TheChoice.html

The Choice

by Leigh Alexander
leigh_xf@geocities.com

First posted: March 4, 1996

RATING: PG
CATEGORY: SA
SPOILERS: None
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully UST
SUMMARY: Mulder must make a choice that will affect his and
Scully's lives forever.

DISCLAIMERS:
1) Dana and Fox belong to Chris and Ten Thirteen Productions
and the other Fox. Absolutely *no* copyright infringement is
intended - I'm not doing this for money, I'm doing it for
love. I *love* these characters, I wouldn't want to hurt
them! :)
2) OK to archive, but if it's going anywhere other than
Gossamer, please drop me a line just so I can keep track.
3) Feel free to distribute and discuss this, as long as my
name and addy remain attached.

INTRO:
This is only my second story, so continue to be gentle with
me. I'm Australian, therefore I haven't seen many of the
season three eps - I've only seen up to Paper Clip, so if
there's anything that's happened after that that I haven't
referred to, that's why. I also may occasionally make some
mistakes with regards to American terminology and customs, if
I do, I'm sorry, and please feel free to e me and correct me!

I welcome constructive criticism or other comments - but no
unnecessary flaming please!

I would call this a friendship-relationship story with just a
teensy-weensy bit of romance (blink and you'll miss it), and
yes, it is suitable for underage readers...

And thanks to Karen Rasch for her encouragement, and
constructive criticism - and for letting me use the necklace
thing also!! :)

-----------------------------------------------------------
The Choice I
-----------------------------------------------------------

Mulder walked soundlessly down the corridor; walking
stealthily along empty corridors had become a habit to him.
It was a part of his FBI training that was so deeply
ingrained in him that he no longer even noticed he was doing
it. If he thought about it, he would probably see the action
as yet another example of what his partner would call his
"overly paranoid" side - but he didn't think about it. It was
a habit as innate as his addiction to sunflower seeds.

He stood in front of his apartment door, vaguely aware of the
dust that had gathered on the 42 that had remained untouched
for years, and ferreted in his pocket for his keys. As he
pulled them out he paused for a moment, his thoughts
suddenly, inexplicably, turning to his partner of six years.
She was all he had left now. His mother had passed away the
previous year from cancer after a year-long fight against the
inexorable spread of the disease, his father had been
murdered, and it was nearly thirty years since his sister
disappeared... there was only Scully. Sometimes it scared him
- how dependant he'd become on her; he had been such a loner
for most of his life, ridiculed for his ideas or distanced
from others by what they saw as his remoteness, aloofness and
uncanny ability to understand certain things. But not Scully.
She had never been scared by him, never felt the need to draw
back from him. Even when she couldn't understand him, or
didn't believe him. Since starting his work for the
government, he had worked out that the only principle to
stick by was "Trust no one" - the words uttered by Deep
Throat as he lay dying. Only somehow, somewhere along the
way, his motto had changed to trust no one - except Scully.
It had been a smooth transition. There had been no one moment
which had sparked the knowledge that Scully was going to
become the only person in his - admittedly deeply paranoid
(although in his mind, legitimately so) - life in whom he
could place his unwavering faith and trust. If it hadn't been
for Scully... He didn't need to pursue the thought. Mulder
knew that she had saved not only his life, but his sanity, on
more occasions than he could count.

Suddenly aware that he had been standing in the corridor for
over five minutes, with his keys in his hand, Mulder cut off
his thoughts, and briskly placed his key in the lock. He
entered his apartment with a sigh of relief, his mind now
turning to thoughts of the weekend ahead: his first
undisturbed weekend at home in over a month. He and Scully
had just returned from an arduous case in Washington State,
and what he needed right now was some R&R. As he removed his
coat, he was already mulling over his plans for the evening,
eventually deciding that nothing would give him more pleasure
than lying on the couch watching an obscure late-night movie
on one of the cables. Not very adventurous, he realised, but
certainly enjoyable. In his mind, at least.

As he tossed his coat onto a chair, he suddenly became aware
of a presence in the room. He spun round, simultaneously
reaching for his weapon, and found himself face to face with
an unknown man, who had obviously been hiding in the shadows
behind his doorway.

Seeing Mulder's hand on his gun the man held up his hand, a
gentle expression on his face, and spoke, "Please... I am
unarmed. I am not here to hurt you - I have some information
for you."

The man submitted willingly to Mulder's vigorous search for
hidden weapons, and then calmly moved over to sit on the
nearby couch, at Mulder's instruction. Mulder studied him
with puzzlement. He certainly didn't appear to be very
threatening, so what was he doing here - what did he want?
Was he the next in what was becoming a long line of
government informants willing to be Mulder's ally? Was this
man going to fill the place vacated almost two years ago by
the still-unsolved disappearance of the man Mulder had come
to know as Mr. X? Or was he in fact here to hurt Mulder,
destroy the X-Files, or fulfil some other government or even
anti-government agenda? Mulder didn't know, but as long as he
still had his weapon in his hand, he felt reasonably safe and
he indicated to the man to start talking.

The stranger did not start to speak immediately. He had been
aware of the scrutinising gaze of the agent, and he now
reciprocated with his own examination of the man facing him.
He had heard a lot about Fox Mulder - had seen photos of him,
had read his reports, had listened to his hypno-regression
therapy tapes - but this was the first time he'd been in the
same room as him, the first time he'd been in such close
contact. He now realised that everything his superiors had
said about Mulder was true. He could see immediately that
this was a man driven by pain; a pain that had lessened over
the years, but was still there, nonetheless. He realised that
the faith the others had placed in Mulder to follow their
plan - in choosing the path that they had assumed he would -
had not been misplaced...

Softly, he started to speak. At first, his story was
delivered in monologue style: he recited the facts, and
watched Mulder reacting to his words. Disbelief, amazement
and excitement shone out of Mulder's eyes, whilst his face
remained placid and unemotional, unaware of their deception.
As the story progressed, Mulder started to interject. He
demanded evidence, proof and more information. The
storyteller answered every question without the slightest
hesitation, provided proof on demand, and supported his story
at every turn, until slowly Mulder came to the undeniable
conclusion that the man was telling the truth, and that what
he was hearing was going to change his life forever.

After two hours the man finished speaking and stared into the
now-shell-shocked eyes of the government agent. He paused. A
significant pause - a pause that he knew Mulder needed. And
then, a moment later, a word fell from his lips, "So?..." It
was a question.

"I'll go." Mulder replied without a moment's hesitation.
Funny, he thought to himself, he had always imagined that
this decision would be the hardest one he would ever have to
make. But when actually confronted with the proposition it
had been as easy as choosing his favourite video, or tie, or
how he liked his coffee. It was an instinctive decision: one
that required no thought or consideration.

The man nodded curtly, wondering if his superiors would have
been as surprised as he was by the ease with which Mulder had
made the decision. He started to speak, intending on
outlining how things were going to proceed from now, but he
was cut off by Mulder, who added firmly, "But, there's
someone I have to see first."

"I'm afraid that's impossible, Agent Mulder. I was just about
to explain to you that one of the conditions that you must
agree to if you are to come with me, is that we leave tonight
- at midnight."

"I'll be back by then - I guarantee it." Mulder was adamant,
knowing that he couldn't go without saying goodbye to her.

The man finally relented, knowing that he needed no
guarantees of Mulder's return; knowing that what he had
offered Mulder was guarantee enough that he would come back.

Seeing that the seemingly necessary approval had been
granted, Mulder leapt out of his chair, grabbed his coat and
was out the door before the man had time to change his mind.
As he impatiently stabbed the elevator button, he looked at
his watch: it was seven-thirty; he had four and a half
hours....

********************

Scully sighed as she glimpsed her partner's form through the
peekhole. She was almost tempted not to open the door - to
pretend she was out, or asleep, or something. It wasn't that
she didn't want to see him - normally she'd be pleased to see
his familiar face peering at her through the peekhole - but
not tonight. She was so exhausted, all she really wanted to
do was snuggle up on her couch and read.

Mulder knocked again, more insistently this time. He knew she
was home, her car was out the front, her lights were on and
he was sure he had heard her approach the door at his first
knock. Just as he was about to knock on the door for the
third time, it opened and Scully's tired face looked up at
him.

"Mulder... what are you doing here?" She hadn't meant to
sound unwelcoming, but from the look on his face, she had
obviously come across more directly than she had intended.
She softened her voice and apologetically explained, "It's
just that I'm really tired, and I was looking forward to an
early night..." It was then that she saw his eyes - really
saw them - and abruptly swallowed what she had been saying,
while simultaneously ushering him into her apartment and
leading him to the couch, where they sat down, facing each
other.

"My God, Mulder, what's wrong... has something happened?"

He stared at her. It wasn't until he'd seen her at the door
that the impact of his decision really hit him. His eyes were
fixed on her, trying to absorb all the possible information
they could gain about Dana Scully. He wanted to fix her in
his memory, encapsulate everything he had ever known about
her in this one moment and then lock it away in his mind - to
keep for the rest of his life.

"Scully." His voice was low - it started to waver as he spoke
the next words, "There's something I have to tell you."

********************

Dana Scully knew that something was wrong. She sensed that
whatever it was Mulder was about to tell her was going to
upset the delicate balance they had each finally attained in
their lives, after six years of relentless change and
upheaval. Six years... sometimes it didn't feel like they'd
been working together for that long - she could still clearly
remember their first year together as though it were only
last year. And yet, six years also seemed accurate when she
thought about their relationship - they had a strong
partnership, one that was based on respect, understanding,
affection, faith and, most importantly, trust. It was a
partnership that had only strengthened with time. The more
often they were torn apart by events, the more united they
were when brought back together again. They had been through
so much together, and now... it was all about to change. She
could feel it; she could see it in Mulder's expression - and
especially in the way he was now trying to avoid her eyes.

She lay her hand gently on his, staring at his lowered face
until he was compelled to lift it and face her piercing blue
eyes.

"What is it Mulder?" She spoke softly, using the voice she
had used often before when persuading recalcitrant witnesses
to speak.

He couldn't speak immediately, couldn't say the words that
were going to shatter their lives... would she understand?
Would she forgive him? He couldn't bear the thought of her
hating him... but maybe, maybe she would understand. He
swallowed and started to speak: "When I came home this
evening there was a man in my apartment -" he was cut off by
Scully's unspoken question, expressed with the slightest
movement of her eyebrow, "I don't know who he was - I'd never
seen him before."

He stopped. "Go on," she murmured.

He continued, his eyes once again avoiding hers. "He told me
a lot of things, Scully. Cover-ups that the government had
been involved in - details of UFO abductions, alien landing
sites... the lot."

Scully was puzzled - normally when Mulder started relating
stories of government cover-ups and proof of alien existence,
he would be enthusiastically excited - his voice rising, his
hands gesticulating wildly and his eyes bright. But not this
time - he related the story in a flat monotone, his body
language suggesting that he couldn't even be bothered with it
all. This personality change only confirmed her previous
suspicions that something was terribly wrong.

He hesitated before speaking the words that would change
their lives forever. "Scully... he told me he could take me
to Samantha." The words escaped him in a rush, his voice both
incredulous and excited.

She gasped; she didn't know what to say. She couldn't believe
it - not now, not after all these years. Her heart had
started pounding, she could feel her head pulsing in pain
from all the thoughts whirling around in there. She was aware
of Mulder's eyes on her, expectant, waiting for her reaction,
waiting for her to share his joy. His joy... how could she?

Finally she raised her eyes to meet his, and without
thinking, blurted out, "Mulder, don't tell me you actually
believe him!" Ignoring his hurt expression she continued,
"Mulder, *everyone* knows that this is your weak spot - your
Achilles heel - if anyone wants to harm you in any way, all
they have to do is say Samantha, knowing that you'll just
jump... with complete disregard for your own safety!" He
abruptly pulled his hand away from Scully's and rested it on
the back of the couch. She winced at the movement, but pushed
on, "They've done it before, Mulder - they used Samantha
before to try and kill you - remember the abortion doctors
and Agent Chappell - what makes you think that this isn't
just another trick?"

He turned on her, his own anger thinly disguised, "How can
you say that Scully? Don't you think that I have more sense
than that - I *know* that people can use Samantha's
disappearance as some sort of bait, to hurt me.... or the X-
files, or whatever - I'm not stupid, despite what you think."

She pursed her lips in her trademark defence against his
anger. She knew that he believed he could judge these things
rationally, but she was equally convinced that this was far
from the truth. There had been so many occasions in the past
six years where his judgement had been blinded by him either
associating too closely with cases involving supposed alien
abductions, or by his single-minded obsession with his
sister's disappearance.

They were both quiet for some time. It was Scully who spoke
first, deliberately keeping her voice gentle and
unaggressive, not wanting to raise his anger again,

"Mulder... I just don't want you to fall into the same trap
as last time. You almost died that time, and we both know
that if you had, it would have been a victory for all those
who have tried to discredit you and shut down the X-files...
you can't let them get that close again."

"Scully, what you don't seem to understand is that I believe
this man was genuine - he knew what he was talking about. He
had proof."

"Proof can be manufactured, Mulder." Seeing his lips tighten
together in frustration, she realised that this wasn't
getting them anywhere. Maybe it would help if she at least
appeared to be interested in what the mysterious stranger had
said. "All right, Mulder, why don't you just tell me what he
said to you - about Samantha."

Mulder looked at her suspiciously, only to be met with a
blank, seemingly innocent, expression on the face of his
partner. He tried to remember all the details, and then
attempted to thread the vagaries into a coherent form.

"Well, he said that Samantha was returned after about five
years. She didn't remember anything about us... but they had
to take her back again because she was having problems, or
something... and she's remained there ever since." Realising
how the story must sound to his sceptical partner, he spoke
the last part quickly, "And he said that if I agreed, he
could take me to where she is now - with the understanding
that..." He paused, swallowed, and then continued, "I won't
be able to return. "

He avoided her eyes, as she stared at him, shocked. Her
emotions were waging an inner war. She was fighting to remain
calm, she knew getting angry would not help, but she couldn't
help it - she exploded.

"Mulder, *how* could you be so *stupid*!" Her words were
harsh, but it was only because she had suddenly felt the
sharp, stabbing pain of loss. "Don't you see, they're just
laying the groundwork in order to kill you! This way you'll
make all your plans for disappearing so no-one will be
suspicious - and they'll just kill you... and Cancer man, and
Skinner and everyone in the FBI will be happy because they'll
have finally gotten rid of "Spooky" Mulder and his damn X-
files." She was losing control of her voice; it was high and
shrill.... and wavering. Every time she thought about him not
being there she could feel her throat tighten, and her mind
go blank. This couldn't be happening, not now, not after
everything they'd been through, after everything they'd lost.
She couldn't imagine her life without Mulder - he was her
best friend, her closest ally, the only one who knew what she
had been through in the past six years. He couldn't leave...
she needed him.

Mulder ignored her anger, deciding that it was time to reveal
his final secret to her,

"Scully, I know they're not going to kill me. I know that
this man is who he says he is. He had proof, Scully. He had
the only thing I would accept as proof."

"What are you talking about, Mulder?"

"Scully, there's something I have to tell you - something
that *no one* else knows, not my parents, not the Bureau, not
even the cops who investigated her disappearance... It was a
secret that I kept, knowing that it would be the only way
anyone would be able to prove to me that they had been in
contact with Samantha."

Her curiosity was piqued, "What is it?"

"The night that she... disappeared, Samantha and I were
playing Stratego," Scully nodded - she knew that, "Anyway,
about half an hour or so before.... it happened, she found an
old Christmas bon-bon that had rolled under the closet - you
know, the ones that you pull at Christmas, with the bad
jokes, and the stupid hats. So, we pulled it, and inside
there was a little plastic ring; it was too small for my
finger, so I let her have it." He paused, then seeing
Scully's questioning expression, added, "She was wearing it
later - when they took her."

"And, you think..."

"...That if anyone ever showed up on my doorstep with that
ring, then I'd know they'd seen her. Scully, this man - he
had the ring."

"Mulder! Those rings must be everywhere. He probably picked
it up outside your apartment building! Is that your proof?"

"Scully, listen to me: I swear, you are the *first* person I
have *ever* told about that ring. Until now, only Samantha
and I knew about it - there's no way anyone else could have
known, or even guessed that she was wearing that ring!"

For once, Scully didn't have a reply, except to weakly
assert, "And you're sure it was the same ring?"

"Absolutely. That thing has been engraved on my memory for
twenty-eight years, Scully." He looked at her, his eyes
challenging her to come up with another explanation. She
returned his gaze with equal defiance - there was no way she
was going to give up without a fight. He almost smiled at
this. Yet another example of her pig-headed stubbornness. It
was a characteristic that he had always admired in her - he
had been confronted with it many times before - but this time
it pained him; why couldn't she see how important this was to
him? Why couldn't she at least pretend to be happy for him?

As though reading his thoughts, Scully started to speak,
"Mulder, I hope I don't have to assure you that I *know* how
much this means to you. I *know* how much you want to know
what happened to Samantha and believe me, I know more than
anyone how much you want to see her again." Her voice
faltered slightly as Melissa's face appeared, unbidden, in
her mind, "But I just think that this is a big risk. Someone
could have found out about that ring, or Samantha could be
dead... or anything."

He shook his head slowly: "Scully, don't you understand? I
*have* to know. Even if this is a trick - which I don't
believe it is - I have to follow it through because if I
don't, I'm just going to spend the rest of my life regretting
my decision, always wondering what would have happened...
I've already spent most of my life asking myself 'what
if..?', Scully, and I can't do it again."

She swallowed. Deep down, she knew he was right. Knew that if
he didn't do this he would punish himself even more than he
did already with feelings of guilt and self-loathing. And
worse, if she did manage to persuade him to stay, he would
only end up hating her - blaming her... and that would be
impossible to endure. To have him hate her would be the worst
possible punishment in the world.

She slowly realised that his mind was made up, there was
nothing she could do... although she tried valiantly one more
time, "What about your work Mulder? What about the truth, the
government conspiracies, alien abductions... everything - how
can you give all that up?"

"Scully, you know as well as I do that all my work on the X-
files was leading up to this moment - to finding Samantha.
This is the only truth that I need to know...."

Her head was lowered, her face shielded by her hair, which
had slid forward, serving as a natural protector against his
gaze. "Scully, look at me -" He meant it figuratively, but
she lifted her head and fixed her eyes upon him, "I have no
family, I've devoted my whole life to searching for the
truth, and looking for my sister. I've sacrificed everything
else - there's nothing here for me... except you, and all
I've done since we've been working together is cause you pain
and suffering."

"That's not true, Mulder."

"Scully, how can you deny that: your sister is dead, you
yourself were abducted, you have almost been killed more
times than I can count - and it's all because of the X-
files... because of me."

She felt the familiar voice of protest rising in her,
"Mulder, come on, I'm a big girl - I stayed with the X-files
because I wanted to; I'm as much to blame as you, if we're
going to start laying the blame. I refuse to let you feel
guilty for what has happened to me, and I refuse to let you
use that as an reason for not staying!"

He couldn't repress the small smile which escaped his lips.
That familiar Dana Scully rebuttal tone - he'd heard that so
often before as she contested yet another of his bizarre
theories. Then the smile was suddenly wiped from his face as
he was hit with a feeling so powerful, he felt like he'd been
dealt a physical blow: he was never going to hear that voice
again. Never going to argue with her again, never going to
see her smile that small, secretive smile that she sometimes
regaled him with... oh God, what had he been thinking? How
could he so easily have forgotten the most important person
in his now-empty life? The only person who had constantly
stood by him, defended him, protected him, argued with him,
searched with him, cared for him.... and this was how he was
paying her back. Abandoning her with four hours notice.
Dumping her, like he had once before, and that time because
of his sister, too. Yet while one half of him yearned for the
retraction of the hastily-made decision, the other half
reminded him of his sister, Samantha, the person he'd been
looking for for almost thirty years was now - finally within
his grasp. He couldn't let that chance slip by. Not this
time, not again.

He reached up, and gently caressed her cheek with the back of
his curled fingers. "Scully, I'm sorry. I have to do this -
you do understand, don't you?"

And she did. She nodded silently, fearful that if she spoke
the words that should remain unspoken would come tumbling
out, along with the tears. <What about me?> the voice in her
head asked plaintively. Looking at the man across her, at his
tender face, his soft eyes, she could feel her self-control
leaving her. His hand, stroking her face, was so gentle, his
touch so welcome... she wanted this moment to last forever.
She didn't want him to ever leave. And she knew there was one
more thing she had to say to him. The thing that she had
avoided saying throughout their entire argument.

"Mulder... *I* don't want you to leave." Her eyes filled with
the tears that she could no longer suppress.

His face softened. He hadn't been expecting those words, and
they warmed his heart, while piercing it at the same time.
"Scully, I don't want to leave you either." His voice was a
husky whisper, trembling as his own tears seeped out of his
eyes, "But I have to know. It's almost as if I have no say in
the matter; the choice has been made. I'm sorry." He wrapped
his arms around her, treasuring her touch, committing
everything about this moment to memory - the faint smell of
her distinctive perfume, the whispery feel of her hair
against his chin, her body enclosed in his... He wanted this
to be his last memory of her.

Scully was reminded of all the other times Mulder had held
her in his arms like this; he had always been there for her,
ready to comfort and reassure her, even when she had tried to
push him away, tried to keep him at a distance in order to
hide her feelings of weakness and vulnerability. She now
regretted all those times when she had refused his comfort,
assured him that she was fine. Who would she turn to now? Who
would be there for her, no matter what she said or did? Who
would be her anchor, her protector and her friend if Mulder
was gone?

Eventually they had to pull apart - and they did,
reluctantly. Each of they regretting the need to separate,
cherishing this moment where time stood still and where
nothing else mattered.

Mulder slowly, unwillingly, rose to his feet. Scully followed
soon after, and they walked in silence together toward the
door. Mulder looked at his watch: it was 11:15.

They reached the door and stood there silently, neither of
them knowing what to say. Was this goodbye? Was Mulder
heading off to his death, or was he soon to finally achieve
his lifetime goal? Mulder didn't know. Scully didn't know.

Scully reached out her hand, towards the doorknob, then had
second thoughts, deciding instead to raise it to her
partner's cheek, imitating his earlier gesture to her. She
lightly stroked his jawline, then lowered her hand so it
rested on his chest,

"Mulder, I hope you find your sister." It was all she could
say. She desperately hoped he would indeed find the woman who
had dominated his thoughts and tormented him in his dreams
for as long as she had known him.

He looked down at her, placing his own hand over hers, over
his heart, "Thank you, Scully."

As they stood there, their eyes fixed on each other, the
words that neither of them could voice were exchanged. His
hazel and her blue eyes expressed everything that was left to
be said between the two of them. Slowly Mulder turned to go,
placing one hand on the doorknob, and unlocking the dead bolt
with his other.

"Mulder - wait."

He turned back to her; her hands were at the back of her neck
- she was unfastening her necklace. He looked at her in
bemusement as she slowly dropped the gold cross into his
palm.

"Scully, what are you doing?"

"I want you to have it Mulder." She looked at him, her eyes
filling with tears once more.

He shook his head, "I can't take this, Scully. I know how
much it means to you." He tried to give it back to her, but
she refused to accept it.

"That's why I want you to have it. It's a symbol - a symbol
of faith, trust, of our bond." She paused. "You minded it for
me once before, Mulder - I want you to return it to me when
we next see each other."

"Scully... I don't think that's going to happ-"

She cut him off, saying, "Mulder, I believe..." she paused,
taking a deep breath before continuing, "... that it's within
the realms of extreme possibility." She gave him what would
have been a wry smile, if it hadn't been so twisted with pain
and sorrow.

He couldn't speak. He understood the meaning behind her
words...

Suddenly, before she knew what was happening, Scully felt
Mulder's lips pressed softly against hers. By the time she
realised what he was doing, it was too late, and they were
gone - as was he, slipping quietly and swiftly out her door,
leaving her standing there, her fingers resting on her lips,
still moist from his...

And the tears that would continue for hours started to flow.

~ THE END ~

-----------------------------------------------------------

Thanks for reading. Comments are welcome.

leigh_xf@geocities.com

The Choice II: Aftermath
by Leigh Alexander
leigh_xf@geocities.com

First posted: March 6, 1996

RATING: PG
CATEGORY: SA
SPOILERS: None
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully UST
SUMMARY: After Mulder's disappearance, Scully is forced to
deal with the consequences.

INTRO:

Here's the first in the series of five sequels. This is the
follow-up to The Choice which I posted two days ago, and
which hopefully made it to everyone's server. If not, just
contact me, and I'd be happy to send it to you.

I want to thank Lea for helping me out in my time of
desperate need by posting my last story - I will be forever
in her debt for that, along with many other things (the
tape!!!!). ;)

And I just know that I'll *never* be able to repay Eve
Wentworth for all the amazing and wonderful help she has
given me with this piece. She has been an absolutely superb
editor, and I know that my work is now so much better thanks
to her. Thanks again Eve - you deserve a whole room full of
flowers, but I'll just settle for a bunch of virtual
flowers... :)

Normally at this point I'd give a little spiel about the fact
that I'm Australian and any oversights I make in terms of US
terminology are unintentional... and that I haven't seen as
many eps as you Americans have. But thanks to Eve, the first
disclaimer no longer applies: she has gone through my work
and thoroughly "Americanised" it; and thanks to circumstances
beyond my control I have now seen up to Pusher. So, there
shouldn't be anything in here that doesn't gell with what has
happened on the show to that point, but there are also *no
third season spoilers*.

-----------------------------------------------------------
The Choice II: Aftermath
-----------------------------------------------------------

"Mulder!"

The scream echoed throughout the otherwise silent apartment.

Dana Scully woke with a start, her breathing laboured and
uneven, her body covered in sweat. Her eyes slowly adjusted
to the dark, and she looked about in terror, sensing that
something wasn't right...

Then, she remembered. She remembered in painful detail all
the horrors of the nightmare that had tormented her in her
sleep. It was the same nightmare she'd been having for nearly
two and a half years now, although lately it seemed to be
invading her usually peaceful sleep more regularly than ever
before.

She reached over and switched on the light, hoping that the
garish brightness would sweep away the memories of the dream
- which it didn't. As she knew it wouldn't.

She couldn't clear her mind of the kaleidoscope of images
that danced before her, no matter how hard she tried. It was
pointless trying to fight it: she had to relive it,
regardless of the pain. It was the only way of exorcising it
- the only chance that she might be able to sleep again
tonight.

The nightmare always started in exactly the same way,
deceiving her with its gentleness and warmth. She and Mulder
were in a bright, sunny house. The room was infused with
sunlight. They were barefoot; the marble under her feet was
cool and soothing. She could hear the delicate tinkle of wind
chimes, as the soft seaside breeze caressed the dainty bells.
She felt rather than saw the gauzy material that lazily
covered them both... was conscious of its smoothness as their
arms lightly touched. But she was aware of all of those
outside sensations only vaguely - her thoughts, her mind, her
body was consumed with a single, dominant sensation... the
soft, tender feel of Mulder's lips against hers...

The union of their lips was a moment so special, so treasured
- one that she had occasionally thought about when working
with Mulder - that she almost couldn't believe it was
happening. His lips were soft, delicate, and so tender....
they caressed hers with a gentleness that almost surprised
her. She surrendered to the sensation. Parting her lips she
allowed his careful exploration to deepen.

It was always at that precise moment, just as he was about to
intensify the kiss, that the dream suddenly changed from a
light, pleasant fantasy to the dark, terrifying nightmare
that never failed to leave her shaking and crying out his
name in the dark.

The room would abruptly go dark, as though someone had thrown
a blanket over the sun. The soft tinkle of wind chimes would
suddenly become a frenzied jangle, as the wind was whipped up
violently. Scully would start shivering, the cold unbearable.

Then four people dressed in black, their faces covered with
ghoulish and horrific masks, would tear Mulder away from her.
She would try desperately to hold onto him, but they were too
strong, and he would be wrenched from her grasp. Then, as she
watched, rooted to the spot, they would execute him:
mercilessly shooting him in the back. And his eyes - those
eyes that had always been for her a passage to his soul -
would stare at her, full of meaning. It was the indelible
image of his eyes, full of pain, that remained with her
through every waking moment of her life. It wasn't only their
reflection of physical pain that tortured her but, even
worse, the pain of hurt and betrayal. Although the Mulder in
her dream never spoke throughout the entire episode, his
voice would somehow reach her, his words cutting through her
like knives: <you let me down, Scully... you betrayed me...
they killed me and it's all your fault... you killed me,
Scully...>

And then the four people would remove their masks - this was
the only part of the dream that ever changed. Sometimes they
would be faceless - hired assassins just doing their job.
Sometimes she saw the face of Cancerman, other times it was
Krycek, or Skinner, or Mr. X. On one occasion a mask had been
removed to reveal the small, recognisable face of Samantha -
the face that she had only ever seen in photos, and dreams.
But always, without fail, the last person to remove their
mask - the one who had actually fired the fatal bullet -
would do so slowly, giving her time to hope that maybe, just
maybe, this time, it would be someone different. But it never
was. The mask would be removed, loosening a cascade of auburn
hair... and she would be staring into her own icy-cold eyes.

It was always at this moment that she awoke; her heart
racing, sweat coursing down her body as though she had just
run a marathon... and she would weep once more for the loss
of her partner.

And it was no different this night. As her tears slowly
subsided, she got out of bed, knowing that sleep would be an
impossibility for her tonight, despite her physical
exhaustion. She slipped her feet into her slippers and padded
over to her bathroom, where she vigorously splashed cold
water on her face, in an attempt to clear her head, and wipe
away her tears. As she dried her face with a towel, she
lifted her head to stare in the mirror.

The face that looked back at her scared the life out of her.
She was only thirty-seven and yet the worry lines and creases
on her face wouldn't look out of place on a woman much older.
Her eyes spoke of unfathomable pain... the depth of her agony
and sorrow had etched itself into every feature on her once
smooth and content face.

Scully quickly moved away from the mirror, exiting the
bathroom and walking towards the kitchen where she made
herself a cup of hot chocolate. She carried the hot mug into
her sitting room, and settled down onto the couch, intending
on catching up on some late-night TV. But as her hand reached
out for the remote, she abruptly changed her mind, as a
sudden urge overwhelmed her - an urge to reflect, remember...
and grieve.

********************

For a long time after he had left she hadn't even been able
to sit on the couch. Every time she sank into the cushions,
the memory of that last time on this couch would overwhelm
her, and she would have to move. Eventually she had gotten
over that problem, but that had only been the first and
tiniest of hurdles that she had had to surmount.

The first week had been the worst. Not only was she trying to
come to terms with Mulder's departure, but she also had to
deal with the repercussions.

She had gone to his apartment the following day - letting
herself in as she had done so many times before, only this
time she could feel its emptiness descending on her like a
veil. Mulder was gone. If she had needed any confirmation of
that it had been provided in the instant she had entered his
apartment. It looked exactly the same; from what she could
tell, he hadn't wasted his final moments on the pointless
task of tidying up, or collecting his things. It wasn't
anything physical that suggested his absence, it was just a
feeling... an intangible, illusive feeling that permeated her
mind, her spirit and her soul. She remembered that she had
almost smiled at herself - if Mulder could have heard her
now, talking about intangible feelings. But of course he
hadn't heard her.

Her eyes had examined the room searchingly, eventually
landing on three crisp white envelopes which sat neatly on
top of his coffee table, defying the disorder around them.
She'd slowly walked forward and picked them up, pausing for a
moment before focusing her attention on the names that each
envelope bore.

The first one had been for her. She had stood stock still,
her hand gripping the envelopes, as her eyes had remained
fixed on Mulder's familiar script. She had shoved the letter
destined for her in her coat pocket - she couldn't look at it
right away, couldn't read it here. She needed to wait until
she was in the relative security of her own home.

The other two envelopes remained clasped in her hand, as she
swivelled on her heel and left the apartment without a
backward glance. She couldn't bear to be in that room any
longer, couldn't stand the solitude, the silence and the
emptiness.

The second letter had been for Skinner.

She had gone straight to his office without a clear idea in
her head of what she was going to say to him - how much she
was going to reveal. Could she trust him? Would Mulder want
Skinner to know? She had fervently hoped that the decision
would be taken out of her hands by Mulder, relying on him -
as she had done so often before - to make her options clear,
to give Skinner enough detail so that the Assistant Director
wouldn't be forced to prod her with questions.

Once in his office, she had handed him the envelope without a
word, lowering herself into the chair opposite his desk as he
started to read the letter.

She had watched his face intently. Perhaps he was aware of
her probing eyes, or perhaps it was his FBI training, but
throughout the entire time it took him to read the letter,
his face had registered not a single expression. It was cool,
impersonal and as rigid as ever.

When he'd finally looked up, his face had become even more
inscrutable than before, the light reflecting off his glasses
masking the expression in his eyes. He hadn't spoken for a
long time, until finally he'd tersely asked, "Where is he?"

Scully had looked at him directly, surprised at the control
she was able to exert over her voice. "I don't know, sir."

He had pulled his glasses off with a swift movement, suddenly
stripping away their protection, and giving her the chance to
look frankly into his eyes. She remembered now the tenderness
that had shone out of them - he had been aware of her pain,
she was certain.

"He's not coming back, is he, Scully?"

She had shaken her head, biting her lip in an effort to hold
back the tears which had threatened to spill. His words had
hit a raw nerve.

"No, I don't think so..." She'd hoarsely replied.

They'd sat in silence for a few moments, Skinner giving her
time to regain control of her emotions. Then he had picked up
the letter, perused it briefly and said:

"It says here... Mulder has asked me to give you the option
of continuing with the X-Files. Of course, officially, the
situation will have to be re-assessed now that Mulder has...
resigned..." He had hesitated for a moment on that last word,
his hesitancy infusing the word with an unspoken question.
Then, he'd continued, "However, I am prepared to take your
wishes on the matter into account--"

His sentence had remained unfinished, his words cut off by a
movement from Scully.

She had shaken her head slowly, her mouth twisted in pain,
her eyes lowered. The words had emerged from her mouth in a
shaky whisper.

"No... I can't do it - I won't do it. The X-Files are
Mulder's... I have no right to them." Those were the words
she had spoken - that was what she had wanted Skinner to hear
- but in her heart she had known that she could never work on
the X-files without Mulder... The X-files *were* Mulder, and
she had known that the pain would become unbearable... to be
constantly surrounded by reminders of Mulder - of their time
together - it would be too much to endure.

Skinner had accepted her refusal without comment.

"Sir?" Her voice had regained some of its strength. "I would
like to request some time off, please... personal leave..."
She had found it hard to form the words; she was unused to
the feeling of helplessness that had pervaded her spirit
since Mulder's departure. In the past, she had always managed
to cope, despite the personal problems she had been having -
but not this time. This time she had had the overwhelming
sensation of drowning... she'd felt lost and alone and had
known that for once her work wasn't going to help her.

He'd simply nodded, "Of course."

She had risen, preparing to leave and he had cleared his
throat, drawing her attention back to him.

"Agent Scully, I'd just like to express my deep regret and
sorrow at the ... departure... of Agent Mulder. I hope that
you..." He had paused, suddenly not knowing what to say -
what sort of condolences to offer. He knew that Scully was in
pain, but he also knew that he couldn't push her to reveal
what she knew about Mulder's "retirement" - in doing so, he
would only have to file a more detailed report than the one
he was intending on filing. Anything he tried to say to her
now would only come across as fatuous and unfeeling, after
all the problems they had each had at his hands, after all
they had been through in their eternal quest for the truth.

He had left the thought hanging, unable to finish it. After a
few moments of silence, she had turned and left the room,
suddenly furious at his inability to express himself. For
some reason, at that time - more than ever - she had *needed*
to hear Skinner say something - anything - that would comfort
her, reassure her, remind her that she wasn't alone. She'd
needed him to tell her that all those years that she and
Mulder had dedicated to the X-Files hadn't been in vain -
that something good had come out of all the pain and horror.
That there had been a reason for all the losses they had
suffered. She had needed to hear those words...

But they never came.

Skinner had let her leave the office without another word
escaping his lips, and for that she had never been able to
forgive him. During the years that she and Mulder had spent
working under the Assistant Director, she had grown to
respect and value his opinion. She had even grown to trust
him - a tenuous trust that wavered and vacillated depending
on the mood of their relationship at that time - but it had
been a trust none the less.

However, since Mulder's disappearance, things had changed.
She suspected that Skinner believed that she knew more than
what she had let on about Mulder's disappearance, and yet he
had never questioned her on it directly, therefore never
giving her the chance to refute this point-of-view. His lack
of trust in her led, naturally, to her own loss of trust in
him. Matters weren't helped by his obvious reluctance to
allow her to pursue the task of finding out what had happened
to Mulder. After she had refused the X-Files, Skinner had
almost immediately assigned her with a new partner and placed
her in the Violent Crimes section. When she had questioned
him on this, he had claimed that it was a good position, that
she had proven time and time again when working with Mulder
just what an excellent field agent she was. Scully had seen
this for what it was: an attempt on Skinner's part to force
her to desist in her pursuance of Mulder's whereabouts by
ensuring that all her time was occupied with work.

And yet she had quickly realised that it wasn't all Skinner's
doing, that he was - as usual - taking his commands from a
higher source against whom he had only limited power. And she
would often wonder, on nights when she would come home,
exhausted, and head straight to the computer to continue her
inquiries into Mulder's disappearance, if her new assignment
and her ascension in the ranks of the FBI was all just
Skinner's way of saying sorry, of apologising to her for her
losses... and for his impotence against the forces
represented by Cancer man.

She had reflected on this often over the years, and had never
been able to reach a satisfactory conclusion: was Skinner on
her side or not? She just didn't know...

The third envelope had been for Mulder's solicitor. She had
gone to the offices of Carter, Morgan, Wong and Anderson the
same afternoon of her visit to Skinner's office. She had been
overwhelmed by a desperate need to get rid of the physical
evidence of Mulder's self-imposed departure.

She had waited until Mr. Carter was free, feeling compelled
to see the task through to the end, although she could just
as easily have left the letter with his secretary. But she
hadn't been able to override the professional in her who
would never leave such important documents with anyone except
who they were intended for, and so she had waited. And while
she had been waiting, her fingers had returned time and time
again to the other letter which had been shoved so
ungraciously in her pocket. She had desperately wanted to
know what it said, and yet she'd known that this was not the
time, nor the place to read its contents... She would wait
until she got into the privacy and safety of her own home.

At that instant, the door had opened and a man with a
startling shock of white hair had emerged and called her
inside. He had probably been no more than fifty, and yet the
surprising whiteness of his hair added years to his face.

Scully had tried to explain what she was doing there, without
giving too much away about Mulder's true whereabouts. In the
end, she had simply passed him the letter, in the hope that
Mulder had explained things better than she ever could.

Mr. Carter had read the letter carefully.

Having come directly from Skinner's office, Scully had been
even more aware of the attorney's revealing facial
expressions as he had slowly made his way through the
contents of the two-page document. Unlike Skinner, this man
had made no attempt to hide his emotions. His eyebrows had
lifted emphatically on a number of occasions, whilst his
mouth literally dropped open when he had arrived at the
bottom of the first page. Lifting that page out of the way,
he had briefly raised his head and glanced at her. She'd
returned his gaze with a cool stare - with strangers she had
no problems concealing her true feelings.

Upon reaching the bottom of the second page, Mr. Carter had
let out a long sigh. He'd placed the letter on the desk in
front of him, and had sat silently for a number of minutes,
his fingers steepled together under his chin. Scully had sat
motionless, waiting for the older man to speak.

Finally he had raised his eyes and looked at her frankly.

"Ms. Scully, I have to admit I am, quite honestly, completely
at a loss with regards to this letter." His voice had been
troubled, yet still infused with a certain authoritativeness.

She hadn't responded, and he had continued, "I presume you
are aware of the events to which Mr. Mulder refers in this
letter?"

She had nodded, remaining taciturn.

He'd obviously swiftly realised that he would be able to draw
no further explanations from the reticent woman seated
opposite him, so he had sighed and moved straight on to the
official business.

"Mr. Mulder has asked me to apprise you of the contents of
this letter, would you like me to do that now?"

She'd had to clear her throat before speaking, and had merely
replied, "Yes please."

He'd picked the letter up again and after perusing it one
more time, had summarised its contents.

"Mr. Mulder has informed me that certain events have recently
occurred in his life, which lead him to suspect that he
may..." he had hesitated before vocalising the word that had
been written in front of him, "Disappear."

Scully had swallowed and nodded - the only sign of her
agitation had been the whiteness of her knuckles as she
squeezed her hands into fists.

Mr. Carter had continued, oblivious to her response. "He has
requested that if he has not returned in five years time, he
should be presumed dead, and his last will and testament
should be put into effect."

This time Scully hadn't been able to conceal the flow of
emotions that burst through her: she had gasped, and her
heart had started to pound. Her fingers had risen
unconsciously to her mouth, and she had stared at the
attorney with eyes full of pain and shock.

<Five years> The words had knocked around in her head, she
had been unable to forget them, unable to dismiss them.

Even now, two and a half years later, she could clearly
recall the cold shiver that had descended on her at that
moment. Five years?? He had searched for his sister for over
twenty-five years without giving up hope, and yet he had
placed this measly time limit on his own life? She had
already reached the halfway mark, and she had made absolutely
no progress at all in locating him... The room was warm, but
suddenly Scully couldn't stop shivering... the coldness that
had descended at that moment, enveloped her heart once more,
as the certitude, the conviction that she had held for his
return grew just a little bit smaller.

After the meeting with Mulder's lawyer, Scully had returned
home, and had finally read the last letter. Her letter.

She had kept it, of course, and she had a sudden desire to
read it once again. She placed her cup on the table and
quickly got to her feet, pausing only momentarily to slide
her feet into her slippers and then heading into her bedroom.
She went straight to the bookshelf, and pulled down the book
she wanted: "50 Greatest Conspiracies of All Time" by
Jonathan Vankin and John Whalen. It had been a present from
Mulder for the last Christmas before he had gone, and she
smiled at the memory of his mischievous expression when
giving it to her. She opened the book to Chapter 10: Roswell,
and pulled out the piece of paper that was nestled there.

Once she was back on the couch, settled comfortably against
the cushions, she unfolded the letter, tears jumping to her
eyes at the sight of his handwriting. She chided herself for
being so sensitive; even after all this time, she was still
unable to look at certain things without thinking of Mulder,
and without the subsequent spill of tears.

It was a short letter, written hastily. When she had returned
to her apartment, and removed the crumpled envelope from her
pocket she had been slightly puzzled. That last night in her
apartment, they had said so much... and not just with words.
Before he had left they had exchanged a look that, to her
mind, at least, had expressed all the silent thoughts that
they had ever dwelled on. And then, he had kissed her...

Holding the letter in her hand that first time, she had
wondered what more was left to be said. She had opened it,
and had stared incredulously at the short phrase... and then
a smile had slowly spread across her face.

She looked down at the now well-fingered letter. She had read
it so many times now - she didn't even need to look at the
words to remind herself of what was written on the page. Her
tears quickly disappeared as she laughed once more at his
final joke.

"Scully -
Don't forget to feed my fish while I'm gone.
Thanks,
Mulder."

Typical Mulder...

Oh God, she missed him... she missed him so much it ached.
Even after all these years the pain had refused to lessen, as
everyone had assured her it would. It was the not-knowing
that made the agony endure. If only she knew what had
happened to him - knew for sure that he was dead, then at
least she could begin to grieve, could move on with her life.

Her mother's voice entered unbidden into her head, voicing a
familiar refrain, <Dana, honey, you have to move on with your
life... have you met anyone lately?... You have to forget...>

But she couldn't forget, she couldn't move on and most of all
- she could never let anyone into her life the way she had
let Mulder in. No one could take his place.

For the past two and a half years, her life had been in
limbo: waiting, searching... She had used all of her
resources, both officially and unofficially in pursuing every
lead into Mulder's disappearance. She had questioned everyone
in his building, searched the hospitals for weeks, kept a
frantic eye on any John Doe information that arrived at the
Bureau... and she had never given up the search.

Even after she had been reassigned, after the X-Files had
been closed down, she had persisted in her search -
discreetly of course, she couldn't let Cancerman and their
other enemies know what she was doing. At first, after he had
gone, she had assumed that they had been involved - but she
had quickly discovered that they were just as desperate as
she to discover Mulder's whereabouts. She had been threatened
once: an unknown man had held a gun to her head, demanding to
know where Mulder was. She had been lucky that time: she had
managed to break free and defend herself... but ever since
she had been fearful of another attack.

Ironically, the attack had given her hope. If Cancerman and
his colleagues - who her attacker had obviously worked for -
didn't know where Mulder was then maybe the mysterious
stranger who had appeared at Mulder's apartment had been
telling the truth - or at least some version of the truth.

Maybe Mulder had found Samantha.

Maybe they were alive... together... somewhere.

Samantha.

That's what it had always been about: finding Samantha.

Even though she had pursued Samantha just as fervently as her
partner during their years together, it was only now - only
since Mulder's own disappearance - that Scully could fully
appreciate Mulder's desperate search.

His search for Samantha had been transformed, remodelled and
restructured and had become her search for Mulder.

She had become Mulder.

In the last couple of years, she had shunned the outside
world, preferring to remain on the field chasing leads, or
stay at home with her computer, eternally searching
databases, online newspapers, for anything, any tiny piece of
information that might lead her to Mulder. Her workmates had
withdrawn from her, fearing her complete and overwhelming
intensity; her friends - those that had stuck around since
she joined the Bureau - found her single-minded determination
hard to understand, hard to squeeze into their stories of
families and babies; and her family, her mother, had been
unable to pull her out of her tiny world - a world where
nothing mattered except the search for Mulder, and the
constant quest for truth.

Her thoughts were suddenly shattered by the harsh ring of the
telephone. She looked at her watch; who would be calling her
at two a.m.?

"Hello?"

"Agent Scully? It's Skinner here."

"Sir? Is something wrong? It's very late..."

"I need to meet with you Agent Scully. It's concerning a case
you were working on before your transfer--"

"An X-File?"

He didn't reply, merely instructing her to meet him at
Georgetown Hospital as soon as possible.

As she hurriedly got dressed, she tried to remember the last
few cases that she and Mulder had been working on before he
left. As was the case with a large number of their X-files,
there had been a few that had remained unsolved to this
moment, and she ruminated on those few during the drive to
the hospital.

There was almost no traffic on the roads, so Scully was at
the hospital in a matter of minutes. Skinner had said he
would be waiting for her at the entrance, so she scanned the
room intently upon entering.

He had seen her enter, and moved forward quickly, grasping
her elbow and leading her to a corner - out of earshot of
anyone walking by.

"Thank you for your promptness, Scully."

"What's this about, sir - which case are we talking about
here? I'd have to get my notes to refresh my memory--"

He cut her off, "You're not going to need your notes for this
one, Scully. Follow me."

He lead her to the elevator, his hand still tightly gripping
her elbow, as if he was scared that she would suddenly turn
around and run away. They moved soundlessly through hallway
after hallway, passing innumerable rooms, until finally they
reached the last room in a corridor... guarded by two agents.
Skinner nodded at the men, and pushed open the door, and
indicated to Scully to go in.

She looked at him quizzically, and then entered the room.

It was dark. Her eyes took a few minutes to adjust to the
dimness, and when they did, they slowly toured the room.

There was a bed, with a single occupant.

She moved closer...

... and experienced a flash of pain so powerful, an emotion
so intense, that for a split-second she blacked out...

...it couldn't be...

...it wasn't possible...

...oh God...

~ THE END ~

-----------------------------------------------------------

= to be continued in The Choice III: Return =

Another mini-disclaimer: The book "50 Greatest Conspiricies
of all time" *does* really exist! No copyright infringement
is intended in its use in my story. :)

Thanks for reading. Comments are welcome.

leigh_xf@geocities.com

The Choice III: Return
by Leigh Alexander
leigh_xf@geocities.com

First posted: April 2, 1996

RATING: PG
CATEGORY: SA
SPOILERS: None
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully UST
SUMMARY: In the hospital, Scully maintains a bedside vigil.

INTRO:

I really need to thank my fantastic editor, Eve. Without her
help this story would be riddled with dots and be
occasionally incoherent. So thanks again, Eve.

In this part of the sequel, I have used "//" to signify
passages that involve a "different state of awareness", and
that's all I can say without giving anything away. Also, any
similarity to a certain episode (once again, can't say any
more without revealing the plot of this story) is entirely
intentional, and not just a sign of laziness on my part.

-----------------------------------------------------------
The Choice III: Return
-----------------------------------------------------------

Mulder.

It was Mulder.

Lying in the hospital bed, IV drips attached to his body,
wires monitoring his breathing and his vitals. He was almost
unrecognisable...

As in her dream, Scully's sense of the outside world was
distorted - she was no longer aware of Skinner's presence,
she couldn't hear the steady hum of the life-support system,
couldn't see the various lights that danced across the
machines. All she could see, all she could hear, all she
could think about was Mulder.

She slowly moved towards the bed, unable to tear her eyes
from his body. She couldn't believe it - it wasn't possible,
not after all this time... it couldn't be him.

She stood beside the bed and lifted her shaking hand - she
had to touch him, feel the warmth of his body, to believe
that it was really him, and not just some figment of her
imagination. She lowered her hand slowly onto his forearm -
his vitality soared through her veins; from her tingling
fingertips to deep in the pit of her stomach she felt the
beating of his heart pound through her. He was alive.

Mesmerised, her hand travelled up his arm, along his
shoulder, beside his earlobe, and finally reached his face.
She ran her fingers along his jawline, the gesture reminding
her of their last meeting.... the meeting that she had
thought would be their last.

She closed her eyes, needing to absorb the moment, needing to
register his presence, just as she had needed to register his
absence. Slowly her senses became aware of other things; the
noises that she had succeeded in completely blocking out,
gently weaved their way into her consciousness. The slow bip
of one of the monitors finally grabbed her attention and she
opened her eyes, staring at the offending machine intently.
She started to notice other things - the amount of tubes and
wires that protruded from Mulder's form; the thinness of his
once fit body; the difference in his hair - it was much
longer than it had ever been, and unkempt, as though it
hadn't been cared for in years. And his breathing - its
shallowness suddenly frightened her, the deepness of his
slumber awakened more fears.

She moved down to the end of his bed and picked up his chart.
The feeling of joy that had started to creep into her psyche
was abruptly wiped out as she stared at the information in
front of her.

Scully turned towards Skinner, who was standing exactly where
she left him. His face was its usual expressionless self,
although she detected a faint wave of sympathy emanating from
him.

She looked at him, the pain in her eyes causing his jaw to
tense. She started to speak, but her voice had dried up, and
she had to clear her throat and swallow before trying again,
"What's wrong with him? Where was he? Why is he like this?"

"He's suffering from severe exposure, Agent Scully. He was
found in the woods outside of Squonalmie, Washington... No-
one knows how long he'd been out there for. They... the
doctors, they..." The words that he had to speak were
obviously coming to him with difficulty, so empathetic was he
to her pain. He continued, his voice as rigid and tense as
always, "They don't believe that he's going to make it..." He
averted his eyes from hers as he spoke, only venturing a
flickering glance at her face at the last moment.

Even in the dim light, he could see that she was ashen. She
had known, of course, as soon as she had read the charts,
just what state Mulder was in, but he realised that she had
needed to hear it said aloud, in order to understand and
accept it.

She turned her eyes back towards her former partner, noticing
for the first time just how pale he was. Her eyes filled with
tears before she could stop them, and she tightened her lips
together and shook her head, in an attempt to push them away.
As she stared at him, another thought slowly dawned on her,
and she murmured - without taking her eyes off Mulder, "Was
there anyone with him?"

There was no reply. She looked over at Skinner, who wore a
puzzled expression.

She continued, "A woman... was there a woman with him?"

Skinner looked at her with a stunned expression: the
knowledge hitting him with an intensity he rarely
experienced. He swallowed and then said; "Is that what he was
looking for, Scully? Is that why he left? His sister?"

She nodded, and replied bitterly, "Of course it was."

He moved a step closer to her, as though to comfort her and
she shied away, merely repeating her earlier question.

"Was there?"

He shook his head slowly, regretfully - the realisation of
the agony that she must have been going through finally
hitting him. In the past two years he had often wondered what
had really happened to Mulder, and he had always suspected
that Scully had somehow been involved. He had been aware of
the implicit trust they had in each other, and had assumed
that whatever Mulder had been doing, wherever it was that he
had been, she would have known.

It was for this reason that he hadn't warned Scully over the
phone just what it was she was about to see. He had wanted -
needed - to see her reaction at the sight of her former
partner. He now realised that she had been just as ignorant
as he with regards to Mulder's whereabouts... and that all
those requests for information that she'd filed, all the time
off she'd asked for, all the unofficial trips to investigate
his disappearance, hadn't been the smokescreen he had taken
them to be: they had been her real and valid attempts to find
Mulder.

During the years that Scully and Mulder had worked under him,
he had grown to respect and trust them both deeply. Towards
the end, he had felt that the three of them had developed a
genuine understanding - he knew that he could count on them
to pursue a case right to the end, regardless of the
ramifications, while they understood his limitations... and
the lengths to which he was willing to go. It was because of
this implicit understanding that he had been so shocked by
Mulder's disappearance. In a way he had almost felt betrayed,
but more than that he had been angry. Angry at Mulder, who he
believed had finally pursued the wildest goose chase of all;
and angry at Scully - for protecting him, as he had assumed
she had.

And yet, he had lauded her work, her ability, her strength,
her intelligence incessantly to his superiors, until she
finally got the transfer to VCU. He hadn't known himself the
exact reasons for his desire to help her; no doubt it was
related in part to the feelings of guilt that he never
stopped feeling when it came to the X-Files, and his
impotence in preventing so many of the tragedies that had
befallen the pair. But that wasn't the only reason that
spurred him: he was also keenly aware of the reputation that
was attached to the basement office and its workers, and he
knew that if he hadn't acted that stigma would have been
stuck to Scully for the rest of her career. He didn't want
that, and he knew that Mulder wouldn't have wanted that. He
had tried to help her, and yet his help had only been
interpreted as a hindrance.

Skinner looked over at Scully, and a wave of sorrow swept
over him... He felt genuinely upset to see the pain that she
could no longer hide, and for a few minutes he seriously
considered the idea of putting his job on the line and
finally exposing the man they called Cancerman and his
consorts. However, the idea was only entertained for a short
time, and he quickly pushed it from his mind, as he
contemplated Scully, and observed her grief.

Scully moved back to Mulder's side, the pain searing through
her like an ignited coal. Mulder was back, but he was
dying... and Samantha... the object of his quest was still
unattained - it had all been for nothing...

She pulled a chair up to Mulder's bed, and sat down, grasping
his hand as she did so. Skinner made a motion to speak, then
- seeing that she was once again lost in the trancelike state
where only she and Mulder existed - he had second thoughts,
and silently left the room.

As the door shut, Scully glanced at it briefly, her eyes
blank, her thoughts elsewhere. After a short time, she
returned their gaze to Mulder, and concentrated on the
sensation of his hand in hers... focusing all her energy on
that one point of contact.

She leaned forward and whispered in Mulder's ear:

"Don't think you can get out of it that easily, Fox Mulder.
You're back, and there's no way I'm going to let you go..."

********************

She remained at his bedside for days on end, only returning
home to briefly shower and change clothes. The days became a
blur, remarkable only in their similarity. The same sense of
despair, of hopelessness, that had engulfed her after
Mulder's disappearance, took hold of her once more. And yet,
she sensed that he was fighting it. She knew that somewhere
deep inside him, there was an awareness of self, and she
clung to this belief desperately.

She talked to him constantly: telling him news of people they
had worked with in the Bureau, updating him on world events,
reading to him, telling him stories about herself, and
sometimes allowing the words that she had never spoken aloud
to flow softly out of her mouth, hoping that somewhere he
could hear them, and know that she was there for him.

She remembered when she herself had been sick... dying... She
knew that she had had a vague awareness of things going on
around her at that time. She had felt Mulder's presence, had
heard his words to her, somewhere, deep in the pit of her
subconscious. And it had been his voice, his words to her
that had drawn her away from the abyss... she had clutched at
the sound of his voice with a vicelike grip, using it as the
anchor to pull her back into life.

She only hoped that she could do the same for him.

********************

//It was the immobility that he became aware of at first. The
sensation of being unable to move any of his muscles. He had
tried to move his head, to see where he was, but to no avail:
it stayed fixed in position, staring up at the pale blue sky
that stretched above him.

The first sensation to return was sight. But all he could see
was the sky, and he soon grew sick of its eternal blueness,
its neverending stillness. After a short while came the
sensation of touch. He slowly became aware of his arms, his
hands, and what they were resting on. His arms lay along the
side of his body, his hands rested flat on the ground. Only
it wasn't ground, it was fine and delicate, it slithered
between his fingers, reminding him of his childhood... it was
sand - he was lying on sand. His sense of smell came next,
and with it he could smell the heat of the day; the saltiness
of the water becoming known to him through its wafting aroma.
Then he was able to taste the salt on his lips. Salt, mixed
with something he couldn't quite define: something sweet, and
warm, and passionate. And finally, eventually, his ears were
assailed with noise. He could hear the dull murmur of
unfamiliar voices... somewhere there were other people on the
beach. He had a feeling they were out of his grasp, unable to
help him - they had already moved on. But the noise that
filled his head, that ingratiated itself stealthily into his
consciousness and remained there, fixed, was the sound of the
lapping waves. It was a rhythmic sound, steady and
soothing... with something more, something deeper buried
beneath their lull. At first this deeper sound was
indistinguishable: it was a part of the waves, lending them
depth and strength. Then, as time passed, it become louder
and more resonant. Slowly this second sound began to
disentangle itself from the waves, while still guarding their
gentle, rhythmic beat as its background. It began to take
shape, words began to form, a voice slowly emerged, and it
all became clear to him. It was a familiar voice, one that he
had heard almost every day for six years... and hearing it
now made his heart ache, whilst every cell in his body tried
to cry out to the voice, to make her hear his plea for
help...//

********************

She hadn't noticed it immediately. When she had first seen
Mulder lying in the hospital bed, her eyes had travelled the
length of his body, absorbing almost every detail, and yet it
hadn't been until two days later that her attention had been
drawn to the tiny detail that she had missed. It had been
hidden under his regulation hospital gown, its delicateness
accounting for her oversight.

And once she had seen it for the first time, she couldn't
help staring at it every time her gaze drifted below his
chin. Nestling in the hollow of his neck, was a tiny gold
cross.

The necklace. Her necklace. He had kept it, had worn it...

She couldn't draw her eyes away from it; what was it she had
said? A symbol... a symbol of their bond, of faith. Those had
been her spoken words, and yet underneath, there had been
layers of deeper meaning, words that she could have spoken,
that were also inextricably linked to the cross... words like
faith, trust, hope, and belief. Looking at the necklace now,
circling the neck of a dying man, she couldn't stop the rush
of anger from rising in her. If the necklace had, at that
moment, been around her own throat, rather than Mulder's, she
would have ripped it off and tossed it away.

Faith? Belief? Hope? What good were those things, Scully
thought bitterly to herself. Mulder was dying, goddammit, and
it was all because of his damned "beliefs"! How could she
have faith in anything if this was the result? How could she
allow herself to hope for anything if all it got her was more
pain? She had hoped desperately for Mulder's return, and her
wish had been granted, but at a price. She felt no happiness,
no joy, at the fulfilment of this hope.

Her whole life had been structured around her firm and solid
beliefs. Both her faith in science and in a higher spirit had
guided her through some of the toughest moments of her life.
She had believed in those two principles almost
unquestionably. No matter how often she had veered from that
path - at Mulder's insistence - she had always returned, her
beliefs always stronger and more secure than ever.

Until now.

Suddenly, she didn't know what to believe in. She had
believed in them, in their partnership, their bond... and
that had been taken away. She had believed in her ability to
fight against the predators that dwelt in society and in her
own life... and that faith had slowly crumbled. She had
believed that justice was possible, that people had to pay
for their sins... and that had been proven wrong time and
time again.

She had lost her faith... in everything.

********************

The only time that Scully left Mulder's room for an extended
period during this time was when she took his medical charts
along to the Lone Gunman's office.

She had seen little of the trio since Mulder's disappearance.
One of them - usually Frohike - would phone her occasionally
to check whether she had any more news on his whereabouts,
and she had, on a few rare occasions, dropped in to ask for
their help on a case she was involved with.

They were still in the same poky little room they'd been in
for the last eight years, and every time she went there, it
seemed to have grown smaller, as their piles of paper,
videotapes and equipment grew larger and denser.

They had heard, of course, about Mulder's reappearance - even
though the fact was still being kept a closely guarded
secret. So when she walked in the door, she was treated with
more than the customary warm welcome: the three immediately
pounced on her, and demanded to know more information about
their friend.

She smiled sadly and told them that she didn't know anything,
except that he was suffering from the after effects of severe
exposure and was in a coma, weakening day by day.

"I brought these along." She held out the files that
documented all the tests the doctors had run on Mulder, along
with his current medical status.

As Byers came forward to take them from her, he briefly
placed his hand on her shoulder. She looked at him and smiled
gently, thankful for the comfort. However it was only a
fleeting gesture, and he quickly slipped back into his
regular business-like mode, casting his eyes over the files,
and passing the pages over to his partners as he was done.

Scully watched them intently as they read. She didn't know if
they would be able to find any clues in the information, but
at this stage, she was willing to give anything a shot. Her
desire to know where he had been was just as strong as it had
been during his absence. The questions that she would always
have assumed being solved upon his return still hung in the
air - unanswered and unknown.

Byers made a small sound - something on the page he was
looking at had caught his attention. Langly and Frohike
quickly moved to his side and studied the information he was
holding. Scully looked at them with a puzzled expression on
her face.

"What is it?" She asked, trying to keep the desperation out
of her voice. "What have you found?"

The three ignored her, they were too caught up in their own
whispered conversation.

Byers looked at the two men with his usual non-committal
expression.

"Do you see what I see? What do you think?"

Langly and Frohike didn't reply, merely answering the
question with a similar knowing expression.

Scully repeated her question, "What is it? What's going on?"

They studiously avoided her eyes, none of them wanting to let
her know what they had found.

She stared at them in frustration and then marched over to
where they stood, and grabbed the piece of paper out of their
hands in the hope that she could figure out what it was that
had drawn their attention.

Frohike glanced quickly at the other two and then stepped
forward, placing his hand on the edge of the piece of paper,

"You won't understand just by looking at that, Scully."

She glared at him, "Then tell me, goddammit!"

It was Byers who finally responded, in his usual calm way;
"Agent Scully, we've seen this before..."

"Seen what?" Her eyes scanned the page in front of her,
trying to assemble some sort of meaning from the array of
information on the page.

"It appears that someone's been running some sort of tests on
Mulder - his immune system is being slowly eroded by what
appears to be the by-product of... branched DNA."

She didn't understand what he was saying, didn't immediately
see the link - so he continued,

"Agent Scully.... Mulder appears to be suffering from exactly
the same symptoms that you were when you... uh...
reappeared..."

She looked anxiously from one face to the other, as the
information slowly sank in.

"You mean..."

"... that Mulder seems to have suffered the same fate as you
did six years ago, " Byers finished the thought off for her.

"So, you know what it is, then - you must know how to cure
it...?" She grasped desperately at straws.

Byers shook his head slowly.

"Agent Scully, we still don't know what happened to you when
you disappeared - we certainly didn't ever come up with a
workable hypothesis with regards to your condition on your
return. As far as we're concerned, your recovery was
inexplicable - a medical miracle. I seriously doubt that
Mulder will be able to recover from this, given the added
symptoms of exposure that are weakening him still further."

Scully tightened her lips together. She heard the words, but
their meaning refused to take hold in her brain. She couldn't
accept what he was saying, couldn't allow herself to believe
that after all these years of searching, after everything
she'd been through, after everything that Mulder must have
been through, that he would just die - like this, not with a
bang, but with a whimper... Not Mulder - this couldn't
happen...

It wasn't until Frohike placed his hand on her upper arm that
she realised she was crying. The action startled her, and she
shied away abruptly, not wanting to be touched - not in that
way... Mulder had touched her like that...

She cast a final, aching look at the trio, and then turned
around and walked quickly out of the room. The piece of paper
that she had been holding slipped out of her hand unnoticed
and slid silently onto the floor - the only indication that
she had ever been there.

As she ran down the stairs, the tears pouring down her
cheeks, Scully was suddenly reminded of another time that she
had come barrelling out of that tiny room, and had sprinted
down the cramped stairs. After she had found out about her
sister, she hadn't been able to register any logical thought,
and if it hadn't been for Mulder, she probably would have
been running to her own death on that painful occasion.

The memories were still chasing each other in her head as she
pulled open her car door, and threw herself into the seat.
Mulder... if it hadn't been for Mulder... She didn't know how
many times she'd said that to herself - even when he had been
gone, she had repeated it like a mantra: Mulder had always
been there for her, and she knew that he always would be...
At least, she *had* known. How could he be there for her now,
if he was dead??

She leaned her forehead against the steering wheel and gave
up trying to hold back the tears. They flowed for what seemed
like an eternity. The pent-up grief that she had managed to
repress until now, bursting forth like a breaking dam. There
was no hope... Mulder was dying. All those years... all that
time they spent together... he was her partner. All those
wasted moments, when they could have been partners in a more
intimate way...

She stayed like that for a long time, the tears pouring down
her cheeks, her body shaking with the release. And then, when
they were finally quelled, Scully turned on the ignition, and
drove back to the hospital.

~ THE END ~

-----------------------------------------------------------

= to be continued in The Choice IV: Awakening =

Thanks for reading. Comments are welcome.

leigh_xf@geocities.com

The Choice IV: Awakening
by Leigh Alexander
leigh_xf@geocities.com

First posted: April 4, 1996

RATING: PG
CATEGORY: SA
SPOILERS: None
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully UST
SUMMARY: As Scully remains by his bedside, Mulder must once
again make a choice. Between two worlds. Between life and
death.

INTRO:

Now I'm sure you're all sick of hearing this, but I am just
*so* grateful to Eve for all her help, and the least I can do
is thank her publicly as often as possible (oh - and I can
plug her fanfic, which will be posted in the future!)

As in the previous part, certain passages are preceeded and
concluded with "//". These passages form part of an
"alternative state of consciousness", which hopefully you
should have grasped by now!

-----------------------------------------------------------
The Choice IV: Awakening
-----------------------------------------------------------

She returned to the hospital, and quickly resettled in what
she had come to know as "her" chair - the one that stayed by
the side of his bed at all times, only empty during those
brief periods when she would leave the hospital and return
home.

She couldn't stop thinking about what Byers had said;
whatever had happened to Mulder, wherever it was he had been
- it had been the same place as her, he had experienced the
same thing she had. And he wasn't going to get better.

She immediately ordered that Mulder be X-rayed from head to
toe. Just to be sure, she also requested that he receive a
full-body MRI, which usually gave more information than a
simple X-ray on its own. Both results came back normal - no
sign of any metallic substances, no implants.

She allowed herself to be temporarily relieved, although her
mind quickly proffered forth the possibility that their
methods may have changed, become more subtle, less detectable
in the intervening years. But she didn't want to think about
this.

Lost in these thoughts of despair, she didn't hear the door
opening, nor notice the figure that approached her. A hand
descended on the back of her neck, and she started violently
- whipping her head around, and finding herself staring into
her mother's sympathetic eyes.

There was a movement at the door almost simultaneously, and
Scully turned just in time to see Skinner quietly slipping
out.

Margaret Scully crouched down so that her face was level with
her daughter's. Scully's face still wore a surprised
expression; she knitted her brow and asked,

"Mom? What are you doing here?"

"Dana, I was so worried... I've been trying to call you for
days, and I've just been getting your answering machine. I
was sure something was wrong - I had a feeling..."

"How did you know where to find me?"

"Mr. Skinner brought me here, after I got in contact with
him. He told me where you were. Oh, Dana, I'm so sorry..."

At her mother's last words, Scully's face crumpled and she
was quickly pulled into her mother's embrace. Hearing the
agony in Dana's sobs made tears spring to her own eyes, and
Margaret gripped her daughter even harder.

"You know, Dana, that time - when you were sick, when you
were in the hospital and we thought... we thought we were
going to lose you... Fox didn't know what to do either. He
felt so guilty about you being taken away, and he felt
helpless when he was here in the hospital. He was sure that
in trying to find the people who had done this to you, it
would somehow alleviate his pain, and bring you back... What
he didn't realise - what Melissa had to tell him - was that
more than anything else you needed him to be there for you,
as he always had been - you needed to feel his presence at
his side - and that even if he did find the people that had
done that to you, it would mean nothing to you... When he
finally realised this, he came back to the hospital, and he
sat with you, and he told you how he felt... and you came
back, Dana, honey - you came back..."

Scully lifted her head, and looked at her mother with watery
eyes.

"What are you saying, mom?"

"I just don't think you should lose hope, Dana... I think
that just in being here, you're helping him... I think he
needs to know - just as you needed to know - that you're here
for him, that you care, that he has something to come back
to. Sometimes all the medical attention in the world can't
make up for just a little bit of caring."

Scully turned her eyes back to Mulder, and regarded him
pensively. Without tearing her eyes away from his face, she
replied in a soft voice, "I know, mom... I know..."

After a few minutes of silence, in which the two pairs of
Scully eyes were focused on Mulder, Margaret stood up,
preparing to leave.

Scully quickly looked at her mother with a pleading
expression on her face.

"Don't go, mom.... Stay with me, please...."

Margaret studied her daughter intently and then gave a short
nod, her eyes then flickering around the darkened room until
they rested on a chair in the corner.

She walked over and picked up the chair, carrying it back to
the bed, and settling into it on the other side of the bed,
facing her daughter, with Mulder's body between them.

Margaret smiled at her daughter, and then reached for
Mulder's hand; the two sat in silence, each of them tightly
clasping one of Mulder's hands in their own grip, each lost
in their own thoughts.

********************

Over the next few weeks, Scully fell into a routine. After
realising that she wasn't going to leave him as long as he
was in this condition, the nursing staff at the hospital had
set up a small bed for her in the room. Scully spent most of
her nights at the hospital, although occasionally she would
leave Mulder in her mother's company and return home for a
few brief hours in order to try and relax in her own bed.
Once a day she would drive from the hospital to her apartment
to shower and change clothes, and - when she remembered -
check her mail and phone messages.

Due to the tight security surrounding Mulder, there were few
visitors: her mom, Skinner and an endless stream of doctors
and nurses were the only people she saw during those long
days.

She had taken to reading to Mulder - feeling, somewhere
inside of her, that the sound of her voice might pierce
through the layers of fog that shrouded his mind, and call
him back to her. The first book she had chosen was "Moby
Dick". She had selected that one deliberately, hoping that
somewhere in his subconscious, Mulder would remember its
significance, and would understand.

Every few hours a nurse would come in to check on him. Scully
would know, of course, exactly what state his body was in,
but she would watch the face and body language of the nurse
intently as Mulder's vitals were checked, hoping that just
maybe, something that she had overlooked would be picked up
by the nurse's scrutiny. Scully kept waiting for the moment
when the nurse would suddenly lift her eyes and bestow a
smile full of significance on her... But this never happened.
Aware of the scrutinising gaze, the nurse would knit her brow
in sympathetic pain and softly murmur, "No improvement, I'm
afraid." Or words to that effect.

And Scully would revert her gaze to Mulder's face, squeeze
his hand, and continue reading, unaware of the sometimes
sorrowful, sometimes compassionate look the other would
address to her back.

Skinner would usually come once every few days - supposedly
to check on Mulder's condition, but she knew that he was
really just checking on her. She could sense his concern, and
yet she did nothing to alleviate his obvious fears as to her
state of mind. When he would enter the room, she would stare
fixedly at Mulder, refusing to acknowledge her superior's
presence: for some inexplicable reason, she couldn't help
holding him to blame for the fate that had befallen her
partner. Although she had more often than not seen him as an
ally during the years that she and Mulder had been following
his orders, it seemed to her now that he had done everything
within his power to ensure that Mulder wouldn't be found. Her
logic was irrational, and she knew it - if she'd chosen to
analyse her feelings, she probably would have realised that
her sudden dislike of the man who had helped her and Mulder
so much, was no doubt due to his incapability of giving her
any form of comfort. But she didn't choose to analyse her
thoughts: she needed someone to blame - and in Cancerman's
absence, that honour fell squarely on Skinner's shoulders. To
her, he represented everything about the system that she had
lost her faith in - he epitomised the conservative side of
the Bureau, that had done everything within its power to
thwart Mulder at every stage - including her own assignment
as Mulder's partner.

That had been their only mistake.

She had reflected on this fact grimly over the years. Who
would have guessed all those years ago, that in assigning the
practical, sceptical, young up-and-coming, intelligent Dana
Scully to the X-Files, the result would be - not, as they had
hoped, the chance to finally kick Fox Mulder and his "spooky"
theories out of the Bureau - but rather, the forming of one
of the strongest, most dedicated and brilliant teams in the
agency. And who would have guessed that one day, she would be
sitting here grieving for the loss of her partner and friend,
and hoping desperately for a miracle?

********************

//He had no sense of the passing of time. No tangible sense,
that is... He was aware of time going by, but was ignorant of
its length: hours, days, weeks, months, years... he couldn't
say.

At some point, he slowly became aware of renewed strength in
his neck muscles. He was able to slowly move his head from
side to side, giving him the chance to glimpse a little more
of his surroundings. To his left in the distance there was a
bridge - it was really only a small speck in his peripheral
vision - to his right, the sand stretched eternal.

He had the feeling that he was now alone on the beach - the
soft murmuring voices that he had heard when he first
"arrived" (if that was, in fact, what he had done) had faded
so gradually that he hadn't even been aware of it.

The other sound remained, though. It continued to soothe him,
the words flowing over him in waves: indistinct and yet so
familiar. It not only soothed him, he could feel it
nourishing him, giving him strength... whenever the voice
stopped, as it did on occasions, he would feel suddenly
deflated - as though all his hopes and faith and strength had
been sucked out of him in that tiny instant. It wasn't until
the voice returned that he would once again feel the renewal
surging through him.

He longed for the time when the rest of his body would move,
and he would be able to walk towards the voice, into its warm
and loving embrace - that was what he wanted more than
anything.//

********************

Scully could tell that the doctors were puzzled. After the
first week of Mulder's coma, they had sadly informed her that
he would only last a few more days, so weakened was he. And
yet he had now been there for almost a month, and while he
had shown no sign of improvement, he hadn't weakened as
quickly as they had anticipated either.

It gave her a small hope - she knew that in all probability
he wouldn't make it, and if he weakened any more, a decision
would have to be made about his future. But for the moment,
she didn't want to think about any of that, and she clung to
the tiny belief that maybe, just maybe....

... maybe it was in the realms of extreme possibility that he
would return.

********************

The first sign came at the four-week mark.

They had finished "Moby Dick" two weeks ago, and Scully was
now on her second book, "The Riders" by an Australian author,
Tim Winton. It was about a man's desperate quest for the wife
who had left him. Scully had found the book abandoned on one
of the hospital benches and she had picked it up out of
curiosity. Her attention had immediately been caught by the
name of the main character: Fred Scully. She had browsed
through it curiously, and then had delved into it more
deeply, the prose affecting her profoundly, whilst the story
itself called out to her - this Scully's quest neatly
mimicking her own.

It was while reading a particularly poignant and apt passage
that Mulder moved.

Her voice had become deep and resonant while reading the
passage:

" ' Questions hung like shadows behind Scully's head. His
thoughts went everywhere and no place...' " She had paused
momentarily to turn the page, her hand leaving Mulder's for a
few seconds, and then resettling in position, resting lightly
in his. It was at this moment that she sensed something...
some slight shift... a change in the atmosphere. She didn't
continue reading immediately, wondering if she was going mad,
or if she was right in thinking something was about to
happen. She waited a few minutes, and there was no other
sign, so she quickly dismissed the foolish thoughts and went
back to the book,

" ' Oh God, was she feeling pain and panic like him, aching
even in sleep for a break in the smothering static, simply
not knowing?...'"

Mulder squeezed her hand.

The book fell, unnoticed, from her grasp. The dull thud it
made as it hit the floor didn't even register in her mind.
She stared at their intertwined hands, unable to comprehend
what had just happened...

After a few minutes the doubts crept in... was her mind
playing tricks on her? Was she so desperate to have Mulder
back that she had imagined the slight pressure? And yet, the
memory of the fleeting squeeze refused to be washed out of
her mind. She had definitely felt him grasp her hand - but
maybe it had just been a reflex reaction, maybe he had a
cramp?

And then, as she stared fixedly at his hand, it happened
again.

This time there was no doubt. It was almost as if the first
squeeze had just been a trial run, leaving room for the real
thing. The outward signs of weakness that his body had been
showing were not evident now, as it seemed to her that all
his strength was concentrated in his hand as he squeezed with
all his might.

A broad grin spread across her face - the muscles had
remained so unused, that it hurt her to smile, but she didn't
care...

She reached over and pressed the call button.

********************

//Movement had returned to his limbs fairly soon after he had
been able to turn his head.

He still couldn't stand, but he could lift his arms and legs,
and wiggle his fingers and toes.

He could feel his strength returning, slowly, but
surely....//

********************

After that day, everything started to happen very quickly.
Following on from the peaceful and quiet days that Scully had
started to get accustomed to, the sudden rush of movement in
her and Mulder's little room disconcerted her slightly.

Suddenly they had a nurse in there almost constantly,
monitoring his every heart beat, checking to see if he had
shown any other sign of acknowledging the presence of the
outside world. In Scully's opinion, it was an unnecessary
waste of man power, after all, she was with Mulder round the
clock - she had started to use the hospital showers, rather
than returning home - and she would be the first to know of
any other gestures on his part. But her comments fell on deaf
ears.

Mulder was their own little miracle. For no apparent reason,
his health had made an about-face. Every day he was getting
stronger, and the doctors were confident that it wouldn't be
long before he returned completely to consciousness.

********************

//The day had finally arrived... he felt strong enough to sit
up and look around him. As he had suspected, he was on a
beach - although it was unlike any beach he'd ever seen
before: the sand was so white that his eyes squinted in
protest when looking at it, the sea was a colour so blue that
he almost didn't believe it could be water, and the sky
remained as cloudless and perfect as it had been for the
entire time he had been there. It was perfect - everything
here was perfect, and he almost didn't want to leave...

Maybe that was why it had taken his body so long to renew its
strength, he thought to himself... maybe it was a corporeal
attempt to keep him here, eternally tied to this perfection.
He knew then that if it hadn't been for the voice he would
have remained here forever.

But the voice had refused to give up: it had become a siren-
like call to him - one that he couldn't ignore, that he
didn't want to ignore...

Slowly, he pushed himself into a standing position, his hands
digging deeply into the now almost boiling hot sand. Once on
his feet, he paused for a few minutes, taking the time to
give his surroundings one last final look. He knew that he
could have peace here; that the pain that had dogged him all
his life would vanish if he settled here. He looked at the
bridge to his left; he could head towards that bridge (he
knew instinctively that that was where the mysterious voices
had disappeared to) and abandon any thoughts of returning to
life. He could head towards that bridge and be reunited with
his family: his mother, his father and... Samantha.

He knew that it was that simple: the choice between two
worlds, two destinies, two people.

The choice was his...

The waves continued to lap gently at the shore; the voice
that had given them their force was starting to fade... but
he could still hear it, it filled his head with a presence so
powerful that it obliterated all other thought. Although the
voice grew weaker on the outside, he knew that it would never
leave his inner spirit - it was a part of him, and he
couldn't let it go...

The choice was made.

He turned to the ocean and began to walk slowly towards it.
The water that hit his feet was not cold, as he had been
expecting, but warm, and welcoming. The voice, as though
spurred on by his movements, grew louder, snatches of words
suddenly - finally- becoming clear:

"I believe that you are not ready to go, Mulder..."

"I need you..."

"You can't leave, Mulder.... please... I don't want you to
leave..."

"I'm here for you, Mulder... Stay with me..."

He dived into the deep blue sea, and started to swim... and
as he swam, he slowly became aware of land ahead of him. He
stopped for a moment, and started to tread water: behind him,
the beach that he had been lying on, now revealed itself for
what it really was - an island - a small, yet beautiful
island. Looking in front of him, he saw that the mass of land
he was heading towards was exactly that: a mass of land -
solid earth... his home... his life... his future....

He swam quickly and vigorously. Finally, his hand touched the
shore, and he pulled himself up, breathing heavily.
Exhausted, he flopped down on his back, and allowed himself
to be taken care of....//

********************

She was asleep when he opened his eyes.

He didn't mind - despite his blurry vision, and his weakened
state, he was glad to have the opportunity to look at her,
examine her sleeping face with the most minute scrutiny - the
face that he had thought he would never see again. He slowly
took in the shadows under her eyes, the pallor of her skin
and the gauntness of her face. With a spasm of pain, he
realised that she had been suffering because of him. Again.

After a few moments he lifted his shaking hand slowly, and
laid it gently on her head.

The touch wakened her with a start. Her eyes flew open and
she jerked into a sitting position, unintentionally knocking
his hand off her head.

For a moment she couldn't speak: all she could do was stare.

Her face expressed the most pure shock he'd ever witnessed.
And as he watched, his eyes unblinkingly fixed on her, he saw
the gentle change in emotion. The shock slowly dissipated,
giving way to a deep tenderness that caused him to breathe in
deeply.

He couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe that it was Scully,
that she was here - that she was looking at him like that.

Scully saw his open eyes, his alert - although bleary -
expression, and yet she still couldn't believe what she was
seeing. He was awake. He was alive. He had come back... to
her.

With infinite delicacy, she brought her hand up to the bed,
and slid it into his grasp, her lips slowly turning up in a
smile.

"Mulder...." Her voice had returned, but she didn't know what
to say, couldn't think of any appropriate words. All the
feelings that she had spilled out to him so effortlessly
whilst he was unconscious suddenly dried up inside. All she
could think to say was, "You're back..." Her voice was low: a
tentative whisper that barely made the distance from her
mouth to his ear.

His face slowly broke into a smile and he started to open his
mouth to speak, but then closed it. He wanted to speak to
her, and yet he was almost relieved to discover that it was,
for the moment, physically impossible. The constriction of
his throat was as much a result of his sudden hesitance and
uncertainty as a physical weakness. He couldn't think of the
right words, and he knew that now more than ever, the right
words were what were needed. He remained silent, deciding
that there would be plenty of time to say what was on his
mind.

Scully suddenly felt exposed, almost embarrassed. She
remembered that during their time together as partners they
had rarely revealed their deepest emotions to each other. It
hadn't been until that last night in her apartment that she
had realised what losing him would mean to her - and yet,
even then, the only thing she'd been able to say was an
ineffectual "I don't want you to go."

Now, she had a second chance. *They* had a second chance...
and yet, she knew it was going to take her awhile to build up
the courage to continue from where they left off.

That kiss. She couldn't forget it, and seeing Mulder now,
awake, it was one of the first images that sprung into her
mind.

But she couldn't think about that right now. She couldn't
really think about anything right now - she was too
overwhelmed, hadn't had time to absorb the reality of his
awakening.

She abruptly pushed her chair back and headed towards the
door. Mulder watched her, startled. Once again he tried to
speak, but he was forced into silence by the ache in his
throat.

She reached the door, opened it and said to one of the guards
still standing out there,

"Get the doctor in here, now." Her voice was firm and
authoritative.

The guard ran off, and yet she didn't turn around
immediately. In a single instant, all the strength that she
had been relying on throughout the last four weeks suddenly
deserted her, and she found herself clutching the edge of the
door with a grip so tight she could feel the wood biting into
her palm. She squeezed her eyes shut as her vision began to
swim absurdly, and bit her bottom lip to stop herself from
crying out.

After a few moments, she could gradually feel herself
returning to normal - some kind of normal. Her body tingled
all over, and the adrenalin pounded through her, rocketing
around her body and giving her the sensation of being on
fire. Her breathing suddenly became rapid, and her eyes
started to water - not with tears, she had shed so many tears
already that she was almost surprised that they were still
able to generate this wetness, but with pure emotion. She
tightened her grip on the door - its solid support providing
her with some sort of anchor, a touch with reality, when all
around her suddenly appeared so unreal, so incomprehensible.

"Scully?"

His voice was barely a whisper. She heard its weakness and
its frailty as any doctor would. And yet, there was something
more... That voice - it had said her name so many times in
the past, and yet this time there was something different: a
new timbre, a deeper significance.

She turned around slowly, until finally she was facing him.

He studied her searchingly, seeking some sort of explanation,
some sort of meaning.

"Are you all right?" It hurt him to speak, and yet he
couldn't stop himself.

Her lips turned up ever so slightly, hinting at her grasp of
a deeper irony, "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

His face lightened momentarily, but quickly resumed the
expression of concern that had been present before, "It's
just... you looked--"

She cut him off and curtly said, "I'm fine Mulder."

Hearing these familiar words, Mulder couldn't stop himself
from chuckling. Yes, everything was *definitely* back to
normal if Scully was coming out with the "I'm fine" line. He
shook his head slowly, noting that with those brief words,
Scully had once again restored order and balance in his life.
He knew where he was, he knew how things were - everything
was like it had always been.

Scully had paused briefly after her final words, but now she
continued, walking back towards the bed, her face an achingly
familiar mix of concern and tenderness. When she spoke, her
voice was soft - it was a voice that she had used with him on
a number of occasions, usually when she was talking about his
sister. Its gentleness enveloped him, filled him with the
same warmth that he remembered from that time on the beach.

"Mulder, what happened? Where have you been? Where's
Samantha?" The questions poured out almost subconsciously.
They were the words that had dominated her thoughts ever she
first saw Mulder lying in that bed, and she couldn't hold
them back a second longer.

At the question, he closed his eyes fleetingly, and breathed
in sharply. She was at his side now - he felt her proximity
before he opened his eyes. She had placed her hand delicately
on his arm, and at the touch he opened his eyes and looked
into hers.

He looked at her with such helplessness - a look that she
knew so well, had come to miss - that she gave his arm a
reassuring squeeze, and started to stroke his inner arm
gently with her thumb, hoping to encourage him to tell her
what had happened during those long years.

He opened his mouth, and was about to answer her, when there
was suddenly an explosion of activity at the door. Scully
swivelled her head around angrily, and saw that at least five
doctors and two nurses had just entered the room - the
security guard in tow. They swiftly moved over to the bed,
descending on Mulder like vultures, and casually pushing her
out of the way.

She caught Mulder's eye, and saw that he was smiling at her.

"Gee, Scully, you should have told me we were expecting
company - I would have put on my *best* unattractive hospital
gown."

Her lips twitched at their sides, but it was her eyes that
betrayed her amusement. As she continued to look at Mulder, a
nurse suddenly stepped between them, obstructing their line
of vision.

Scully slipped silently out the door.

~ THE END ~

-----------------------------------------------------------

= to be continued in The Choice 5: Memory =

One final disclaimer: wondering about that book I mentioned?
Well, it's a real book, and yes the main character's name
really is Scully. (Believe me, I found that just a bit
disconcerting when I read it a few months ago.) Absolutetly
no copyright infringement was intended in the use of that
book, in fact, I thoroughly recommend that you go out and buy
it, b/c it is a fantastic book, by a wonderful writer!
(Published by Pan
MacMillan). The quotes that I used were direct, although a
touch of artistic license was used in their placement on the
page... :)

Thanks for reading. Comments are welcome.

leigh_xf@geocities.com

The Choice V: Memory
by Leigh Alexander
leigh_xf@geocities.com

First posted: April 6, 1996

RATING: PG
CATEGORY: SA
SPOILERS: None
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully UST
SUMMARY: Mulder tells Scully what happened to him while he
was gone.

-----------------------------------------------------------
The Choice V: Memory
-----------------------------------------------------------

She watched him sleeping.

Even though this was exactly what she'd been doing for the
past four weeks, she could feel the difference this time. It
wasn't just that she knew that he was going to wake up from
this slumber, it was also because suddenly everything felt
right again.

Suddenly all the doubts she'd been having, all the feelings
of despair that she'd been wallowing in, all the grief and
hatred she'd been feeling had disappeared. Mulder was back
and everything in the world was right again.

She knew she was being silly. There were obviously going to
be repercussions from all of this - she didn't know what
Mulder was going to do about a job, if he was going to return
to the Bureau or not, he was also going to have to adapt to
all the changes that had occurred since his disappearance -
it wasn't going to be easy for him. And yet all those worries
seemed trite and unimportant for the moment. Right now, she
couldn't stop herself from feeling absurdly happy.

It was four hours now since Mulder had first woken up, and
the feeling of unreality that she had been having had now
almost completely disappeared. While the medical staff had
been tending to Mulder, she had gone for a walk; venturing
outside for the first time in days. She had noticed with
delight that spring had well and truly sprung since she had
been sequestered in the hospital. The appropriateness of
nature's reawakening did not escape her, and she had sighed
contentedly, breathing in deeply and suppressing a sudden
foolish desire to do cartwheels across the neat hospital
garden.

After an hour's stroll, she had ventured back into the
hospital, and headed straight for the line of payphones near
the entrance.

"Mom? It's me."

Her mother had been instantly anxious, "What is it? What's
wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong mom. It's Mulder." Her face had broken into
a grin, the news of Mulder's return finally sinking in as she
said the words, "He's back mom... he woke up about an hour
ago!" She hadn't been able to keep the excitement out of her
normally reserved voice.

She had heard her mother gasp, and then there had been
silence for a few moments. Just when Scully was starting to
get worried, Maggie had spoken, her voice trembling,

"Oh, I'm so glad, honey."

They hadn't chatted for long. Scully had been eager to return
to Mulder's bedside.

And now here she was. Watching him sleep. As she'd been doing
for the past three hours.

It almost pained her to see his innocence in sleep. Sleep was
one of the great equalisers, in her opinion. No matter who
you were, no matter what you'd experienced, all that would be
obliterated once you fell into a deep, slumberous state. And
Mulder was no exception. His face was relaxed, the years of
worry and heartache had dissolved as they never would when he
was awake. And yet, underneath the peaceful mask, she knew
that there was a well of pain. Some of which, she had yet to
find out...

He stirred, and she sat up stiffly, watching him attentively.
His eyes flickered, and then opened. They blinked shut again
briefly, and then reopened, slowly doing a tour of his
surroundings until eventually they landed on Scully.

"How're you feeling?" She asked as his eyes gradually focused
on her.

"Better." His voice was still raspy, although she could
detect its growing strength.

They sat in silence for some time, Scully waiting for Mulder
to fully wake up before she asked him any questions.

Mulder tried to pull himself into a sitting position, but his
body rebelled, his arms buckling under the pressure. At first
he refused Scully's help, and then eventually gave in,
allowing her to pull his body up with a strength that
surprised him. For such a small person, she never ceased to
amaze him with her physical capabilities. She had proven to
him time and time again, just how little she needed his aid,
both psychologically and physically, and it was yet another
aspect of her personality that he admired and respected.

Finally he was comfortable - his back resting against two
pillows. He leaned his head back and let it press against the
wall for a few short moments, as he closed his eyes and
gathered his thoughts.

He brought his head back down and faced Scully. He could see
the questions in her eyes, and he knew that he couldn't
prolong the moment any longer, and yet he waited...

They sat like that, staring at each other, for an eternity.
Finally Scully spoke, realising that Mulder was waiting for
her to make the first move. She repeated the question that
she had asked him over four hours ago - had it really been
that long ago? Time had started playing tricks on her, she
had spent too much of it in isolation and now any sense of
passing time that she had was vague and distorted.

Her voice was low, "Mulder... what happened?"

He let out an audible breath, and squeezed his eyes shut
momentarily. When he finally returned his gaze to her, his
eyes were full of sorrow.

"I don't remember." At her questioning glance, he added, "Not
much, at least..."

"Just tell me what you do remember Mulder." She spoke gently,
soothingly.

He lifted his hand to his throat, and fingered the cross in
an unconscious, yet obviously accustomed gesture. Scully
noted the
action without a word, although it suddenly made her feel
warm inside. After a few moments, Mulder started to recount
his story.

"After I left your place," he paused, coughing slightly,
while Scully lowered her head for a brief moment - both of
their thoughts resting momentarily on that final moment, "I..
uh... I went back to my place. The man was still there,
waiting for me, and we left about ten minutes later." He
stopped again, this time needing the break to collect his
thoughts, and remember long-ago events.

"Go on." Scully murmured.

"I don't know where he took me - he blindfolded me on the
drive there. It took about forty minutes, and we were
definitely out of the city by the time we arrived at the
final destination. It was an old warehouse of some sort, no
defining features, no machinery, no smell, no visual clues as
to what it was used for. Anyway, he pushed me inside, and I
could see that the place was empty. I started to turn around,
and then someone hit me - knocked me out."

He stopped speaking abruptly, and Scully looked at him,
surprised.

"What? What happened after that?"

"That's what I can't remember Scully. After that it's all
hazy, until I woke up in this bed."

"Hold on, when you say hazy - does that mean that you can
remember something??"

"Oh yeah sure, I can remember things like a bright white
light, some sort of hospital room, faces, noises... nothing
concrete..."

She sighed in frustration - Mulder's return was supposed to
*answer* questions, not pose more.

There was one more question that she had to ask him, although
she knew it was going to cause him pain.

"Mulder - what about Samantha? Did you see her? Did you find
out what happened to her?"

The reaction was intense. He turned his head away from her
sharply, letting his breath out with a hiss. His face was an
expression of pure agony, alerting her immediately to the
fact that she had sliced open a painful wound.

When he spoke his voice was full of bitterness, and anger,
"Yeah, I saw her."

He didn't continue. Scully lifted her eyebrow and leaned
forward, desperate to know what he had seen.

He spoke without looking at her, "She was dead, Scully.
Dead." The words fell from his lips like dead weights.

Scully felt her world collapse around her. No... not after
all he'd been through, not after losing everything else.
Samantha couldn't be dead. It wasn't fair...

Mulder's face was still averted from hers and she gazed on
him with a look of pure anguish. She felt a stabbing pain
pierce through her: her chest tightened, and her hands
clenched into fists almost of their own accord. Mulder's pain
was like an aura, it clung to him without cease, and infected
all those who drew near to him. She could feel it permeating
her spirit... as everything else about him had already done.
And yet, she could find no words to express how she felt. She
had to rely on the same ones she had used upon his father's
death... the same ones that she had murmured time and time
again to victims of crime: there was nothing else she could
say.

"Mulder, I'm so sorry." The words sounded empty and hollow to
her ears - their meaning seemed to fade as soon as they had
left her mouth. What good was her pity going to do for him?
In what way could her sorrow atone for everything he had
lost, for the one thing in the world that he had been
searching for? How could she expect those words to comfort
him - instead their ineffectualness goaded her mercilessly.

He felt himself grow cold. The tears burned his eyes, but he
refused to let them spill. Saying the words brought the
reality home to him - clearer than ever before. He remembered
that moment with the type of clarity that he usually reserved
for cases, serial murderers, facts