Title: The Vatic Room Author: RocketMan >lebontrager@iname.com< Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No fringe is intended. SPOILER:: Orison. a sort of pre-ep. references to Goldberg Variation, which comes directly before Orison. ===== The Vatic Room ===== vatic--(adj) prophetic === She turned once, feeling it just on the edges of her mind. A sense of familiarity, a sense of permanence... She couldn't quite catch it. The room spun around her, the bed trembled in her vision, the sense was just there, just there, just beyond the reach of her fingertips and if she strained hard enough, if she just spun faster, she would know. There was a fleeting image of a bathtub, blood, a cracked mirror, a gunshot, a song.. She collapsed onto the floor feeling dizzy and ridiculous. There was nothing in her room. She was acting like a dog chasing its tail, spinning crazy like that. There was nothing there. She was feeling things that didn't exist, letting Mulder's beliefs do more than strengthen her. Scully stood up and pushed the hair from her eyes, brushing it back into place with her fingers. She straightened her suit jacket and shoved her feet back into her high-heeled shoes. Her toes properly pinched, her hair properly flat, her body properly hidden in the suit, she picked up her briefcase and headed for the door. Behind her, even then, she could feel it. Feel it. === She went on a case. With Mulder, it was easier to deny the tendency to wonder about those images, those things that had flashed before her eyes in the seconds before she had fallen to the floor of her bedroom. With Mulder, she was naturally closed-minded, or at least, forcibly unimpressed with his ideas. She had no problem refuting Mulder's claim about luck, about the permanence of good luck and the curse of bad luck. She didn't believe in luck. She believed that God arranged things for the benefit of his children's faith. She thought she believed that. She wasn't sure. It was difficult to reconcile a child's horrible disease with a God that bestowed good things on men who were cruel and destructive. She enjoyed the happy ending to that case, and was relieved that the boy would be okay. It was the kind of thing that strengthened her belief in God, not in luck. When she got home, she carefully unpacked her clothes. As she pulled open a drawer on her dresser, a flash of pain clamped down on her back. It felt like a hand, grabbing her by the scruff of her neck, and throwing her into the wall. The mirror was cracking, her mind was darkening in pain-- Scully gasped and opened her eyes. Her clothes had fallen to the floor and she was shaking. She blinked and gathered them up again, then gingerly set them in the drawer, closing it as quickly as possible. She reached for her suitbag and pulled open the closet door. Dark. It was dark and her wrists were burning and blood was trickling into her eyes and making them sting-- She struggled to work free of the waking nightmare and ran out of her room, panting. === When she opened the door, Mulder was standing there with a smile, a box of pizza perched on one hip and his grey t-shirt already stained with the grease. He was whistling "American Pie" and tapping his finger on his thigh. "Hey, you okay?" he said, as soon as she let him inside. He was looking at her with concern. "Yeah. I'm fine." She tried to smile at him, but he shook his head. "If you want, we can skip it--" "No. No I want you to stay. I'm just a little tired, Mulder." He nodded and led the way to her kitchen, getting plates and leaving the pizza on top of the stove. She pulled down two glasses and filled them with Coke, smiling when he leaned over to stick his finger in the fizz. "That's yours," she said, and handed the glass to him. He handed her a plate piled with cheese pizza in return. They trooped back into the living room and settled on her couch, the entertainment doors open to let them watch television. Mulder made a comment about having her tv closed up, as if she were trying to hide something, and then shut up to watch Jon Stewart on Comedy Central. Scully watched Mulder with something bordering on regret, but closer to sorrow. She felt that there would be something. . .something to make him think less of her, and it would be something she could not control. Enough of that feeling had remained after her frightening vision in the closet to imprint upon her sense now, and she didn't like it. "Scully, it's freezing in here--" She blinked and realized that he was staring at her. "You have a blanket somewhere?" he said and rubbed his arms. She nodded. "In the closet in my bedroom." Mulder stood and was halfway down the hallway before he turned, chagrinned. "You don't mind?" he said and gestured to her bedroom. She smiled. "Go ahead." She wondered if he would feel it as well, the presence, the images, the blood, the pain. Was it all her imagination, or something truly inhabiting her bedroom? She couldn't be afraid of her own home forever. "Hey Scully?" She looked up to see Mulder's confused look. Had he felt it as well? "Your clock was flashing red. . .did your power go out?" She shook her head. "It was fine when I was in there earlier." He shrugged. "I set the time again. It looked like it had been out for about six hours. But it was really messed up." She frowned. "Call me tomorrow to make sure I'm up, just in case. Okay?" He nodded and sat down next to her, pulling the blanket around them, and leaning back into the couch. The television was blaring a car commercial that wasn't half as funny as it was supposed to be and Mulder seemed distracted. "Scully...did you not unpack when you got home?" he asked suddenly. She turned and frowned at him. "What?" "All your clothes were still on the bed and wrinkled in the suitcase--" "Oh. I was too tired to try," she lied and turned away from him. "That's not like you. Are you sure you're okay?" he asked. His voice was soft and hesitant; he didn't seem to know what he could say or do without threatening the tenuous connection they had established on New Year's. "Yeah. I don't know. . .I guess I need some sleep. I keep having flashbacks..." "Flashbacks? From when?" She shrugged. "I--I don't know. I think it's just a mixture of everything...but it kind of scared me." She knew he was astonished at her confession, but his eyes were tender and he slid his arm around her and hugged her to him. She was relieved when he didn't try to say anything, and let her eyes close, inhaling the scent of a washed and worn grey t-shirt. "Want me to stay here tonight?" he said softly, after ten minutes of silence. She sighed. Did she want him to stay? Was it a good idea at this point? "Just think about it," he said and kissed her temple, letting her off the hook. She shook her head. "I don't need to think about it. I'd like you to stay." He smiled, and she had the impression that she would need him desperately soon enough. Need him to save her life. At that moment, she was just as certain that the things she'd seen in her room were not flashbacks--they were visions. God was giving her signs for the future. Prophecies of blood and cracked mirrors and a gunshot. It was time to stop pretending; if anything, Mulder's kiss on New Year's had told her that. She would let him know she needed him, she would listen to God's warnings. Mulder was watching her and she brushed her fingers across his cheek, then along his lips. "Thank you." === end adios RM