Title:  He Knows

 

 

 

It seems such a simple thing, the act of sleep.  As I
watch him lying there, I am thankful for this short
loss of consciousness. You see, he was returned to me.

Why?  I don't know.  Why was I returned to him after my own abduction?  Why are we constantly given the gift of each other's life?  Is it some cosmic balance because of >the pain we've been through?  And how many more times
must we suffer before whatever powers that be are done
toying with us?

 

He sleeps, far away from the pain that wracks his body during fleeting moments of consciousness.  He's ill and he's injured, but he is alive and he is here.  He will live through sheer force of my will, he will survive.  He will overcome this because I cannot live without him.  There, I've admitted it.  Tough, strong Dana Scully has admitted that my very being depends on another.  He knows, he has for so long.  That's why he will endure the pain, for me. 

 

He won't leave me again.

 

He moans in his sleep, whisperes my name softly.  How many times has he done that during his absence and I was too far away to comfort him?  I smooth his brow with my fingertips, murmuring to him the things my heart tells me he already understands, but needs to hear, anyway.  I love you.  I'm here for you.  I won't leave your side.  I belong to you as you belong to me.  He calls my name again, louder this time.  I put the rail to his bed down, move my chair closer and lay my head on his chest.  I stroke the area over his heart through the thin material of his hospital gown.

 

He's on oxygen by mask now, he no longer needs the ventilator. His IV drips silently, the pump making a familiar soft growl. Oh yes, we've been here before.  Except this time I'm not afraid to hold him, or show my love for this magnificant man, who does his best to hide his pain from my concerned eyes.

 

His body aches, his mind is struggling, but his spirit is
strong. Others come in and out of the room.  I lie on his chest and concentrate on the steady rhythm of his heart.  I feel a hand on my shoulder, squeezing for ncouragement.  I smile but I do not move. 

 

I know its A.D. Skinner, his sense of loyalty too great to let him go home and rest.  He feels responsible, he has from the beginning when he came to me in my hospital bed and with tears in his eyes told me, "I lost him".  I've never blamed him for the choices Mulder made, or the circumstance we're in now.  I blame no one, I hold no anger toward anyone, which surprises me.  I suppose I am just too thankful to have him here, I cannot find it in my heart to punish.

 

He sighs my name this time.  A contented sound, not of fear or longing or pain, as I've so often heard since his return. He knows I'm here.  He knows I love him.  He knows I'll stay with him. 

 

We've had this psychic connection for some time now.  I'll admit it frightened me at first, to be connected to his feelings and emotions.  I embrace it now.  He never feared it.  He fears little, beyond fire and the occasional praying mantis.  He is the bravest man I know.  My heart swells with pride when I think of all he's faced and conquered, or at least survived. 

 

Who else would have braved the artic to save me?  Who else would have charged in countless times to dangerous situations for fear of my safety?  Who else would have traded the woman he believed to be his long lost sister
to save my life?  No one but Mulder.  My Mulder.

 

My mother hovers briefly, makes a weak attempt to get me to leave long enough to eat and rest, but she knows I won't go. She doesn't truly think I should, either. She loves him, too. Accepts him as part of the family.  She knows I cannot take the chance that he'll awaken even for a few seconds and I not be here.  I will be here when he awakens.

 

I've fallen asleep sometime in the deep of night.  I've left his chest and I find myself reclined back in my chair. His rail is up again and a blanket covers me.  Someone has tucked us in.  I awaken because I hear him, or rather I feel him.  He's moaning quietly and beginning to stir.  His head is moving side to side and his eyes are darting beneath his lids. 

 

He hurts, he's in agony that has pierced his unconscious state.  His face and arms are covered with a fine sheen of sweat.  His hands are clutching the bed covers, threatening to dislodge his IV site in his hand.  I ring for the nurse, powerless to do more for him.  As the nurse rushes in with pain medicene to inject in his line, I hear words from him that freeze my heart.

 

Find me, Scully.
Please, find me.

 

A sob escapes my throat for him, for the horrors he faced alone.  I didn't find you, Mulder, but I would have traded my life for yours, dont you know that?  He knows.  Whether it is that knowledge or the pain medicine or both, he quiets down. His breathing returns to normal, and his movements stop.

 

Daylight again, streaming across his bed in fractal images distorted from the window coverings.  I've never seen a more beautiful site than the light hitting my beloved here in the same room with me.  Returned to me.  I have never been more thankful of any single event in my life.  I love him that much.

 

And he knows.

 

~end