TITLE: SYMPATHETIC VIBRATION

AUTHOR: Blackwood

EMAIL: entreamis@yahoo.com

KEYWORDS: MSR, Blackwood

FEEDBACK: Keeps this author writing

ARCHIVE: Yes, as long as I know and get visitation privileges

RATING: G

CATEGORY: MSR, Post-ep Vignette, Scully Angst

SPOILERS: The Sixth Extinction, Biogenesis, Redux II, Memento Mori

SUMMARY: Scully "speaks" her heart.

DISCLAIMER: Consider this a benevolent offering to The X-File god,

Chris Carter.  No infringement intended, only homage.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: After weeks of strenuous negotiations, this writer

was able to wrangle a working contract from her recalcitrant muse.  I

guess she likes the deal we struck because she gifted me with this.

Thanks to all who encouraged me to stick around, especially my beta,

Audrey. Thank you doesn't cover it.



SYMPATHETIC VIBRATION

by Blackwood (1/1)



It is only now, only here, that I can still the frantic beating of my

heart.  Twenty-two hours and thousands of miles spent traveling with

but one thought in mind: you.  Outside this room, I am adept in

persuading the staff to grant me entry.  Inside, I can no longer

suppress the tears that threaten my composure and my authority;

tears, which if your gift is real, you know to be my own, seeing into

the heart of the one who weeps.



It seems an eternity since the morning we first considered the

rubbing that has led us down this otherworldly path.  The voyage we

began so long ago is at an end, though its conclusion is yet to

unfold.  Of that I am certain.  Yet, even more certain is the fact

that we are embarking on a new journey, the magnitude of which I can

not begin to imagine.  Standing beside you, watching your body weaken

even as your mind gathers power, I am humble as a penitent to her

confessor.  Forgive me, Mulder, for I have sinned.  I disbelieved.

Even with the evidence staggering in its force, my mind recoils from

the "truths" I have been shown.  It is too much and still not enough.



As ever, I sought the lesson to be learned, to integrate the unknown

into the known and thereby possess it, consuming its power over me.

What I discovered on my African sojourn, Mulder, beyond sobering

possibilities with global implications, is an even more radical and

intimate fact: I am no longer self-sustaining.  I thought I was

autonomous, confident in my self-sufficiency.  I was convinced I

could manage for the both of us; that I had the strength, the

resources and the will to protect the work, your work--our work,

alone.  My solo flight as a true believer spiraled into disaster at a

frightening pace.  Merkmallen, Sandoz, Barnes: all dead and you lie

helpless to act, a victim of the same obsession that seems to claim

everyone who comes into contact with the obscure symbols whose

significance threaten the foundations of the earth.



I went to Africa for answers.  I return with more questions;

questions I am incapable of answering without you.  I can no longer

rely on the tenets I have held sacred to guide me.  My persona, once

steadfast, is buffeted by winds that herald the impending storm and

through it all, the only mooring I have is you.  I stare at the alien

craft and see it through your eyes.  I hear the wonder of your voice

as Animah relates the latest translation.  I feel the thrill of

extreme possibility, knowing that I have come to this point, so far

from where I began, because you have eased the way that I might walk

beside you.  And I realize, beyond all doubt, it is where I belong.

My denial vanished with my pride as I stood, transfixed, on the white

sands of the Ivory Coast.  My protests, my explanations, my words of

scientific rationale were silenced in the sound of surf pounding the

shore and the carapace of that which can not exist, yet does.



That this cursed state should afflict you now is no more

comprehensible than the cancer which was given me and which lies

dormant in my body, a mute invader held in check by a technology

whose origins must now, perforce, be suspect.  You told me, once,

that the truth was in me.  Now, Mulder, it is in you, in the lonely

pilgrimage of your mind.  Our work is not yet finished, but I can not

do it alone and I can not leave it behind.  I won't.  So I stand

here, pleading with you to return, to finish what was begun.



The greatest irony of all is that I find my most fervent wish to be

that you can, somehow, hear my thoughts and know the truth that is

me.  That is us.  That beneath the arguments and superficial

differences, we are really the same, like sympathetic vibrations from

an errant chord.  You are my partner, my dearest friend, my only

love. I hope you know that it never mattered that I lost my chance at

rising in the ranks when I entered your world.



You became my world.



END