met his and flicked away.  His grip on her hands tightened
involuntarily, as though to ground her here, to never let her go.

"There, uh, there's been some growth of the tumor, but less than he
expected."

He didn't speak, just waiting.

"They're doing some blood work.  He's concerned that . .  . that the
cancer will metastasize into my blood stream."

"Has it?"  His voice sounded rough, as though he'd been yelling, even
though neither had spoken above a whisper since the conversation had
started.

"The, uh, the tests were inconclusive."

"Incon . . ." His voice faded out, or ran down, he wasn't sure which.

"They're going to run them again next week."

"I want to be there."

She looked into his eyes.  This was the man she had called when she'd
received her diagnosis - the only one.  Now of course, others knew.  
Mom, Bill, which meant Charlie knew, though he had never mentioned it.  
He did call more often, keeping their conversations light, upbeat,
easier on her.

Mulder was still watching her, waiting.  She nodded, and he drew her
against him, holding her tight against him.  He waited for her to
protest, pull away, but instead to his surprise she snuggled in.

She let her eyes slide closed and realized this was why she had come
here - to feel his arms around her, his strong healthy body against
hers and to feel safe, for a little while.

He felt her relax against him and pressed his lips to her forehead.  
She sighed and cuddled in a little more.  In minutes he knew from her
gentle breathing that she had fallen asleep.

It was late and she'd had a terrifying experience.  He was still
feeling that terror himself.  But she'd come to him.  He would step up
his efforts, find something to help her.  He wasn't going to let her
go.  And for tonight, for tonight she could stay right where she was.