Title: Deliver Me
Author: Louise Marin
Email: l_marin@geocities.com
Rating: R
Category: SA
Keywords: M/S UST; Mulder Angst
Spoilers: Elegy; Demons
Disclaimer: Dana Scully and Fox Mulder belong to CC, 1013, and 
Fox.  Uhmmm...don'tsueme.
Archive: Sure.  Just please let me know where it is. 
Feedback: Yes, please.

Summary: Mulder finds a tiny little light in the dark, dark place 
between 'Elegy' and 'Demons.'


Deliver Me - by Louise Marin


The afternoon was surly and ashen like Mulder's head and heart, 
and he was going to a bar.  Never mind that fogging his mind with 
liquor was not his usual path away from a depressive or stress-
induced funk.  Never mind that it was Monday and he would go in to 
work the next morning feeling like his head was up his ass.  And 
never mind that he knew he should have simply grabbed his gym bag 
and his basketball and headed for the court the instant he felt 
that first tiny bead of self-loathing slide in between his ribs.  

Forget all that.  He was beyond any healthy solution now, having 
spent too many minutes sitting across from Scully in the office, 
waiting for her to say something, to notice him, to acknowledge 
his fucking concern.  But there was nothing, as usual, but his own 
ache over the fact that she would not turn to him, for anything, 
and the silent, vexing question: What the hell was so wrong with 
him that she felt he could not be trusted with the truth?
  
Without an answer and feeling pathetically needy but not needed 
himself, he had left the office wordlessly and on foot with a 
mission to find a bar, a courteous bartender, and a stool to sit 
on.  He was going to forget for just a few hours the glare, and 
the eyebrow, and the upturned chin of his proper, pretty, potent 
partner who could take care of herself.

They had not been assigned a new case since completing their 
latest the day before, and as he strode the streets of D.C., 
dodging bustling afternoon traffic and harried pedestrians, 
Mulder's assiduous mind kept returning to the New Horizon 
Psychiatric Center.  He wondered briefly how difficult it would be 
to get himself committed to a place like New Horizon, and then he 
let the thought go because he figured he would know soon enough, 
sometime in the coming months, when it was over.  When she was 
over.  

He had known despair before, had held his gun to his head more 
times than he cared to remember, but in the end he had never let 
the hopelessness buy him.  Now, though, he could feel himself 
getting closer than ever, emptying inside, and he told himself 
that if despair was a sin, then he was soon to become the biggest 
sinner of all.  That was, of course, assuming God existed in the 
first place, and most of the time Mulder assumed He did not.  

He and Scully had solved the New Horizon case itself, but it had 
done little for Mulder personally but confirm that Scully was 
about to die and that he was not allowed to comfort her.  Now he 
could not stop wondering, if she refused so adamantly to simply 
confide in him and to let him hold her just a little before she 
was gone, how he would ever, ever convince her to let him try to 
save her.

Balling his fists in his pockets, he stopped at a corner and 
scanned the immediate area.  He had been looking for a quiet, 
upscale place, but it was just not happening and something dumpy 
but close by was starting to sound just fine.  As if by 
providence, he spotted a likely target a moment later, across the 
street and down past a block and a half of store fronts and 
offices.  He could just make out the name, "Casey's," but not much 
more.  Dingy, swanky...whatever.  The stoplight turned for him, and 
he crossed the street.  

He successfully passed a drug store and an antique book shop 
before he was halted in front of the local Pet Mart by a crowd of 
parents and children who were perusing cages full of homeless 
animals.  As Mulder tried to squeeze by without trampling any kids 
or pets, he was stopped and captured by a sound that refused to 
let him pass untouched, despair or no.  It was a cry so soft and 
sweet, coming once and then a second time more insistently.  It 
reminded him of someone so absolutely important; it reminded him 
of her during the very rarest of times, when she felt lost and 
unsure.  Needy.  How could she not need him now?

Turning, he saw that it was a cat -- no, a kitten, small but not a 
tiny baby -- calling up to him from the arms of a happy, chubby, 
little blond boy.  Mulder was floored by the fact that such an 
angelic cry could come from a creature known for annoying 
screeching, for brash, desperate demanding of food and warmth.  
And he stood there, frozen and gaping as if he had just been 
plucked from reality.

"D'ya wanna hold him, Mister?" the kid lisped, grinning and 
holding the dangling animal up to him.

Mulder bit his lip, and shook his head, and tried earnestly to 
refuse.  The kid was dirty with snot and chocolate ice cream, and 
the cat, well, Mulder never liked cats much anyway, and all he 
wanted was a damned drink, or ten, but how the hell could he say 
no to that innocent smile and that soft, beguiling mew?  

"Um, I guess so," he stammered, and the kid gently launched the 
cat up into his arms.

The animal weighed next to nothing, light like it was not there at 
all.  With its hind feet on Mulder's arm and its front paws on his 
chest, it stretched its pointy little face up to his and dissected 
him with startling yellow eyes, bright like the moon on Halloween.  
Mulder looked back neutrally, not quite sure what was going on.  
The cat, however, seemed to see something it liked because it 
started to purr, and purr, and purr, and Mulder took a sudden and 
rare moment of pleasure in the thought that maybe he had done some 
little thing to make the cat happy.  

After another moment of mutual study, the cat butted its head 
against Mulder's chin and then slid down into his arms, snuggling 
its humming little body tightly to Mulder's chest, against his 
heart.  Carefully, Mulder ran his fingers down the cat's soft 
back.  It was bony but silky, and oh so alive, and when the cat 
rubbed its purring cheek sweetly against Mulder's collar bone, he 
felt as if he had been kicked in the knees.

He was lucky enough to find an empty metal folding chair next to 
the adoption table where people were filling out forms so they 
could take their new pets home, and he slumped down into it, still 
cradling the cat.  It repositioned itself on its back like a baby 
in a cradle, its paws crossed and in the air, its head nestled in 
the crook of Mulder's elbow, and he found himself lost in its 
touch, its warmth, its breathing, and the unexplainable liking it 
had taken to him.  Never mind the smell.  Never mind the shedding.  
Mulder was depraved, and he was falling, and when he looked up to 
take a breath and try to find himself amidst the intoxication of 
this sweet animal, he found a man in his face.  And it was not 
just any man, but a smiling man, so pleasantly happy that Mulder 
thought he just had to be gay.  Straight men were never that 
happy, especially not ones with fiery, red-haired, female partners 
who needed them for nothing.

"That kitty was taken from her mother too early.  She was hand-fed 
and she's just such a love," the man grinned at Mulder, brushing 
some fur off the blindingly white Humane Society T-shirt he wore.  
"Hey, you look like a Fed.  Cats make good pets for Feds, and that 
baby sure seems to like you.  What do you say?"

Smiling men, smiling boys.  Why the hell was everyone so fucking 
happy?  

"Um, n...no.  No, thank you," Mulder said, his lips feeling like 
rubber and his voice sounding very far away indeed.  No, no cats.  
No pets, period.  Even his aquarium had proven time and again to 
be too much responsibility.  But then the cat, the one that had 
started this all, the one cuddling into Mulder's belly, made that 
sound again, the save-me mew, the I-need-you cry.  God damn it.

"Well, why don't you think on it a bit, okay?" the man ordered in 
his oh-so-non-threatening way, patting Mulder on the shoulder.  
No, no thinking.  Mulder shook his head sharply, but the man had 
already moved off to talk to a couple of teenage girls about their 
infatuation with the chocolate-haired mutt in the cage in the 
corner.  

Wildly, Mulder looked around for someone to hand the cat off to, 
but no one, not even the little blond boy, was willing to pluck 
the happy kitten from the haven of his arms.  No thinking, he told 
himself again.  No Cats.  But then, despite himself, he looked 
down at his new friend.  It was an elegantly striped silver and 
black tabby with a fog of copper splayed across its nose and down 
its cheeks, and she or he, whichever, was awfully pretty.  With 
shaking fingers, Mulder scratched the kitten's belly, and it 
wiggled and turned toward him, stretching its limbs as if it was 
trying to wrap its little arms around his chest.  Cupping the 
little thing's head in his big palm, he ran his hand down the 
cat's back, over and over, and the purring purring purring rumbled 
through Mulder's body.  

The cat certainly seemed content with his attention, but very 
slowly it was making its way up his chest, stretching beneath his 
hand until its front end reached his shoulder.  Mulder continued 
to stroke its back rhythmically, almost lulling even himself, 
until the cat placed its paws on his shoulder, set its chin down 
between them, and the purring softened and faded away.  It was 
asleep.  This orphaned baby cat, the one he had met only five 
minutes ago, trusted him enough to go to sleep in his arms, on his 
shoulder, and before he even knew what was happening, Mulder 
started to cry.  

The tears were silent and calm, but also fat, and they flooded his 
eyes and made the world look like a fishbowl with Mulder trapped 
inside.  No one could hear him in there.  No one could know him.  
But he was not alone there, not with the cat.  Just a few minutes, 
he told himself.  Just a few minutes with something that needed 
him, and he would be fine.  He would be fine.  Like her.  As he 
continued to stroke the cat with a shaky hand, a sound halfway 
between a sob and a whimper slipped from his throat.  Just a few 
minutes...

"Hey, you okay, Mister?"  It was the kid again, who had been 
watching Mulder closely since he had handed the cat to him.  But 
the kid was not smiling anymore.

Mulder blinked, and the blistering tears broke from their pools 
and slithered down his face.  Fine.  He needed to say he was fine, 
and he worked his mouth, but his excuses and affirmations got lost 
somewhere between his brain and the heat rising in his cheeks.

"Mister?" the kid asked again.  "Ronnie!  Ronnie, c'mere!"

And then the smiling man was in his face again, and Mulder stood 
up abruptly, pushing the chair back and swiping at his sodden 
cheeks.  Such a goddamned fool, he thought.  Who could need such a 
fool?  He glanced over his shoulder at the bar down the street and 
was about to make a quick escape when he realized he was still 
cradling the kitten against his chest.  

The cat was not bothered by his distress one bit, rubbing its 
sweet face against his neck and leaving Mulder to deal with his 
humiliation on his own, and as he stood there, legs shaking, he 
found himself at an impasse.   His fingers twitched for him to 
thrust the cat into the smiling man's arms, which would free him 
to run like hell, but he could feel the animal breathing 
contentedly against him and just then all he truly wanted was five 
more minutes of that, of the feeling of the little cat in his 
arms.  Another tear, this one cold and frustrated, slipped from 
the corner of his eye.

The smiling man reached out, and Mulder thought he would take the 
cat away from his crazy self. But, to Mulder's strange relief, the 
man simply scratched the animal's head affectionately.  "Sometimes 
they just hit us like that," he said understandingly. 

But the man's kind words did little to soothe Mulder.  His stomach 
was flipping, his face was on fire, and his brain was chanting 
flee, flee, flee, but he could hardly move, and in a minute the 
man was really going to take the cat.  It would be all over.  He 
looked down at the sweet kitten, wondering why it had felt the 
need to 'hit' him, of all people.  And soon it would be all over 
all over all over...

"You two seem to need each other," he heard the man try again.  
Mulder snapped his gaze up to the man's happy face, with its big 
smile and white teeth, and shiny blue eyes, shiny blue eyes...

Need each other.  Gotta go.  Need each other.  Another tear 
escaped, and Mulder finally found his voice.  "I want her," he 
mumbled.  And that was all it took.  

Seconds later and in a blur, his eyes were dry, he was signing 
papers, and the smiling man was asking him, "You haven't had a pet 
since you were a gawky little kid, have you?"

And Mulder was answering absently, "Fish."

And the man was rolling his eyes and saying, "Fish?  Hardly."

And then Casey's bar was behind him, and Mulder was on his way 
back to Headquarters with a cardboard box full of cat food, kitty 
litter, and little toy mice.  Asleep on his shoulder like a baby 
was a three month old female kitten that had been taken from its 
mother too soon.

Still feeling sick over his disgraceful breakdown, Mulder went 
straight to the parking lot, put the box in his car, put the cat 
in the box, and drove on home, too stunned by himself to wonder 
what the hell he had just done.  Feeling like a felon, he then 
spirited the box up into his apartment, shut the door, put the box 
down on the floor in the living room, and stood there gaping down 
at the kitten that sat there primly and stared up at him with 
wide, spotlight eyes.  

Mulder swallowed.  "Hi."

Mew.

"I rescued you."

Mew.

"What the hell am I doing with a cat?"

Mew.

Mew.

"Fine," he sighed.  He disposed of his jacket, which was covered 
in cat hair, and then scooped the kitten from the box.  "Come on.  
It's early; we can watch Jeopardy."

He took the cat to the couch, clicked on the TV, and answered two 
of Alex's questions correctly before he missed the third.  The cat 
was stretched diagonally across his chest like a furry seat belt, 
purring happily as he stroked its back, and Mulder was suddenly so 
very tired.  Final Jeopardy began as he started to doze, and the 
contestants were idiots, and the question was easy: Actress whose 
forty-fifth film was entitled 'Bringing Up Baby.'

"Who is Katharine Hepburn," Mulder mumbled, his eyes sliding shut.  
"Someone's named Katharine.  Katie.  I'll call you Katie."  And he 
cuddled the cat to him, not exactly sure who was doing the 
purring, and slipped into sleep.


Three days later, there was still no new case and things were 
normal at the office, as they had been all damned week.  Scully 
was her usual distant self, quietly typing reports all day, 
drinking pots more coffee than Mulder thought anyone with cancer 
ever should, and cracking weak jokes whenever she thought he had 
zoned out or fallen asleep.  Unbeknownst to her, though, Mulder 
was far from dozing.  He had slept quite well the last three 
nights, thank you very much.  

But the zoning, that was something else.  For the first time in a 
very long time, Mulder found his mind wandering now and then from 
the office.  He would imagine himself anywhere but where he was, 
sitting there across from Scully and trying hard not to wait and 
watch and worry that she would pass out or start bleeding and 
would refuse to let him do a thing to help her.  He was not 
sleepy, but he was worn out, and broken, and removed by her 
tapping fingers and the guarded glances she threw at him to make 
sure he was not getting too close, or too far.  And he knew that 
when he was not zoning he was hovering.  It was torture for him to 
sit there trying not to do either, and for the fourth day in a row 
he begged off early and with hardly a word to go home and hold 
Katie.

"Hey, little one," he greeted the cat, picking her up and 
depositing her on his shoulder.  She rode with him, purring in his 
ear as he did a few chores, and then he sat down with her and 
buried his face in her fur.  She mewed and he realized that every 
time she made that beautiful noise now, it sounded more and more 
to him like "Scully."

"Where is my head, huh?" he murmured into her fur.  "I tried 
today, Katie.  I really did.  I asked her so many times: 

"You wanna go for coffee, Scully?

"Not right now.

"How bout we grab some dogs down on the corner, Scully.  I'll pay 
for the mustard.

"No thank you, and the mustard's free, Mulder.

"Scully, I could really stand to stretch my legs.  How 'bout a 
walk around the mall?

"Mulder, I could really stand to finish this report today.  Oh, 
and some woman called for you while you were in the bathroom."

Sighing, Mulder sat the cat on his lap.  She looked up at him 
sweetly, and when he smoothed his hand down her back, she mewed 
again, "Scully."  And it broke his heart.

"It's not like I was asking to talk to her, or touch her," he told 
the cat quietly.  "God forbid, right?  I know she wants everything 
to stay normal, and I just wanted to do some of the normal things 
we do together, wanted us to operate like we always have, so she'd 
at least know she's not alone...and I can't believe I'm sitting here 
justifying myself to you."   

He slumped forward, leaning his elbow on his knee and his chin in 
his hand and huffing glumly, and the cat pawed at his arm.  "Hey, 
be nice," he ordered.  "I ditched Scully for you."  

Mew.

Rolling his eyes, Mulder chuckled sadly at himself and continued 
to pet his small friend.  "You should have seen her face when I 
bailed out early again, Katie.  I think she thinks I'm seeing 
someone.  As if I'd want someone else because she won't let me...
I don't know who the hell that woman was on the phone."

He shook his head.  The cat nuzzled and rubbed against his belly, 
and he scratched her between the ears.  "I wonder what she'd think 
of you," he mused, and then there was a sharp, familiar knock at 
the door and he supposed he was about to find out.

Gently, he set the cat down on the couch and of course it 
protested at his withdrawal.  "Shh.  Just stay here, please," he 
whispered and then scurried to the door.

It was, as he had guessed, Scully standing there in the hall with 
her arms crossed and a file folder clutched in her hand.  Her face 
was unreadable, but hints of distress peeked from the red corners 
of her eyes and the dark circles beneath them.  Fighting the urge 
to sweep her into his arms as he would do with Katie, Mulder 
spread himself casually across the doorway, placing one hand on 
the door and one on the jamb, and asked like the ass he knew he 
was, "What's up, Scully?  Change your mind about that hot dog?"

Her eyes narrowed at his remark, and he could tell that she had 
just about hit her limit with him for the day.  "You took off 
so...abruptly again today, Mulder, that you left behind the file we 
were discussing," she said evenly.  "I thought maybe you'd like to 
have it for consideration over the weekend.  We still haven't 
decided whether or not to take the case."  She stood there waiting 
for him to say something, and he stood there wishing she would 
just offer up the file and go away, or else let him fall to his 
knees and worship her there from his side of the doorway.  One or 
the other, Scully.  Please, one or the other.

"Thanks, Scully," he finally said, holding his hand out for the 
file.  Instead of giving it to him, she took advantage of his 
mistake and tried to lean around him to see into the apartment.  
Hastily, he put his hand back up on the door and then watched her 
face grow truly perplexed.

"What are you up to this afternoon, Mulder?" she asked 
skeptically, strongly, normally, but her face gave her away.  The 
lines around her eyes had deepened, and Mulder thought he saw 
tears start to form, and he knew he had to say something, but he 
wondered as always if he would manage to reassure her or if he 
would only fuel her distress.  And then he wondered which 
possibility he wanted to accomplish in the first place.

"Nothing, really.  It's just a mess in here, Scully," he said 
after a moment, congratulating himself on his quick thinking but 
then glancing back over his shoulder to find that Katie was no 
longer sitting on the couch.

"When isn't it... Mulder, what's this?" Scully asked as he whipped 
his head back around and caught Katie ambling up from behind his 
legs.  She sat down delicately in front of his feet and mewed up 
at Scully, who began to bend to retrieve her.  But Mulder was 
quicker, swooping down to collect his tiny charge and hold her 
against his chest. 

"Mulder?" Scully asked gently, but he could see her gaze flick to 
the inside of his apartment as if she was looking for something 
else, some other surprise.  "Is that your kitty?  Where did you 
get her?"  Tentatively, she reached up to pet Katie's soft little 
head, and the cat mewed and wiggled in his arms as if she wanted 
to go to Scully.  Mulder held her more tightly to him but said 
nothing, standing there blinking and perplexed by his sudden need 
to keep her out of Scully's arms.  

With a raised eyebrow, Scully used his weak moment to slip past 
him into the apartment and wander over to the couch.  He watched 
her appraise the place as if she was looking for the answer to a 
mystery she was not sure she wanted to solve, scrutinizing his 
coffee table, his couch, his book case, and his desk with squinty 
eyes and a wave of red hair shadowing her face.  Her cheeks were 
rosy like those of a slighted lover; she was jealous.  He wondered 
if she knew it.

With resignation, Mulder kicked the door shut behind him and 
snuggled Katie up around his neck and chin, wishing there was more 
of her to hide behind.  "See?  She thinks I'm seeing someone," he 
murmured into the kitten's fur.

"What was that, Mulder?" Scully asked as she finally seemed to 
finish her search, dropping the file folder she had brought on his 
coffee table but failing to look terribly satisfied.

"Um, the Humane Society.  I got her from the Humane Society," 
Mulder mumbled, answering her earlier question.  But then he 
considered her uncharacteristic display of jealousy and convinced 
himself that she was the weak one and that he had an opening.  He 
approached her diplomatically.  "It's a nice day, Scully.  Would 
you be interested in accompanying us on a walk around the 
neighborhood?"

He watched her breathing cease for just a moment before she spoke, 
kindly but firmly, "No, thank you, Mulder.  I just wanted to bring 
you the file and, well, I wanted to make sure you're okay.  You've 
been acting somewhat strangely this week, Mulder, even for you.  
And, really, what's with the cat?"

Mulder saw nothing but honesty and devotion in her eyes as she 
spoke, but he hated her words all the same.  "You were worried 
about me."  He said it like an accusation, and he could see it in 
her face as she took offense.  But he was offended beyond reason 
himself.  How dare she worry about him?  How could she hover, and 
mother, and be jealous, and still leave him out in the cold?  A 
dark heavy anger pulled on his heart, and Scully mirrored that 
anger right back at him.

"Fine," she said solidly.  "Fine.  I'll see you on Monday."  

He watched her pointedly tap the file she had left on the table, 
and then she strode past him toward the door just as Katie began 
to rub her little shoulders and face against his chest.  Scully 
opened the door but then stopped and spun around to face him.  She 
watched him cuddle the cat and the cat cuddle him, and something 
changed in her eyes which Mulder could not identify.  Then without 
a word, she blinked her stupor away and moved slowly and somewhat 
uncertainly out the door.

With a sigh, Mulder returned to the couch and pissed the rest of 
the night away watching television and eating pizza.  When he grew 
tired, he climbed into his bed and fell asleep with Katie curled 
up on his back as usual.  In the morning, he woke up sneezing.


(End Part 1 of 2)

Deliver Me - by Louise Marin - 2 of 2 - l_marin@geocities.com



By Monday, his nose and eyes were running, his tongue felt thick 
and clumsy, and he knew it was the beginning of the end, though he 
refused adamantly to surrender.  Scully expressed concern of 
course, and by Tuesday she was twisting the knife by telling him 
what he refused to admit.

"Mulder," she began softly, as if she was truly sorry for what she 
had to say, "you're allergic to that cat."

"I'm not," he insisted, trying to wipe the gook from his runny 
eyes.

"You are.  You can't go on like this."

"Come on, Scully, I wasn't allergic all last week.  It's just a 
cold or something," he lisped around his tellingly fat tongue.

"It's not uncommon for a person to require multiple or prolonged 
exposure to a specific allergen before an allergy will initially 
show symptoms.  Mulder, I've been your doctor for years.  I don't 
want to hurt you, but you are allergic to that cat, and it's not 
going to get better."

Mulder's breath caught in his throat as he watched Scully pick up 
her pen and continue work on the form she was filling out.  He 
thought he saw a tiny bit of red peek out from beneath her nose, 
but it was just his mind and the dim office lighting and the 
shadow of the bookcase next to her little desk.  It's not going to 
get any better, the doctor said...

"I'll keep that in mind, Dr. Scully," he said and then picked up 
his paperwork and went home, early again.


Wednesday his symptoms were not only not better, but they were 
much worse, and since there was still no new case, he did not go 
in to work at all.  Scully showed up around what he thought was 
noon to find him flat on his couch with Katie curled up and asleep 
on his stomach.  

"Mulder," she sighed as she crossed to him.   With her palm, she 
wiped the sweat from his forehead, leaving trails of what he was 
sure was fire, and not the good, passionate kind.  Then she was 
gone for a moment, and then she was back, and his head was 
spinning as he let her trade him some pills and a glass of water 
for Katie.

"What are these?" he murmured as he swung his legs to the floor 
and tried pitifully to sit up.

"Antihistamine," Scully announced, and then she turned her 
attention to Katie, who seemed to enjoy her embrace just as much 
as his.  The cat rubbed herself against Scully's chest a few times 
and then settled happily into the crevasse between her breasts, 
and Mulder found himself grinding his teeth petulantly, hating to 
see the truth that Katie was not his alone. 

"I thought it was just me," he grumbled before he downed the 
antihistamine. 

"Thought what was just you?"

"Nothing.  Look, Scully, I know I can't go on like this."

"Then why are you?"

"I don't know," he said as he watched Scully stroke Katie's soft 
back, sure that if she did not understand his need now with the 
baby cat in her arms, she never would.

"What were you planning to do with her when we have to travel?"

"Leave her with the Gunmen?  I don't know."  He waved his hand in 
dismissal, plunked his empty glass down on the coffee table, and 
tried unsuccessfully not to wonder how many more far away cases 
they would have time left for, anyway.

"Right," Scully said, and Mulder could tell she was about to say 
more, but Katie shut her up with a sweet little mew right in her 
face.  And then something remarkable and truly unexpected 
happened.  Scully murmured a word of comfort to the little animal 
and then dipped her chin and placed a tiny kiss on Katie's 
forehead, and Mulder thought he saw the chance to fill a need in 
his partner after all.

"Um, what if I give her...  She likes you.  Will you take her, 
Scully?" he asked.

And Scully looked as if she had been stricken.  She sank slowly 
down to the coffee table in front of him, clutching the cat 
tightly to her, her back poker-straight and perfectly still, and 
Mulder wanted to crawl into a hole and end it all.  When would he 
learn?  When would he think?  "Scully," he whispered.

"No," she said and then took a deep breath.  "She's wonderful, 
Mulder, but I can't.  You know I can't.  She's just a baby."

"I know, but..."  He shut his mouth when he felt her hand on his 
knee.

"I went to the doctor today, before I came here.  Don't get 
nervous, Mulder, it was a routine check.  But I did run into a 
little girl there who I've known for quite some time, and this 
little girl, Mulder, she's going to get better.  I think maybe 
she'd like to have a friend like this," Scully said gently and 
then nodded at the cat in her arms.

Sighing, Mulder slumped back against the couch and reminded 
himself that he had never meant to lose his best friend.  He would 
never have taken Katie knowing he was going to have to let her go.  
He would never have taken Scully...   Never.  Snagging a Kleenex 
from the coffee table, he wondered if Scully could tell that the 
humiliating tears in his eyes were more than just an allergy.  

"Okay," he whispered, closing his eyes to the sight of the two 
females before him, against him, whatever.  "Okay."

"All right, Mulder.  I'll see if I can bring Julie and her mom 
over tomorrow.  Do you want me to take the kitten for tonight?"

"Her name's Katie," he mumbled.  "And what's one more night?"

For a vast moment there was nothing from Scully, no movement, no 
sound, not even the gentle swish of her breathing, and Mulder kept 
his eyes closed, refusing to even wonder what thoughts his words 
had provoked.  When the moment had ended, he felt her tuck Katie 
into his arms, and then she was gone.


Mulder held onto Katie until Scully arrived at his apartment 
around noon again the next day.  He was miserable physically and 
emotionally, and he felt no resentment at all when Scully dropped 
two more antihistamine tablets into his hand the moment she walked 
through the door.  "I thought you might prefer to do this 
outside," she said, and he nodded and followed her out to the 
sidewalk where a woman and a small girl got out of a car.

The girl was introduced to him as Julie Matthews', and when she 
appeared to think it was safe she approached and smiled up at him.  
She seemed sweet, and shy, and in love with the kitten in his arms 
already.  She was also completely bald, and Mulder could not keep 
the desolation from his heart, even though Scully had promised the 
girl would be okay.

The transaction was as quick as it had been when he had first 
acquired the kitten, but this time it was so much more painful.  
Mulder cuddled Katie to him one last time and then slipped her 
into the girl's arms.  He did not tell Julie the name he had given 
his pet; that he kept for himself, and for Scully.  

"Will her hair come back?" he whispered to Scully as Julie and 
Katie got acquainted on the little lawn in front of his building.  

"Yes, it will.  Long and dark."

"Pigtails?"

"Sometimes."

"Good."

It turned out that the Matthews' had been planning on a pet for 
some time, and of course Katie had charmed them immediately.  When 
goodbyes and thank yous had been said, Scully gave the box of cat 
food and toys to Julie's mother and then walked them back to their 
car, leaving Mulder standing pathetically alone in front of his 
apartment building, which he thought was rather appropriate, all 
things considered.

Before mother and daughter could climb into their car and drive 
away, he saw Scully lean down to speak to Julie, who then handed 
the cat to her mom and ran back to Mulder.  The smiling little 
girl held her arms up to him and thanked him and called him Mr. 
Mulder, and Mulder dropped to his knees to accept her embrace.  He 
tried not to cry, glancing over the girl's shoulder at Scully, 
whose eyes were strong and watching, but unreadable.  

When Julie slipped gently from his arms and Scully spun away to 
help her into the car, Mulder turned abruptly to drift back up to 
his apartment, where he dropped face first onto his couch and 
buried his head beneath the throw pillow.  He lay there longing 
for the female he had lost and for the one he was soon to lose and 
trying hard not to let his sorrow overcome him.

Minutes later he heard his door open and then the sound of 
Scully's heels on his hardwood floor.  He felt her press her palm 
to his back, and when she spoke her voice was warm and soothing. 
"Mulder.  Sit up, please."

"I don't want any more medicine, Scully," he said, his voice 
garbled by the couch and the pillow.

"Yes, you do.  Come on."  She tugged on his T-shirt, and with a 
grunt he pulled himself upright to find her standing in front of 
him, close and beautiful.  With a graceful sweep of her arm she 
brushed his hair from his forehead and then removed her finely 
pressed Ann Taylor jacket and draped it over the arm of the couch.

"Scully?  What are you doing?"

"I wanted to say thank you, for Katie and for Julie," she stated 
as she nudged his legs apart with her knee and then stepped 
between them.

"Um, did you have something in mind?"  Against his will, his knee 
began to bounce, and muscles, some of which he had all but 
forgotten about, were twitching all over his body.

Scully rolled her eyes.  "Hold still, Mulder.  I'm not coming on 
to you."

"You're not?"

"No.  I'm giving you something you need.  I just didn't see before 
that you were needing it."

"Oh," he mumbled, stricken and confused.  It was all he could get 
out before she lowered herself onto his lap, snuggled into his 
chest, and wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulders.  He 
realized she was giving him the most precious gift; she was 
holding him.  With his heart in his throat, he very tentatively 
curled his arms around her and spread his big hands one above the 
other over her back.  "Scully."  He began to shake with the urge 
to crush her to him.

"It's okay, Mulder," she said, tightening her grip on him, 
encouraging him to tighten his on her, which he did, gratefully.  

To him, she felt warm and alive in his arms, her soft breasts and 
her beating heart pressed against him.  Her face was close, her 
breath puffing softly over his mouth, and he was hit hard by the 
sudden realization that she was not only holding him with her body 
but also with her eyes.  She was so open and in the moment that he 
thought he could feel her essence mixing with his, filling him.  
He could feel her as his anchor, and his world finally stood 
still.  

She was so close.  Were their relationship different, were she 
just a little bit different, he would have kissed her and then 
carried her into the bedroom to show her exactly how much she 
meant to him.  But he knew that what she was giving him was all 
that she had, and instead of dwelling on the physical, he let his 
thoughts trail briefly to God.  In Scully he was finding proof of 
the existence of the soul;  his beliefs were being shaken.  It was 
the best feeling in the world.

He was perfectly content to let her look at him, into him, which 
she did for a very long time.  When she seemed satisfied that he 
was not going to take her embrace for more than what it was, she 
leaned in, pressed her lips to his cheek, and whispered against his
skin, "I don't want to be so far away from you, Mulder.  But..."

"That's who you are," he said, nodding his understanding, his 
cheek brushing over her mouth.

"Yes."

After a moment, he felt pressure on the back of his head, and he 
dropped his forehead to her shoulder and turned his face into her 
neck.  Then, there within the small shelter she was providing, he 
let himself admit for the first time that, as much as he grieved 
for her loss and as desperately as he had wanted to keep her at 
all costs to himself, Katie had not been what he needed.  It was 
Scully; it had always been Scully.  He needed her, as much as he 
needed her to need him.  He was sure she could feel him 
shuddering, and he wondered if she knew how grateful he was to her 
and for her.  He meant to shower her with thanks for giving him 
this moment, but before he could stop himself, he murmured into 
her neck, "I'm scared."

"Shh.  I know.  It's okay.  It's going to be okay."

Mulder pulled gently back to scan her face, wondering how she 
could possibly say such a thing.  There was sincerity in her eyes 
and a strong conviction in her mouth that told him she believed 
her words.  She was as scared as he, but she believed that 
everything would be just fine, and Mulder suddenly saw her 
positive outlook and the rare intimacy they were sharing as an 
opening that he simply had to take.  "Let me look for you," he 
appealed.  "They gave you this disease.  They can take it away."

When she shook her head, his heart sank, but not enough to keep 
him from trying again.  "Scully, please.  Come with me, then.  We 
can look together, while there's still time."

She stopped him with a finger to his lips.  "Mulder, no.  I want 
to live my life, the one I have.  I don't want to waste it 
searching for something we're never going to find," she said, and 
he figured she might as well have slapped him, regardless of the 
glossy tears he could see forming in her own eyes.

"You don't think we'll ever find the truth."

"Not this one."

"Scully."  He dropped his head onto her shoulder again, and they 
sat there clutching each other, letting time progress, their faces 
buried in each other's necks, until Mulder felt a wetness on his 
skin.

"Scully, are you crying?  Please don't cry."

She pulled back to look at him, and then he saw it, and he felt 
another little piece of himself die a lonely death.  

"I'm okay, Mulder," she said.  "I'm not crying...  Oh."  The blood 
had slipped down from her nostril and spread between her lips as 
she spoke, but she remained calm as always, pinching the bridge of 
her nose, saying softly, "Excuse me," and disappearing from 
Mulder's lap into the bathroom.

Mulder touched his fingers to his neck and then stared down at the 
beads of blood that clung to their tips.  Flicking his tongue over 
his middle finger, he tasted it, her.  She was like hot metal and 
life and death undeniable.  Anger flooded him, pushing out the 
sorrow, and he bit his lip and balled up his fist, smearing the 
blood into his palm.  He looked around for an outlet, for 
something he could slam his fury into, but found nothing, and he 
began to go numb.  For a moment she had saved him, properly and 
better than anyone or anything else ever could, and maybe he had 
saved her too, just a little bit.  But that moment was gone.

When Scully returned minutes later her face was closed to him 
again.  He was not surprised.  She carried a washcloth, and she 
approached him, tilted his head to the side, and used the cloth to 
clean his neck like the angel of mercy she insisted on being so 
long as it did not compromise her personal space.  After returning 
the washcloth to the bathroom, she took her leave, quietly and 
normally slipping out the front door and leaving Mulder alone 
again.  There was no Katie to replace her, and the fact that 
Scully was going to die went unchanged.  He thought that he could 
carry on until the end now with the gift she had given him, with 
the comfort she had offered and the essence of herself she had 
revealed, but he cursed the God in which he had been persuaded to 
momentarily believe.

And then with a grunt, Mulder threw himself back into his life.  
He spent the next several hours blowing his nose and eradicating 
the cat hair from his apartment in every desperate way he could 
find, and then the phone rang. It was a Dr. Charles Goldstein, whom 
Mulder remembered contacting weeks before regarding a new type of 
regression hypnotherapy -- not that it had done him much good in 
the past.  Still, though, he wanted to believe, and he figured 
time to find the truth, his truth, was running out like the blood 
that seeped almost daily now from his partner's nose.  He arranged 
to meet Goldstein the next day, Friday.  The week was ending, and 
he could feel everything around him coming to a close, and neither 
he nor Scully would ever be saved completely.  There were but 
momentary harbors on his journey and tiny, flickering lights in 
the darkness.


Fin


End Notes:  Nope, it was not a character death story, and it was 
not a /other story.  What can I say?  I was starting to miss real 
Mulder.  If you're following my long WIP, you know what I'm 
talking about.  Anyway, I always wondered where in the world 
Mulder's 'baby cats' line came from.  And then I met this cat, The 
Cat, and well...there you have it.  Oddly, I WAS trying to do 
something fluffy.  I wanted to take a break from the serious, but 
I quickly discovered fluffy is hardly possible in connection to 
'Elegy,' especially considering it was 'Demons' that aired right 
after it, so you got angst instead.  Feedback?  "Yes! Yes! Yes!" 
Scully said to Mulder.  In my dreams.

Check out my other fic here: www.angelfire.com/la/xspot/myfic.html

Special Thanks: to Jen, without whom I never would have written 
this, Robbie, Shannon, Brandon, Lena, Brynna, Trixie, George the 
Cat, and ytwolf.  

Disclaimer 2: This fic was all Jen's fault.  Don't blame me.

Thanks for reading!

Louise Marin - l_marin@geocities.com - www.angelfire.com/la/xspot