TITLE:  All the Myriad Ways
SPOILER STATEMENT:  "Monday"; small ones for "Arcadia"
RATING:  PG-13
CONTENT STATEMENT:  M/S married.  Sexual situations.  Violence. 
Character death, sort of (this *is* a post-ep for "Monday", guys).
CLASSIFICATION:  VRA
SUMMARY:   Post-ep for "Monday".  Continuation of the "Making It
Personal" storyline.  Scully has some disturbing dreams.  Or are they
just dreams?
THANKS:  To Shannon and Sharon, for help with research.  To Brynna,
Paulette, Robbie, Shannon and Sharon for the cool beta.  I owe you all
bigtime on this one.  Don't I always?
NOTE:  I have shamelessly stolen this title from a really nifty story by
Larry Niven, with a vaguely similar theme.  This is not a crossover,
however.  But you really ought to read Niven's story anyway, because
it's supercool. ;)

A note on the timeline:  For purposes of this story, it is assumed that
the events in "Arcadia" occurred before the events of "Monday".  This
was the original intended broadcast order, and although I normally am a
purist in terms of broadcast order, there are several things that just
don't make sense if you stick to that order in this instance.
 
 

All the Myriad Ways

by Brandon D. Ray
 

As I first awaken I'm afraid to open my eyes, for fear of what I might see.

My mind is assaulted by a jumble of confused and contradictory thoughts
and images.  Things which appear to be memories, but cannot possibly
be.  I squeeze my eyes even more tightly shut, and try to banish these
visions, and of course I fail.

#          #          #

MONDAY, 6:47 a.m.

I awaken at my usual time and climb promptly out of bed.  I step into
the kitchen just long enough to start the coffee machine, then head back
down the hall to the bathroom, stripping off my pajamas and underclothes
as I go.

A few minutes later I emerge from the shower and stop to look at myself
in the mirror as I dry my hair.  I frown.  My hand goes to the ring and
gold cross suspended from a chain around my neck.  My frown deepens.

It's been a week since I left Mulder at the mall in Chevy Chase, and
told him I needed some time.  I realize now I should have stayed and
talked it out with him, rather than leaving both of us hanging.  It's
too late to change that decision, but it's still not too late to make a
new decision.  Today, I decide.  Today we'll address the issue, and
things will start to get better again.

Today I'll tell him that I love him.  At last.  And I finish drying my
hair and grab my robe, and I head back out to the kitchen.

Mulder is late for work, which is unusual since we got the X-Files
back.  Under Kersh it was different.  Neither of us really wanted to be
here then.  But now that we have our proper work, we've both been coming
in early and staying late.  Today, though, he's late.  The one day I
need him to be on time, so we can talk, he's late.  I pace the office in
frustration, but somehow I know we've missed yet another chance.

Finally I can't wait any longer, and I go to the budget meeting without
him.  During a break I return to our office, to find that Mulder has
finally arrived.  I want to talk to him about our relationship, about
our marriage, and about my epiphany from this morning, but there's no
time.  At lunch, I decide.  We will definitely talk at lunch.

I go back to the meeting and Mulder goes to the bank.  After more
droning from Agent Arnold, Skinner finally asks me where my partner is,
and I roll my eyes and go to try and find him.

I walk into the bank looking for Mulder, and find myself staring down
the barrel of a gun.  Before I can react there's a flash of motion, and
the man with the gun changes his aim and fires.  My own weapon is out in
an instant, and then the two of us are facing each other down ... until
he opens his jacket and shows me what's strapped to his chest.

I'm on my knees, trying to hold back the tears as the waning seconds of
Mulder's life stain my hands and clothes.  I tear my eyes from my
partner, my husband, and I beg the shooter to let me save this life.  I
plead with him; I tell him he's in control, and that he doesn't have to
let this happen.  My last thought before he throws the switch is that I
never told Mulder that I love him.

#          #          #

MONDAY, 6:44 a.m.

I awaken in the predawn darkness.  Someone is in the room, but before I
can become alarmed I hear Mulder whisper my name as he slides into bed
and wraps his arms around me.

For just a moment I tense.  We have not taken this step before; we have
not discussed it, and I have not agreed to it.  But even as those
objections flash through my mind, I dismiss them.  This is Mulder, my
husband, the man I love, and this is what I want.  His arms are wrapped
around me, warm and strong and comforting.  I have never felt this
cherished and secure.  For the first time since I walked out on him at
the mall in Chevy Chase, everything seems right.

I smile sleepily and turn to face him.  I start to speak, but he puts
his fingertips on my mouth to silence me.  No words this morning, then. 
That's fine.  We don't need words for this.

His fingers trace down my jaw to my neck, and then brush against his
class ring where it hangs on the chain next to my cross.  He lifts the
ring to my lips and I kiss it; then he kisses my cross.  The emotion
evident in this simple gesture warms me, and sends waves of desire
rippling outward from my center.  And then my husband gathers me into
him and captures my lips with his.

We arrive at work together, and only a few minutes late.  The budget
meeting is long and boring, but my memory of how we spent that early
morning hour makes it bearable.  At last Skinner calls a break, and
Mulder and I leave to run an errand at the bank.

We step through the doors just as the bearded man loses his temper and
draws his gun.  We both reach instinctively for our own weapons, but he
has the drop on us.  There's a burning in my chest as I fall to the
floor, and an instant later Mulder falls beside me.  I turn my head to
look at him, and I see him reaching out to me even as my own hand is
moving towards him.  I want to touch him so very, very much, but our
fingers are not quite in contact when the shooter throws the switch.

#          #          #

MONDAY, 6:52 a.m.

I awaken at my usual time, but I don't feel rested.

It's been a week since I told Mulder I needed some time to think.  I
realize now I should have stayed and talked it out with him, rather than
leaving both of us hanging, but it's too late to change that decision. 
As I slowly come to full consciousness I realize with a heavy heart that
I've been putting off the inevitable for long enough, and today I'll
have to make some phone calls, and see what needs to be done to unravel
this terrible mess we've made.

Then I get to break the news to Mulder, but somehow I doubt that it will
be too much of a surprise.

I lie in bed for a few minutes, fighting back the tears and thinking
back on all the things that went wrong.  Our marriage was strange and
unconventional, and obviously an error in judgment.  We were fools to
think we could make something like that work under these sorts of
circumstances.

With a sigh of resignation I climb out of bed.  Getting ready for work
seems to take forever, and I finally decide to skip breakfast and just
grab a cup of coffee to drink in the car.  Maybe by the time I get to
work I'll be hungry, and I can pick something up in Hoover's cafeteria.

Mulder's late, of course.  I knew he would be.  We've barely spoken
since I left him at the mall last week, and his working hours have been
growing more and more erratic.  I finally go to the budget meeting
without him -- but I take his ring off first.

I'm sitting in the meeting, not listening to the presentation being
given by Agent Arnold.  Mulder's ring is clenched in my fist, and all I
can think is that I don't want to do this, I don't want to give it up. 
But I can't seem to find a way out of this trap we've set for ourselves.

There is a dull booming noise in the distance, coming from outside the
building, but I barely notice, so lost am I in my own despair.  A few
minutes later Skinner's assistant enters the room, a stunned look on her
face.  Somehow I know before she speaks that the decision has been taken
from me.  And so has my husband.

#          #          #

MONDAY, 6:49 a.m.

I awaken in the predawn darkness.  Eyes closed, I reach out across the
bed, but there is no one there, and the sheets are cool and
undisturbed.  I move my hand to my throat, and lightly touch Mulder's
ring.  I feel a stinging moisture in my eyes.  I don't want it to be
like this.  I don't want it to end like this.  I don't want to be alone,
and I don't want *him* to be alone.  Not today.  Not ever, but
especially not today.

Please God, not today.  Don't let us be alone today.  Don't let us die
alone.  I'll give up anything else if at least we can be together.  I'll
even settle for simple friendship, if only we don't have to be alone.

#          #          #

WEDNESDAY, 7:28 a.m.

As I first awaken I'm afraid to open my eyes, for fear of what I might
see.  My body is drenched in sweat and my pajamas and the bedclothes are
cold and clammy.

I don't want to know this.  I don't want to know which world I've
awakened to.  I just want to keep my eyes closed and go back to sleep,
and try to dream of better times.

The shrilling of my cell phone cuts off my thoughts.  Eyes still closed,
I reach across the bed and fumble around on the bedside table until I
find it.  Somehow, I manage to punch the connect button.

"Scully, it's me," comes my partner's voice, very hesitant and
tentative.  "I'm about ready to leave; I'll be there in twenty minutes. 
You going to be ready?"

"Ready?" I ask.  Ready, Mulder? I think.  Ready for what?

"Ready for me to pick you up," he explains, almost as if he can read my
thoughts.  And I'm in a strange enough state of mind that I think
perhaps he can.

"Pick me up," I repeat -- and gradually the memories come filtering
back.  Car trouble.  I had car trouble last night, and Mulder drove me
home.  Now he's supposed to pick me up, and we'll drive to work together.

"Yeah," he says, sounding even more uneasy.  "You do still want me to
drive you in this morning, right?"

More memories start reporting in.  Memories of my anger when we got back
from Arcadia.  Memories of walking out and leaving Mulder at the mall in
Chevy Chase.  Memories of working together in tight-lipped silence for
the last week.

And still there's more:  The woman in the bank the day before yesterday,
Pam Oates, throwing herself into the line of fire.  Even though I had
never seen her before that day, somehow I'm sure she knew what she was
doing:  Saving Mulder's life.  Saving my life.  Giving us another chance.

I realize that Mulder is waiting for my response.  "Yes, of course," I
say, hoping that my voice is a little clearer, a little stronger.  "Of
course, I do.  But I can't be ready that soon."  I glance at the clock
and see that it's past 7:30.  "I guess I slept through my alarm," I add,
suddenly feeling very contrite.

I wait for Mulder to reply, but he doesn't speak.  The silence stretches
on, becoming heavy and uncomfortable.  I wonder what he's waiting for.

And then I know:  me.  He's waiting for me to tell him what to do.  I
have not invited him up to my apartment since we got back from Arcadia,
and we've spent no time together outside of working hours in that time,
either.  Even yesterday, when we were both in shock due to our brush
with death at the bank the day before, I kept him at arm's length.

I am tempted to do the same again today.  It would make things so easy. 
So simple.  So plain.  But then I remember Pam Oates, and my conviction
that she died to give us another chance, and I just can't do it.  I
can't deny this man's importance in my life.

I lick my lips nervously, and I reach up with my free hand to lightly
touch Mulder's class ring, trying to draw strength from it.  Images of
his blood staining my hands and clothes invade my consciousness, but I
push them firmly away.  I can do this, I think.  I can do this, and I
must do this.  It's really not that hard.

"Mulder," I say, "I need some time to get cleaned up and dressed.  Why
don't you ... why don't you come on over and let yourself in.  That is,
if you don't mind waiting a bit."  I've missed you, I add in my mind. 
I've missed you so very much.  Please hear me.

The silence on the other end continues for just a few seconds longer --
long enough for me to know he understands the layers of meaning in my
words, and has heard my silent plea.  At last he says, in a very low
voice, "Sure, Scully.  I'll be right over."  And then the connection is
broken.

I sit in bed for another moment or two.  It has to have been a dream, I
think, a nightmare brought on by the stress of Monday's events.  Just a
dream, I repeat in my mind.  But even as I think those words my hand
rises once again to touch Mulder's ring, and I know that much, at least,
is real.

And I climb out of bed and go to start the coffee, so it will be ready
when my husband arrives.
 
 

Fini