Title: Just By Existing Author: Dreamshaper (dreamshpr@aol.com or pensivedreamer@aol.com) Archival: Just send an email, unless you already have something of mine. (Spookys ok) Rating: pg13 Category: post-ep UST Spoilers: Amor Fati blank-filler ;) (yes, I know everyone has moved on to Millennium now, but I had to write 3 versions of this story to get it the way I wanted it! ) Summary: "It was just a dream," he said, voice as tender as his eyes. "A fantasy I'd never really want to live. One I couldn't live. You weren't part of my life, Scully. No way could I really have gone on like that." Disclaimer: Not mine ;) Notes: Thanks to Shawne for the 14k of beta (a new record! woohoo!) and Robbie for catching the rest of it ~*~ Scully put down her journal and closed her eyes. It was late, and she was beyond tired, but sleep was elusive. Her thoughts...she couldn't stop thinking and remembering, and regretting. And she couldn't go fifteen minutes without checking on her partner. Mulder was asleep in her bed, had been for hours. It was a deep sleep and his vitals were all normal--physically he seemed to be fine. He was quiet, peaceful, apparently free of the nightmares she had been expecting him to have, so she felt safe in assuming that he was all right mentally as well. But she was driven to check, to watch over him carefully. She needed to make sure he was comfortable, was recovering. She needed to remind herself that he was alive, breathing. She needed to convince herself that he was whole. She opened her eyes, blinking as the pale, golden light from her lamp replaced the darkness. For a moment more, she forced herself to remain curled up in the corner of the couch, made herself delay the inevitable check. If she wasn't careful, she'd end up hovering over him, and she couldn't let herself get used to that. Not even while he was recovering from one of the most trying ordeals of his life. She'd hate herself for it, and he wouldn't be too appreciative either. He never wanted to acknowledge his mortality and he'd be forced to if she hovered... She couldn't help herself. Before she had taken more than five slow, deep breaths, she found herself rising and heading for her bedroom, carrying her journal, moving silently. A lamp gleamed in there too, spilling light into the hall. She had turned it off automatically after settling him in, but he'd moaned in his sleep as the darkness folded itself around him and the sound had been heartbreaking. She'd turned the light back on before taking another breath. Scully stood in the doorway for a moment, just watching as his chest rose and fell, as his lashes fluttered. He looked so fragile, so thin...it nearly broke her heart every time she noticed how sharp the bones in his wrists had become, how the hollows between his ribs had deepened, how his long legs seemed skeletal... When her breath hitched, she bit her lip and closed her eyes, feeling again all the fear and the pain--and the rage. The idea of just how much he must have suffered to go from being solidly muscled, vital and healthy to being so gaunt and pale--it made her want to find the people responsible and shoot them all, one after another, and the knowledge that she would very likely *never* get her hands on them-- Scully pushed the thought away and approached the bed. She dropped the journal on the bedside table, one of her hands wrapping around his wrist, the other tracing the edge of the bandage circling his head. Normal, she noted automatically. No fever, steady pulse. She checked both of his eyes, found the pupils reactive and equal. She trailed her fingers down the side of his face, ignoring the rough stubble and concentrating on the fact that his skin was warm and dry, not cool and clammy the way it had been when she found him, alone in that room... Her vision blurred as her eyes filled with tears and she looked away from him, focusing on controlling her exhaustion, her tension, her wayward emotions. When she felt calm again, she picked up the journal and turned away, intending to leave him, to let him sleep. Make herself wait more than twenty minutes without coming back to reassure herself-- She hesitated again, cursed herself, and turned back to sit on the edge of the bed and watch her partner sleep. I really should go back out to the living room, Scully thought even as she settled herself more comfortably by Mulder's hip. He's fine, he's recovering, I can do my worrying just as well in the other room. She just...couldn't go. Scully leaned over her partner, resting her weight on one arm, brushing her fingers over his temple. He slept on as she studied him, absorbing everything, memorizing his every feature as if she had never seen him before. Feeling fiercely protective and tender, she smoothed his hair, touched his cheek, tugged up the edges of the blankets she had wrapped him in after settling him in the bed. She wondered for a moment if she had done the right thing. She had no idea what had been done to him, couldn't really judge just how hurt he might be. He might need better care than she could give him. But taking him back to the hospital, taking him to *any* hospital, seemed just as dangerous as bringing him home with her, if not more so. They had what They wanted from him, but she had no idea what had been planned for him, and she wasn't going to take the chance that perhaps he had been left to die, that perhaps he wasn't meant to be alive. "I did the right thing, Mulder," she whispered. "The only thing I could do." His eyelashes fluttered, and she held her breath, hoping that he wasn't going to wake up. She wasn't ready to leave him alone, but she wouldn't be able to face him if he was awake. And he needed to sleep, to rest undisturbed and gather his strength-- A sigh rattled through his chest and he turned his head, facing her more fully, but he didn't wake. Scully closed her eyes, moved her hand back to rest on the sheets, denying herself the comfort of touching him, planning to rise carefully and go back to the couch, to her occasional attempts to rest, to her journal if sleep was still unattainable. In a minute, she thought. I'll leave him in a minute... But exhaustion-induced dizziness washed over her, a sudden, fierce wave of it making her gasp, and she had to open her eyes to reorient herself. The decision to sit a while longer was easily made. She hadn't really wanted to leave anyway. Scully looked down at the journal in her lap. When she'd started writing, it had only been meant to detail her findings, to keep everything fresh in her mind. But gradually, her writings had become so much more...so personal. So cathartic, much like the journal she had kept while battling cancer. Slowly, she flipped through the pages, amazed by the sheer volume of words she had spilled onto its formerly pristine pages. All the emotions and fears spread out in ink, addressed to her partner, coming from her heart. She picked up her pen, pressed it lightly against the paper, trying to think of words that could describe her relief, her fear, how fragile she felt while trying to reconcile what she had learned with what she knew and what she had always believed. Words to express her need. But she was looking for words that didn't exist. She gave up on writing, but a sound pulled her attention away from the journal before she even had a chance to close it, and she looked up, at Mulder's face. He was looking back at her. His eyes were dark, shadowed with pain. For a moment there was no recognition in them and she battled terror and the certainty that she had been wrong, that he *had* needed more help, that she had only hurt him more by attempting to protect him-- "Scully..." Relief shivered through her, quicksilver and warm. Scully leaned forward, pressing her fingers gently across his mouth. "Shhh," she said very softly, huskily. "Don't try to talk. Rest." His hand rose, his fingers batting at hers till she removed them. "Water," he rasped, those shadowed eyes intent on hers. She sat up, reaching for the water glass on the bedside table, then she leaned back over him, curling her free hand under his back, urging him to sit. It was a slow process, painful to watch. He winced and bit his lip as muscles complained; his body shuddered with pain as he drank, his stomach obviously protesting even the most necessary fluid. But he didn't stop till the glass was empty. Scully could feel his gaze on her as she settled him against the pillows, wanting him to lie back down but not willing to fight him when he resisted. She set the glass aside again, and for a moment she fumbled with it, arranging it just so on the table, taking a moment to pull herself together. I'm not ready, she thought, not ready to deal with this now. It's been so long... It had been so long since she had heard his voice, felt it vibrate in the air around them. So long since she had looked into his eyes and seen *him* there. She'd made do with that journal, spoken to him there, and in her heart, but there had never been a response-- She took a deep breath, forced herself to ignore the emotions curling hot and dark in her chest, and turned back to him. And for a moment, they just looked at each other. Scully absorbed the color of his eyes, the fact that he was *there*, looking back at her, as tired as she was, in so much more pain, but aware. Then he shifted, slowly, painfully, only enough to reach out and slide his fingers around hers where they rested on the mattress. She looked down at their joined hands, curled her fingers lightly around his, and held her breath till her lungs burned. "How did I...get here?" he asked, drawing her gaze again. She let the air out of her lungs on a long sigh. "You don't remember?" She nodded when he just stared up at her. "I had hoped you would...remember...I, uh, did a little bit of a preliminary check on you in the lab--you said you then that you weren't hearing the voices, but I thought that might have been because of the drugs in your system. Are you now?" He closed his eyes, shook his head. "No," he murmured, sounding a little lost. "No, the voices are gone." Scully held her silence, wondering at his tone, at the fact that he sounded...like he felt something had been taken from him, and she wondered how long it would take him to recover. But then he opened his eyes again, silently urging her to continue. "I...helped you walk, Mulder. That was difficult, but getting out of the building was surprisingly easy--" "How did you know where to find me?" She hesitated, then looked away. "I didn't, really. I...Albert Hosteen was here, he and I prayed--I was at the end of my rope, Mulder, and ready to do anything. Anything to get you back. I knelt on the floor and asked--anyway, I guess...I must have fallen asleep." Scully tugged at their joined hands, dragging his across the sheets and into her lap. Staring down at his long, thin fingers and knobby knuckles, she continued, softly, "When I awoke, there was an envelope on the floor. It had a keycard, directions, instructions. Everything I needed to go in and get you out." He was silent for a long moment, and she didn't look up, focusing instead on their hands, waiting for him to ask where the answers had come from. He didn't. Instead, he murmured Albert's name, his tone a question. "I'd have sworn he was too ill, Mulder, but twice while you were gone, he was in my apartment. Waiting for me." She paused again, then looked into his eyes, amazed by their color and the intelligence gleaming through all the pain, the exhaustion, amazed by the fact that he was looking back. "I think it was Diana who gave me the information I needed," she said, painfully, slowly. "I think she saved you, Mulder." He was obviously considering that, his eyes thoughtful, his attention turned inward. She sat, waiting quietly, listening to the sound of his breathing and her own, unconsciously squeezing his hand a little tighter. "I dreamed I was married to her," he said softly, and she caught her breath, surprised. "We had children...a normal life. Samantha was alive and well, with children of her own. Spender Sr. turned out to be my father...it was the strangest thing. I lived an entire life, Scully. An entire alternate future." Scully didn't know what to say to that, so she concentrated on breathing, despite the tension building in her chest, and looked past him out the window. Almost dawn, she noted distantly. It's almost tomorrow...and I have no idea what's going to happen. Will the story of his alternate life be the thing that shatters me? Will he ask me why I bothered to go after him... "But the world...it was ending when my dream self was dying," he was continuing, his voice growing rougher with every sentence, and she wanted to tell him to stop, before he broke her heart. "Near the end, it was just me and Smokey. Everyone else in my little life...was gone. But I was all right, really, because I knew you'd be taking care of the world. And then...he said you were dead. Dead, and just like that I knew I had been living some weird, incredible lie." "I'm sorry," she whispered, not even understanding why she spoke. "I'm so sorry, Mulder." He squeezed her hand, grip surprisingly tight. "I'm not. I'm so grateful--I would have died. My dream world was ending and I would have died, Scully. I had decided to just let the future happen as it would, and my dream life became my worst nightmare. But you were there, and you pulled me out of it in time...like you always do. I don't care where the information came from, because *you* are the one that saved my life." Scully closed her eyes, shook her head. "That's not--" "It *is* true. Scully--I came out of the dream because I need to make a mark on the future. I came out because I need to find my sister. I came out because I need there to be justice for her...for you." His voice, already deep and raspy, fell into an even lower register as he repeated his words in a whisper. "You came to me near the end of the world and made me face what I had done. Because of that, because of you, I was struggling to make it back, to make the right choices. And as I fought the pull of the dream, I could hear you, the *real* you, asking me to come back. I could feel how much you needed me to return..." Leaning away from him and sliding her hand free of his, Scully forced a smile. She wanted to believe him--wanted to believe he needed her, that she had had something to do with his awakening. But it was nearing dawn and she felt closer to the edge than ever before--she had a mental picture of herself standing at the edge of a cliff, looking down to where earth had once waited and finding only a void. The image was terrifying. Shattering. And his story wasn't helping--the idea of him living a life of blissful ignorance, happy with his sister and Diana, free of his responsibilities to the *world*... "We'll talk about this later--we'll talk about a lot of things later, Mulder. Incredible things. Things I never would have imagined. But for now," she said hurriedly, desperate to escape and hold herself together, praying that was possible. "For now, you need to rest more." He searched her eyes for a long moment before sighing wearily, nodding. Relieved, she helped him lie back down, tugged the blanket back across his chest, smoothing it idly before moving to push herself to her feet. "Scully." She froze, caught by the plea in that ravaged voice. He was holding his hand out to her, and there was something beseeching in the way his fingers curled. "Stay with me..." And his eyes were offering strength she had desperate need of, asking only for comfort in return--comfort she wasn't sure she could give. I should go, she thought frantically. There's too much inside me right now that I can barely deal with, that I might not be able to deal with, that I can't ask him to help me get through. I should go-- "Please." The barely audible plea caught her. She couldn't refuse him when he asked like that, couldn't leave him. Not even for his own good, not even for *her* own good. So she slowly stretched out beside him, hesitantly, not taking her eyes from his even when she had to pull her journal out from under her hip and put it behind her. Settling her head on the same pillow as his, she breathed him in, watching his eyes clear and gleaming, tender, knowing. "It was just a dream," he said, voice as tender as his eyes. "A fantasy I'd never really want to live. One I couldn't live. You weren't part of my life, Scully. No way could I have gone on like that." She didn't look away as he shifted, slowly, painfully, kept her gaze intent on his as he pressed his mouth to hers, the touch gentle, soft, soothing. She felt the edge of the cliff recede, felt the cracked and chipped parts of her soul bond just a little tighter, and she didn't look away--couldn't, even when her journal fell to the floor with a dull thud just as the first light of the sunrise warmed her room. She held his gaze, accepting his understanding, his care, his strength, allowing him to see her gratitude, and her love. "You save me. Just by existing, you save me," he whispered. Scully reached out to touch his cheek, unable to echo the words, knowing that she didn't have to. He reached up, twined his fingers with hers again, smiled. Then his lashes fluttered and he closed his eyes. In seconds he was asleep again--and she hesitantly closed her own eyes, not knowing if sleep would come to her... But before she even had time to think, she was following him down, losing herself to dreams for the first time in what felt like years, just as the new day dawned. ~*~ Dreamshaper (dreamshpr@aol.com or pensivedreamer@aol.com)