***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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What I Heard 
by shannono 
shannono@iname.com 


Vignette, Mulder/Scully UST

Rated PG

Spoilers for "Biogenesis"

Summary: What did Mulder hear?

Author's notes: Hard to write something following *that*, now,
isn't it? Anything tied much into the plot will take some time
to develop. So let's try some little vignettes first ...

Thanks: To Brandon and Robbie, for the beta read.

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What I Heard
by shannono


The first wave hit like a landslide, a meaningless babble of
sounds and words, jumbled and confusing. It was as if each
neat dividing wall within my brain had crumbled in the same
instant, sending my every thought careening out of control.

I could see Scully, see her lips moving, her intense gaze,
but I couldn't hear a word she was saying. I later realized
I *was* hearing *something* from her, but it wasn't her
words.

It was her thoughts.

They were mixed into the maelstrom buffeting my mind, so I
couldn't make sense of them, not then. I didn't even realize
what it was at first. It took a couple more ... *attacks* ...
for me to figure out what was happening, and maybe learn to
deal with it a little.

By the third bout, in the office talking to Chuck, I had a
bit of a grasp on it. I knew what was happening then, for
one reason and one reason only -- because of what I heard
from Scully. Her thoughts were as clear as a bell.

I've never tried to profile Scully. I wouldn't do it unless I
were forced into it by circumstance; it would be an invasion.
But then, I rarely have trouble understanding her motivations.
I know what drives her, and that brief glimpse directly into
her mind only served to reinforce that.

She was worried about me, first and foremost. She didn't want
to believe that I was losing my mind; she wanted this strange
cognitive sense to be real, even though she's skeptical of such
things. She wanted to know what was causing it, so she could
stop it. Stop my pain.

Because she loves me.

Yeah, I know. This should be some grand revelation and send
me into either tears or anger, depending on my personality
du jour. But it's no big surprise to me. That's just the way
Scully is. She wouldn't spend six years working side-by-side
with anyone without developing some level of caring, and our
partnership has been much more intense than most. Love is
about the only thing that could have kept us both going this
long.

I didn't delve any further than that. I got out of the room,
away from that rubbing, as fast as I could. The sense faded,
but the remnants hung around for a few minutes, as I told
Scully what I believed was happening. I couldn't read her
thoughts any more then, but I didn't need to. Her face said
it all.

I'm not crazy, Scully. I've told her that before, and it's
as true now as it was then. For whatever that's worth.

But this ... this is, to tell the truth, frightening. When
I realized what was happening, my first thought was of
Gibson Praise. He didn't have a problem with his ability,
but then, he'd apparently had it from birth. It was as much
a part of him as his sense of smell.

I, on the other hand, am a grown man. Gaining a sense at
this point is as much a shock as losing one. My mind simply
couldn't handle it. Can't handle it.

I realized, as I lay in the stairwell at the university, that
the heightened sensitivity I was experiencing there must have
been coming as a result of proximity to the actual artifact.
My previous episodes had been sparked by a rubbing; it made
sense that the item itself would precipitate an even stronger
reaction.

I didn't recognize the person who came to retrieve me. I
remembered seeing someone step past me, over me, but I didn't
know how much time had passed when I felt hands lifting me,
draping my arm over broad shoulders, half-carrying me from
the building and out into the light.

By the time my mind and vision cleared enough for me to see
who it was, we were pulling up in front of my apartment. And
I was still too weak to resist as she helped me from the car
and up the stairs.

I wanted to throw her out. I wanted to demand to know how
she found me. I wanted her to leave me alone.

But my mind and body wouldn't cooperate.

It took every ounce of energy I had to talk to Scully, to
tell her what I needed her to know. I couldn't do what needed
to be done, so I had to get her to take care of it. She's the
only one I could trust to do it. Even when she doesn't believe
what I believe, she's willing to do what I ask to find the
answers.

When the call ended, I rolled over to try to rest a little
longer. My head was still killing me, despite the three Advil
I'd swallowed, and I could keep my eyes open only for a few
minutes at a time.

I could hear a single voice murmuring somewhere in the
distance. Then it stopped, and I floated on the silence,
somewhere in that hazy realm just before sleep.

Until the needle pierced my upper arm.

I shot up in the bed, grabbing out for the hand, and got one
good, clear look at Diana's face before the thoughts slammed
back into me.

I screamed.

I'm still screaming.

If it had started like this, I would have completely lost
my mind by now. Fortunately, though, in my efforts to analyze
what was happening to me, I managed at some point to rebuild
one little wall in my mind. It blocks out the pain and the
cacophony, leaving me this tiny bit of sanity to fall back
on. I used it as a respite, at first.

Now, I am trying to use it to get help.

I see it this way. If those thoughts can get into my head,
then maybe I can send one out along the same pathway. I only
need one good shot, one undeniable message to one single
person, wherever she might be.

I need to get a message to Scully.

At this point, it may be my only hope.

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Feedback will sustain me through the long, dark summer ...
shannono@iname.com