Title: Message Author: RocketMan >lebontrager@iname.com< Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No fringe is intended. SPOILER::: Premier of Season 7 ====== Message ====== She can't stand his stare, the cold deadness of the soul and the bulge of his sleep-deprived eyes. She wants to lean over and close his eyes, but that would be too close to shutting his eyes for good, too similar to putting him to rest. "I'm not giving up on you, Mulder. You have to hold on for me." Once again, no response, no flicker of life through those eyes, that stare. She is starting to cry now, letting the tears drip slowly from her cheeks. Biting her lip, Scully looks away, towards the doors, blinking rapidly to clear her vision. A face is peering in at the windows, a cold hard glare of eyes and long thin nose. Scully's eyes narrow and Fowley backs away, disappearing into shadows and remoteness, leaving Scully to wonder if she'd even seen her. As soon as the woman is gone, Mulder's fingers squirm in her own. Scully glances down, hope flaring fast in her heart, and sees Mulder's eyes concentrating on her. Actually focused and unwavering, lips slack and face pale white, but still alive in spirit, still with her. "Mulder?" His throat works, his neck strains, but nothing comes from his lips, not even groans. She knows intellectually that the medication he's been given keeps him from any real muscle control, but it makes her hurt to see him this way, inert and powerless. "Mulder, I'm here now. I'm not leaving. They're going to throw me out, but I'll get back in here, I promise." He blinks and his head rolls and his fingers move in her palm, tracing patterns with his nail. She feels the rough movement of his jagged nail like a body deprived of touch for too long. His head wobbles in a shake, and she reaches up to stroke his cheek, to touch his forehead and dirty lanks of hair, to caress some part of him that is still, somehow, hers. A scratch at her leg makes her glance to his fingers, moving with purpose it seems, moving around on her thigh in designed, specific patterns. "Can you write?" she asks, hope filling her throat to choking, tears the same. Mulder's eyes roll and she bites her lip and takes the chance, unsure whether she is simply wishing on clouds and stars, or really sensing something from him. Maybe he had been wary of Fowley's presence and wanted to make sure they were truly alone. Some hopes are not for you. . . She hears the man's voice in her head, but with the slight variation that makes her want to cry with fear. How can she help him, how can she possibly make him well from this? His hand suddenly tightens on her knee, bringing her eyes down to meet his, to see such a spark of conscious, a flame of Mulder, that she has to smile and lean forward to kiss his forehead. He knew, somehow, that she needed reassurance. His fingers scrabble across her thigh again and she nods and reaches for the pen in her pocket, placing it in his fingers. She searches for paper, for a napkin, something for him to write on, but she feels the pen tip on her hand and glances down. He is writing awkwardly on her palm, bold blue letters. She has always had a preference for blue ink even though most official forms require black. She carries it around because she likes to be ready. "L," she whispers, overjoyed. He writes the next letter, then the next, and she watches his eyes concentrating on conveying his message, the intensity of emotion and need on his face. She wants so badly to yank the pen from his fingers and have his lips move and tell her everything that has happened, everything she never thought she'd want to hear. Aliens, power, and the government. She glances down at a tap on her leg. Love U. She blinks and tears swell into her vision like a mighty river, raging and raging with the floods of fear and love and sorrow. Unconsciously, her tongue licks her lips and she hears herself again saying, he's not dying. But it's in her head and her lips say instead, "I love you too, Mulder. You're going to hold on, you're going to be okay. I'm going to cure you just like you cured me. Got it partner?" His fingers link through hers and she leans across his feeble, thin body to kiss his lips, lightly and swiftly, gently and sorrowfully. She is crying and her tears wet his dry, cracked cheek, her grip on his hand is crushing his two broken little fingers. His good hand comes unsteadily to her cheek, collapses on his chest, inert again. She looks up and his eyes are dead again, far away, lifeless. She doesn't know if he will make it. She doesn't know anymore. She prays, after everything that she has seen, she needs to believe in God even more. She prays that his message will come from his lips next time. ====== end adios RM