***DISCLAIMER***: All "X-Files" elements and references
in this story belong to Fox Broadcasting, Chris Carter,
and 1013 Productions, and I am making no money from it.

ARCHIVING: Link only, please!

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Battles Won
by shannono
shannono@iname.com

Vignette, Mulder POV, Mulder/Scully UST, post-"Amor Fati"

Summary: To the victor goes the spoils.

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Battles Won
by shannono


I don't remember our flight from the building where she found me.
I remember feeling a drop of water fall on my face, and the feel
of her trembling lips caressing my jaw. I remember waking up to 
her soft entreaty: "Help me," she begged, and how could I ever
refuse her, when she has always helped me?

I told her as I reached for her, and it's a blur after that.
She's told me only smatterings of our escape, all worded 
carefully to make it sound like I was more help than I suspect 
I actually was. She did it all: covering me with two discarded 
hospital gowns, one thoughtfully turned backward to cover the 
gap; half-carrying me down a flight of stairs and to her car; 
breaking every speed limit and a host of traffic laws to get me 
to medical attention faster.

I woke up two days later in a hospital bed -- a *different*
hospital, needless to say -- and the first thing I saw when my 
eyes opened was her shining hair. Her hand was wrapped around 
mine, gently so as not to aggravate my sprained fingers, and 
she breathed evenly and regularly, fast asleep.

I must have moved or sighed or something, because suddenly she
was awake, her hands swarming over me, checking everything in
her clinical, efficient way. But her eyes and her voice told
a different story, failing entirely to hide her fear and relief
and concern.

They let me go home the next day, with strict orders to rest,
and for once, I didn't argue. I couldn't, really; how could I,
when I had a gaping hole in my skull?

No exaggeration there. The surgery was apparently quite precise,
but there was still no denying the half-inch wide section of
bone that had been removed and then replaced. I felt like a
carved pumpkin, top open and inside hollow, without the great
gaping grin to complete the picture.

Scully assured me that the damage would heal quickly, that no
matter how barbaric the procedure, it was done cleanly. They
didn't even shave any of my hair, amazingly enough.

And so I've been home alone for most of the past three days now.
Scully was here almost all the time for the first two days and
nights, but I finally told her that her bed was much more 
comfortable than my sofa, and that she'd do neither of us any 
good if she drove herself to exhaustion. She argued more for 
show than anything else, I think, but she went home that night
and then to the office for a while the next day. 

She told me when she came by with dinner that night that 
Skinner called her in only briefly, to have her sign paperwork
for a combination of vacation time and administrative leave to 
cover the days she'd missed from work. She hadn't heard a word
from anyone else.

Of course, her absence has left me with nothing to do all day 
but contemplate my fate.

I have been sleeping a lot, of course. Spending a few weeks
crazed out of your mind and/or highly sedated will do that to
a person. Scully says it'll be another few days, most likely,
before all the drugs are worked out of my system, and I'm
forbidden to return to work for at least another week and a
half. Meanwhile, I've been fighting some stomach cramps and
nausea as my body goes through mild withdrawal. So I haven't
really felt like doing much but sleeping and thinking.

Thankfully, the sleeping part has been easy. If I dream, I 
don't remember it. The thinking part has been harder, but at
least it's enlightening.

I've been thinking mainly about that "alternate reality" I
visited during my sedation, trying to decide where it all
came from. I could have dreamed it up myself, I suppose.
But it just didn't *feel* like a dream. It felt real.

I'm not a religious man. I never have been. But I do believe
in the human soul, and I've decided that vision was a battle
for mine. Scully said it best; I was being tempted by the 
Devil himself.

I should have been clued in from the very beginning. I could
hear Spender talking, but then he could hear me, too. And
that simply wasn't possible, if that was really him. Oh, and
the levitation thing should have been a dead giveaway, too.
He lifted his hand and I felt myself being lifted off the bed,
settling on its edge as gently as a feather. Either he's 
learned a few illusionist tricks, or it wasn't real. My vote
is for the latter.

I've considered this long and hard. I've thought back to a 
couple of previous "visions" I've had, of sorts. Of a Gestapo
guard killing my husband in a previous life. Of another taking
over a ship in the Caribbean. And now, of a man offering me "a
choice" to have what appeared to be a normal life.

Spender is evil, there's no doubt of that. But he's not the
Devil, not quite. It's my mind that's projected him into that
role. And so when evil took me by the hand and led me down 
another path, I saw his face.

He gave me everything I'd ever wanted, and some things I'd
barely let myself consider. My sister. An old friend. A
woman, a wife. Children.

And in the end, it was empty. Something was missing, some
crucial element that I couldn't quite grasp.

My mind told me first. My sandcastle vision, my secret place 
to go in my mind to find peace, fell apart around me. I saw 
what I was supposed to see, but it meant nothing. The victory
was as hollow as I felt inside.

And then I saw her. 

Standing tall and proud and beautiful as ever, she came to me 
with words of harsh truth. I'd abandoned her, running off to
hide in my perfect world, and for the first time since I'd
known her, she was completely unforgiving.

I'd betrayed her. She would not let me go quietly.

She has always been the stronger one.

No sooner had I realized I had to go back than the vision 
crumbled around me, falling into so much dust. I heard a 
howling cry echo through my mind, mixed with a vision of 
flame and hate, and I knew I had won. No, I knew *we* had 
won, for without Scully, I would have lost.

She had saved me again, and this time, I believe she may
quite literally have saved my soul.

It's taken me days to come to that realization, and I know
she would be unlikely to believe it if I told her what I know 
to be true. She believes in devils and angels, in the power 
of God, but from me? After the way I've scorned her beliefs
in the past?

She may love me, but she'd never buy *that* story coming
from me.

No matter. Even if she never knows, the fact remains that
she rescued me again, and again I owe her my life. I once
sat down and tallied up the number of times she'd pulled
me back from one danger or another, internal or external,
versus the times I'd done something similar for her. It 
wasn't even close. I could rescue her every day for a year 
and not catch up with her.

After this, I owe her the rest of my life. This battle was
won because of her, and to the victor goes the spoils. 

Her prize is me. It may not be much, but it's all I have
to give. So I've promised myself that she'll get every 
minute I can give; every minute she can take.

Now all that's left is to promise her.

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