The following is a repost of "Critical Mass" which was posted when "Memento Mori" first aired. I've made minor revisions to the original; I hope the changes improve the readability. Thanks for reading. -- HL ===== CRITICAL MASS (1/1) [post Memento-Mori; 4th season spoilers] This story is based on characters created by Chris Carter, et al., Ten Thirteen productions and Fox Television. I have used the principal characters with "reckless abandon" but I intend no infringement of copyright. This story may be distributed freely and, hopefully, with the author's blessing. This follows after "Never Again (4X13)," "Leonard Betts (4X14)" and "Memento Mori (4X15)" in the sequence these episodes were _filmed_ and not the order they were aired. I interpret the timing of the first scene in Act 1 of "Memento Mori" to be consistent with the passing of one to a few days after the final scene in "Leonard Betts." Classification : V Summary : Post-Memento Mori short fiction, told completely from Mulder's point of view. Recent cases concerning Ed Jerse, Leonard Betts, and Penny Northern force Mulder to think about his outlook on his and Scully's lives. His thoughts jump occasionally between events particular to these three cases while memories of other cases also come up time to time. Caution: instances of coarse language occur below. --------------------------- CRITICAL MASS by Henry Lee --------------------------- How five years have changed me. I once needed nothing or no one. Except my search for Samantha and my need to know. All this time, Scully has been here with me - and for me. How much have they taken away from her? I gave her this life. I gave her possibilities and they've taken away everything. Reading her police statement regarding Jerse blinds me. I force myself to read further. Her words hurt like nothing else. In my blindness, I saw fit to hurl thinly veiled insults at my colleague, partner and friend. So oblivious in my world view that we stopped communicating to each other. Wise enough to lead, to intuit, to remember. Not wise enough to look, to breathe or care too deeply. I can be a "wise guy." All of it after years of practise. VCS with whispers of epithets, wispy to the ear and cutting just the same, all amounting to one big "Spooky." Yeah, messing with people's minds was a great deal of fun. Moments of unadulterated blank-faced Spooky mind-fuck were worth it. But the millstone weighed heavy many times. I never let anyone see. I understood it and accepted it. I embraced the pain as a part of me. After all this time, I have learned that I cannot live without it. Anyway, her words mean nothing to no one else but me. What the hell I was thinking about? Okay, sure; the pilgrammage to Graceland - Mulder's very own "Mecca" - my very own "search for Elvis'ness" seemed like the bright idea at the time. But hindsight really shoved me against the wall because I didn't know how to read the signs. Maybe I didn't want to. But now I know because she would not look at me. How COULD she? Was it a momentary lapse of reason? No, it's not that. She lives her own life. After all, what can I offer? More of nothing or nothing at all? There is a part of her that this Jerse knows about. And I don't. Now, *this* is what jealousy tastes like, bitter and ugly. How many times have I done this to her? Phoebe. Kristen. Angela White. God, Bambi Berenbaum. I look upon it all with foreboding, not knowing what comes next. But I can't help it; the thoughts and feelings toss about in my mind and my head aches with such morbid intent as I have not ever cared to experience. Think, man, think ... feel, feel ... Break the pen that writes its will; Carry the spirit which knows their thoughts. Take time to dispense, the flow of sand; In knowledge, then, the truth is spoken. Samantha. I hear your voice even now. I wish you were here. I really could use some sisterly advice. I'm staring into the abyss. Its haunting face seems comforting. Yet, I can't bear to look at it too long. My eyes reads her words once more; my mind fills with details. My imagination colours the images with terrible clarity. I do not want to see. Please, I do not want to see. When is betrayal not betrayal? In the end, I felt betrayed but I knew it was wrong. What she had done and why she had done it - it'd been my fault. But I force myself to read every word in her description, brutally honest; the case report so obvious with Jerse's spirit by its omission. What is she not saying? Sadly, I don't think I'll ever know. But I hear the workings because I might wish for more. If the lifeforce that was hers could beat with mine. Perhaps they always will remain distinct. I had always thought that time would have the effect of mingling our hearts and minds, our thoughts intertwined, lying freely and flowing unheeded from a source which sprung from our trust. But it may be that I've pretended far too long. When I enter the office and she's there, I steal seconds. I steal photons and eye them hungrily, memorizing the sight of her in a breath. Isn't this what addiction is all about? I can't help myself. I am so hungry for a look or a glance. God forbid she should look up at me, finding the wolf eyeing its prey. I don't want to be so naked. I can see her at her computer. The blue screen reflecting from her glasses. Those glasses which make her look a proper school ma'am. I remember a teacher, a pretty brunette with blue eyes and glasses, someone with whom I once had an awful crush. Rare memories which are so pleasant warm and tender from years past. But it's her glasses. Scully wears them well. I've heard people say they make her look the part of the "Ice Queen." No, it shapes her and defines her. The way she bites her lower lip as those blue (cerulean blue!) eyes shimmer over in deep thought, staring at the blue screen. The blue screen, melting onto her placid face. Melting and folding into one, into her blue eyes. Crystal shine, eyes wide; crisp, cool and clear. I know her eyes. They hold the key. I know her well because I hold dear the one key. But those eyes hold secret treasures, horrors, hopes, wants, loves and fears - locked in different places. I close my eyes and imagine her now at the keyboard. Chewing her lower lip. brows furrowed and lips pursed. I imagine her trying to find the right way to express her thoughts but not her feelings. Her feelings are kept well locked, away from prying eyes. But away from mine? Doesn't she trust me? Okay, she does to the extent that she'll follow where I take her. Even then, I know I push her to extreme limits, far beyond any rhyme or reason past my zeal for the Mulder holy grail. Take Leonard Betts, for instance. I saw it in her face. I heard it in her voice. Then I knew with certainty that his attack on her was simply not an act of self-preservation. Dear God, Scully. I did not want to believe. It sent ice through my veins and it was all I could do to hang onto the passenger door. What I really wanted to do was crouch down to my feet, get on my knees, god dammit, and touch her. Crush her to me. I could feel my cheek twitch in nervous energy. But I couldn't. I didn't know if I had permission. I don't know if I've ever had it. I did not want to believe. Tearing my own feelings aside and keeping them stored inside, growing, gnawing, festering like some cancer, would probably have made Betts a proud and hungry man. Keeping this distance from her might have been enough to widen the emotional gap but I would not push her. I've found more locks she does not want opened. And yet, her eyes keep boring, drilling holes and finding their way into me, where I don't want her to be. It doesn't seem right somehow. Still, there's no one else to whom I'd give the privilege. Am I so completely inaccessible emotionally because I have my own years of baggage? Or does she think she's saving me from more pain by not sharing hers with me? Is *this* how she sees me? This hurts more. It's been five years. But it's only been a lifetime. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- ``For the first time, I feel time like a heartbeat, the seconds pumping in my breast like a reckoning. The numinous mysteries that once seemed so distant and unreal, threatening clarity in the presence of a truth entertained not in youth, but only in its passage. I feel these words as if their meaning were weight being lifted from me, knowing that you will read them and share my burden as I have come to trust no other. That you should know my heart, look into it, finding there the memory and experience that belong to you - that are you - is a comfort to me now, as I feel the tethers loose and the prospects darken for the continuance of a journey that began not so long ago and which began again with the faith shaken and strengthened by your convictions. If not for which I might never have been so strong now as I cross to face you and look at you incomplete, hoping that you will forgive me for not making the rest of the journey with you.'' ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Don't you know by now? You're the strong one, Scully. You've always been the strong one. When she told me those three simple words, I remember the blank horror which I now let her see. I did not want to believe. Three words all the same, but not the three words I wanted, needed to hear. Life truly can be one helluva bitch. It'd been a lesson learned every day for the last twenty-three years. Worse so since those teachings told me of acts so unspeakably cruel, what people would do to achieve ideological goals. I had begun to fit all the pieces together, the plan for colonization. I really believed it. But the knowledge meant nothing if I knew nothing about Samantha and if Scully had to die. I'd begun to ask if the price was truly worth the sacrifice. Especially now in the knowledge that I would sacrifice the one person who meant more than life itself. Now, I was the skeptic and Scully was the believer. Fuck, life was cruel. Our meeting with Skinner had been simple and clear. She stood proud and confident, asserting to him the need to pursue this case through the Justice Department. All I could do was nod in deference to her. I stole a glance at her, presenting as we did, our united front, as representatives of the X-Files Division, to our superior. We stood together. I looked once again over to her as the news of Betsy Hagopian's death was finally made known to us. She was stunned, I could see, though she kept her reaction from me as she usually did. Later, I recalled saying to myself - Scully, why, even now, are you keeping this from me? When we found Crawford and I held him firm to the ground, I saw blood from her nose. This was the first real visible sign of her cancer. I could hear Scully's voice, my words taunting me. Up to this point, it'd just been words and I could fool myself and not believe. I couldn't help but stare at her blood. I was devastated because I was confronted by real honest-to-god truth and I couldn't escape it. To escape the truth. What the hell kind of bitter irony is that? Finally, she rebuked me and I had to look away. It had been agony when I had to tell her she was just one of two who remained. Penny Northern was now in advanced stages and hope was running out for her quickly. One year. Just one more year. Was that all the time Scully had left? There were too many questions and answers weren't forthcoming. What ifs, ands, buts and whys. One of the hardest things I'd ever have to do was to remind her that women were dying of cancer and all of them had recounted stories of their abductions. I had to remind Agent Scully that our investigation was still being pursued through the Justice Department. Setting apart our personal interests, we had obligations as Federal Agents to pursue and learn the truth. This was just like any other X-Files case. I didn't have to remind myself what kind of stupid irony that was. I'd been so wrapped in Hagopian's files that I'd almost forgotten about Scully. Her phone call left my heart in shreds. She was telling me that she was going to stay at the hospital in Allentown. For the first time in recollection, I think it was the first time she had ever sanctioned my ditching her. I had never bothered to think it was the other way around. Even if the X-File this time was about her once more. <... a record second-time appearance in the X-Files ...> Jesus. I had been such a prick. We both kept our counsel in hearing the timbre beginning to unravel in our voices, which in our conversation I'm sure we each thought no further than to reach out and touch each other more by hands than by words. But how we failed to hide our trembling tones and modulations! Once I reassured her of my coming, I could almost sense a smile at the other end, perhaps a newfound sense of peace at finally being able to attack the invaders directly. I railed against injustice and plead silently - "... please, don't give up, don't leave me, I need you ... " See, I still had the streak of selfishness when I learned my best friend has been told she's about to die. I hit the cabinet drawer in frustration and left Hagopian's. I knew then that she would have to go her own way in pursuing radiation therapy. I could not simply stand by and watch and wait. Scully wouldn't hear of it either. There were too many avenues of exploration left to traverse. My call to Mrs. Scully was not pleasant. But maybe it was a half blessing by any chance of less disguise. We'd been rock solid for each other through that other time. But the fact that I found out before Mrs. Scully thrust us into some distance marking a rift, a first for us in recent memory. I hoped it would be small and temporary. Maybe Scully knew her mother might have taken to the news a little better if she had heard it from me first; I don't know. In any case, I could never lie to Mrs. Scully. The silence and subsequent stilted words were unbearable. She told me she was going to drive to Allentown. I told her to call me if she needed anything. I prayed I had the power to grant any desire. Years have taught me hope is a dangerous thing. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- ``In med school, I learned that cancer arrives in the body unannounced, a dark stranger who takes up residence, turning its new home against itself. This is the evil of cancer, that it starts as an invader but soon becomes one with the invaded; forcing you to destroy it but only at the risk of destroying yourself. It is science's demon possession; my treatments, science's attempt at exorcism. Mulder, I hope that in these terms you might know it and know me and accept a stranger so many recognize but cannot ever completely cast out. And if the darkness should have swallowed me as you read this, you must never think there was the possibility of some secret intervention, something you might have done. And though we've travelled far together, this last distance must necessarily be travelled alone.'' ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- This is precisely why it drives me so now. I understand the effects. Intellectually, I know what the treatment will do to her. I know as well that she would not want me there. She does not want me to see her physically weak but to keep the image of Mulder's partner : brave, courageous, strong, confident, loyal, able. The young fresh-faced agent who strode into the office that first day had left an imprint on my long-standing memory. She needed to be alone. No, she needed to be with Penny; they needed each other. I knew somehow Penny had faced the very same things that Scully experienced. Scully would chew my ass in a royal way if I'd come within ten feet of her. I'd have loved every minute of it. There was one more path that needed exploring. Although Skinner refused me, I could see plainly that he was concerned for my partner as well. But he didn't want me kept on Cancerman's horrible leash. I was frustrated - time was short - I wanted to try anything - I would've sold my soul to Cancerman. A cooler head prevailed in the end and while there were three trusted friends with whom I made a secondary inquiry, I kept the alternative alive in my head. But today, the long winding path led me to the Lombard Research Facility. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- ``I have not written to you in the last 24 hours because the treatment has weakened my spirit as well as my body. Mulder, it's difficult to describe to you the fear of facing an enemy which I can neither conquer nor escape. Penny Northern has taken a downturn. I now look at her with a respect that can only come from one who is about to walk the same dark path. Seeing her, I can't help but see myself in a month or a year. I pray that I have her courage to face this journey. Mulder, I feel you close though I know you are now pursuing your own path. For that, I am grateful - more than I can ever express. I need to know you're out there if I am ever to see through this.'' ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- When she was so close to leaving me, I could only hang on by tendrils of hope. I'd been hoping for twenty-three years - what were three months? Weeks? Days? Hours? I simply could not accept the possibility while she was still breathing, although strength sustained by belief seemed small consolation. I believed then because it was all I had left. When I walked The Blessing Way, the dreams and visions which came to me were unexpected as they were of an enlightenment. But the most important thing I felt was Scully with me as my journey had crossed between planes of the here and now. I had to come back to her. Even with the trials and pain to come, I held a vision that was only of her. There were so many truths uncovered. So many, that in the past, they would have taken my breath and cast it in ashes; embers for one truth and one lie in the lesson I learned so painfully with paper hearts. And now, as I need the strength to understand, I think only of her once more and what these truths can mean to her safety, for her long term health. Discovering the lie that was Scanlon, the clone laboratory, that the women and Scully were supplying genetic material. Oh God. Their sons were looking for a cure to the extraordinary radiation doses the women, their *mothers*, took to ovulate, which had subsequently led to the lives of these clones. But the people holding the strings were beginning to come around: obfuscation, misinformation and liquidation - results undeniable. What kind of fucked up circle jerk was this? In the end, I had to admire the clones' filial devotion. Niggling and wriggling, however, at the back of my mind was Samantha. Where in the picture did she fit into all of this? There I was once again, coming close to the precipice, facing death, lying cowered, low to the floor, avoiding bullets and shattered glass. Facing one more thing - that I might never see her again, to die like this. As I ran, I shuddered at the possibility of never being able to tell her. I kept running. When I entered her room to find it empty, for a moment, I was thrown back once again to that other time. The loneliness and the terrible emptiness. The feelings had been mercifully brief. When I read her words, I felt so unworthy of her regard. Why should I remain alive in the face of all those who have perished in my pursuit of the truth? Why should Scully be next? I stood, feeling at that moment, small and unspeakably old. Seeing her at last by Penny Northern's bedside, Scully looked drawn, tired and very troubled. But her eyes spoke to me in sweet clarity. It was such a beautiful sight to behold. It was all I could do to nod. Scully didn't know I'd been waiting for her. When she walked out of Penny's room, I already knew but I asked about Penny anyway, just so I would have her talking to me. We whispered to each other words of affirmation, promises and loyalty. Holding her to me felt life-giving, as necessary as breathing. More than ever, I wanted to believe the truth would save us both. She would be strong, gathering from within raw strength with a purity to leave me in awe. Even more than what I thought possible, she was coming back. A surge of affection from places better hidden than seen, I kissed her. We needed nothing except what our eyes and our controlled passion would fail to conceal. These were the words I said to her at Home. Those words were never more true as I held her essence, all that was hers, in a test tube, warm in the palm of my hand. All thoughts of justice, truth and Samantha were chased away. The singular primordial urge was overwhelming. I wanted to give her half that was me. Equal to my need was not knowing whether she could ever have children. All of the horror and the ugliness with what more I could not chance to offer; I wanted to give her everything and more. But I could not even give her own life back. After Jerse, her identity had been lost amidst all of the pain; what had once been my work was ours. If then as now I ever could utter the true lie, I finally said it. She *is* my life. That she could desire something more, apart from The X-Files, I guess, was unthinkable to me. Apart from me. I'd been so selfish; still am, really. All I wanted to do was offer more. I could give none, offer no more answers than questions I could pose. When did it stop being about Samantha? I didn't know. Time is fleeting, it was true. Scully knew as well as I. She knew better. She had to now. Just one year. I managed to shake myself out of my stupor and walked down the hall. She hadn't heard me walk into her room. I found her sitting on the bed, quiet and still, reading her journal. Her brow was furrowed, her lower lip curled in consternation and set that was particularly hers which I loved so much. Finally, she looked up and, like always, our eyes found each other, locked and missing nothing. I walked over and held out my hand for her journal. Did she trust me now in truest sense of her own words she'd written only days or hours ago? I saw the momentary hesitation. Understandable. But she trusted me. I stepped up to her, close enough to breathe the scent that was uniquely hers, even through all of the hospital antiseptic scents. I took the book from her and held it against my chest. I closed my eyes, as if receiving from her a secret sacrament. When I opened my eyes, I could see by her warm smile that her trust and her faith in me was justified. How simply by my standing next to her fortified her to a degree that nothing ever could; I could tell. So could she. I left, knowing I'd see AGENT Scully again in a few days. I am now alone, spirits darkened only by the passing of the sun, swallowed by night. I sit in my own apartment, reading her journal while I let go of my tears. She wrote few entries but the words spoke volumes to me. They were words about which I cared most. I have read her journal so many times that my mind holds her words, honest frankness as precious as jewels dear to her heart. I know those words as I know her; the depth of our feelings and unspoken promises cannot be matched by any words we might say to each other. But I cannot and will never accept the stranger that has invaded Scully. Events however have been set into motion. In one year or less, if nothing can be solved, the signs will appear. I will see my friend suffer horribly and waste away as the other women have. She is not dead and, yet, I feel the magnitude of loss as a deep, wide chasm. I struggle between faith and truth; strength leaves me cold, lying in wait for a seeming inevitable conclusion. I need a miracle. I need the strength and will to move forward. There is one more thing. There will come a time when words truly have been exhausted and we will have to act. Tiptoeing through the minefield that for years have been laid around our hearts. I will have to tell her. At the very least, how I feel about her and what she means to me, about everything. Before time runs out and annihilation is complete. I know then my life will mean nothing. But if you can hear me, Yahweh; if you're out there ... Please let me be what she needs me to be. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ White shine linen, colour out tonight, How shall I make, one slip to breathe? What will it take to make you see? If I could weep, I would make you mine. If I might smile, I would say it all. Trust to chance while death speaks free. L.L.F. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------