Title: Greater Author: RocketMan >lebontrager@iname.com< Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No infringement is intended. SPOILER:: post-Orison--yes I'm caving in-- =-=-=-= Greater =-=-=-= For a while now that black Bible has been at the end of my bed, the new cover worn by my fingers' pilgrimage, the pages anointed with the oil of my hands. After my recovery from the cancer, my mother brought me the small gift, handing it to me with a shine of regret and hope in her eyes that I dared not put out by rejecting the offer. Somewhere along my travels my old Confirmation Bible had been lost, whether moving from colelge to med school, or from the journeys with Mulder, I don't remember. But I am grateful for my mother's gift, grateful for the words that soothe me at night, for the love I crave but never find within the world. It is all in these pages: the softness of compassion, the overwhelming touch of mercy, the breadth of love, the joy in peace. These things settle my heart back into its faith and gird up my foundations for another day of monsters and killers and conspiracies. Just as this Bible has strengthened others, so it also strengthens me. With hope. Now, as I lay silent and still against Mulder's pillows, listening for the sounds of him on the couch, I do not dare pick it up. I am afraid of the message of hope, I am fearful of that age-old condemnation. Blessed are the peacemakers, blessed are the meak, blessed are those who suffer for my name. I did not suffer, I was not meak, I did not make peace--I made war. I am slipping back into my old routines, back into the fragility of my faith, sliding down into the deep despair of no hope, no salvation. What am I but a killer, a murderer, no better than Donnie? I am afraid to open my Bible and see the words that speak of love and condemn man's judgment. I am afraid to pick up that well-worn cool book and know for certain that I am not in God, and He is not in me. And never was. I pulled the trigger. But who was in me, who worked through me in that instant where I was away from myself and away from love and simply letting it all go? Was the Spirit of God moving through me to judge, or was I allowing Satan free reign of my heart, my soul, my body, in that instant? Mulder wanted to know if maybe it was God, and I want to know if maybe it wasn't. Strange that Mulder should have such faith, while I, the woman with the cross, do not have that faith. I also realize that Mulder has faith in *me* rather than faith in God, and Mulder has faith in truth, but only his own truth. What can I do? I just can't *not* read my Bible again, and I can't *not* believe. I believe in God, and as I told Mulder, I believe He speaks to me in the circumstances, in the small things, and I have always been afraid that I am not listening, and not only me, but no one else was as well. Now I am afraid God is speaking all too clearly and he is telling me, this is wrong, you were wrong, you are a child of Satan. I am afraid that when I open that Bible it will be the story of Jesus and Peter and my finger will fall to Jesus' reply: "Get behind me, Satan." And that will be the end of me. That will be the end of my hope. Oh God, don't let the Devil be working in me, don't let me be an instrument of darkness. So many times I see the black of evil, I see the stain of sin and corruption and greed, and I have pledged my life to fighting it, pledged my heart and soul to stand beside Mulder in our great battle for truth. So how could I have pulled that trigger, and how could I let Mulder lie to save me? I read in a novel once that truth is a great two-edged sword--it liberates some and decapitates others. I feel like my head in on the butcher's block. I am waiting for the blow. I hear the sounds of the night around me, the breaths of the apartment and the soft sighs of the earth as it turns. I imagine I can even feel the birds snuggling deeper into the warmth of nests and lovers, and I pretend that I can see the night around me as a friendly presence, ready to receive my troubled heart. I reach for the Bible, slowly and without certainty, my hand trembling and my head, my head waiting for that decapitation. What will be the discovery, what will God say to me when I open this book of His? Will I know that killing Donnie Pfaster was the right thing, will I find relief in the wanquishing of evil, or will my heart sicken to find that I did not do the thing I ought to have done? The pages fall before me and it opens naturally to a place, my fingers skim even as I do not look, even as I do not want to look. I open my eyes and take in a breath, then look to the page. 2 Corinthians, my eyes find. 2 Corinthians 7:10. I read my judgment aloud, needing to hear myself pronounce the words. "For godly grief produces a repentance that leads to salvation and brings no regret, but worldly grief produces death. For see what earnestness this godly grief has produced in you, what eagerness to clear yourselves, what indignation, what alarm, what longing, what zeal, what punishment! At every point you have proved yourselves guiltless in the matter." My breath catches in my throat and I feel the sobs of relief cascading down my face like liquid diamonds, heavy but priceless. I brush them away and bury my head into the pillow, clutching the black Bible and telling myself that it's ridiculous to believe that a random opening of the Word can really apply to me so directly. . .but I cannot let go of the relief. All day God has been speaking to me, nudging me along, and I was confused and unwilling to pay attention, more ready to dismiss and to listen to Mulder, to the US Marshalls, to the logic of it all. But God has revealed Himself to me again, right here when I needed Him most, letting his grace fall over me again. I pulled the trigger, but maybe I was acting out God's greater plan, and certainly, I am forgiven. Just to make sure, I think, just to make sure, I'll do it again. I'll open it up and make sure. Slamming the Bible shut, I take a deep breath, almost as afraid as I was the seconds ago when I took the Bible from Mulder's bedside dresser. My breath is fast and quick and I skim the pages with my fingers, then end up in 1 John. I read it and read it again, the one little verse that I am hinging my faith, my love, my career on. Its words ring truth into my heart and I push myself out of bed, grabbing the Bible tightly. Mulder is awake when I walk into his living room and he sits up immediately when he sees my seriousness. He lets me sit beside him and I hold my finger in my place and close the book. Mulder is watching me carefully. "You remember what I said, about not knowing if my reasons were pure?" I ask him. He nods. "You thought maybe it wasn't God. . ." I nod back at him, but I can feel my hands shaking and I run them over the black cover of my Bible, seeking comfort. "I wanted to let you know. . ." But somehow, I can't finish what I was going to say because now he's watching me intently, as if I might cry, as if I might spout some wild theory that not even Mulder can believe. And then I remember that this is Mulder, the man who thinks God is nothing more than a spectator looking up the scores in a newspaper. To Mulder, God is not even his avid fan, more likely a curious passer-by. This makes me sad. What good will sharing this do? It will only make him uncomfortable and me frustrated at his refusal to believe in the one thing that keeps me by his side. "Scully?" "I. . .I need to read this to you. . .but you don't have to say anything, okay? I just want you to know. . ." He nods softly and gives me a slight twist of his lips that is meant as an encouraging smile. I look to the Bible and open it, then slowly and carefully read the verse I found. "Little children, you are from God, and have conquered them; for the one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world." I look up to him, the delight in my eyes more than I can supress, wanting so very badly for him to understand, to accept it as the truth. Please, Mulder, hear this and know. . . "Scully. . .maybe you've doubted yourself, but I never have." I feel the tears start in my eyes but I push them down without much effort. "Do you. . .do you think this is true? That I heard that song, or that I saw an angel when those girls died, or that Kevin Kryder--" He presses his fingers to my lips and shakes his head. "There are things I cannot expplain, and things I blind myself to. Faith in God is something I don't understand, Scully. But I know this is true. I know that, for you, this is true. And that's what matters." I duck my head, wondering if I can accept that from him and knowing that I will, that his assurance will sustain me just as much as the words in this Bible I hold. "Thank you," I say and look up to kiss his cheek. He moves a bit and snags my lips with his, grinning even as he sneaks in the kiss. "No, thank you," he whispers. I stand and move away from his couch, smiling softly at him and clutching the book to my chest. I walk back to his bedroom, feeling amused that he does not walk back there with me even thoughthe look in his eyes tells me he wants to. The sheets are cool and comforting and I smile into my pillow, holding the Bible to me for comfort. My strength is again in me, my hope is full. Evil has not triumphed today. =-=-=-= end adios RM