Date: Sat, 31 May 1997
From: Pellinor Pellinor@astolat.demon.co.uk

Subject: The Rich Fisher by Pellinor

Please don't forward to atxc
___

"The Rich Fisher" by Pellinor (Pellinor@astolat.demon.co.uk)

CLASSIFICATION: SA

RATING: PG

SUMMARY: Mulder has been shot, and Scully wants to know why; but,
sometimes, getting what you most want can be the worst thing of
all.
___

DISCLAIMER: These characters are the property of Chris Carter, 1013
and Fox, and are used without permission but without profit

FEEDBACK: Yes please

LITTLE NOTES: Please approach this as you would a one-parter. It IS
a one-parter, though unfortunately turned out to be 32k so needed to
be divided.

This is set in a near-future - maybe around the end of the fifth
season. Certain fourth season problems have been resolved, while
certain other.... problems have arisen.

**********

It was different this time.

Distant human murmurs from the corridors. The gentle sound of the
monitors. The echoing sterility of the under-furnished room. The
sense that time was somehow suspended here even as the machines
beeped out the passing seconds....

And Mulder....

Oh, the old, painful trappings - they were all there, surrounding
her with their familiarity, embracing her as she took her usual
place and waited.

Nothing new. But yet....

It wasn't even that his condition was all that serious this time.
He'd been shot, of course, and lost a lot of blood, but had
arrived at the hospital in time. It had been touch and go for a
little while, long enough for her to feel once again the panic of
losing him, but it was now agreed he was out of danger. He'd be
in pain for a while - that was only to be expected - and would
have to take things easy for a few weeks, but still there was no
reason to believe that he wouldn't make a full recovery.

No reason.

Scully stood up quickly, the chair scraping harshly on the floor,
suddenly desperate to be doing something - anything - even if it
was only to pace up and down his room, her heels high and loud in
the hollow silence.

"God!" she muttered, pausing at the window and leaning her head
on the glass, feeling the cold reach into her mind, feeling the
tears start in her eyes. "What can I say?"

It _was_ different this time. She could feel it in the
atmosphere, in his face, in the shadow of the past few days....
in the thing she'd learnt that had thrown doubts on everything
she'd thought she'd known about him.

If she was right, that is. _If_....

"Oh God!" she mouthed, silently this time, wiping a hand across
her eyes and feeling it come away damp. "If I'm right, please
help him. Please...."

Then a sound from the bed cut into her hurried prayer, and she
turned round, heart beating fast with mingled hope and dread,
watching as Mulder's eyes slowly opened and his head turned a
fraction, oh so slowly, towards the chair where she'd been
sitting, looking.

"Mulder, I'm here." Her voice came out as a little croak, hoarse
with the tears that she now blinked back, determined to keep her
voice neutral.

Mulder's head sank back deep into the pillow and he closed his
eyes, a small groan escaping his lips.

Silence.

She could hear his breathing, loud and slow, as if he was making
a conscious effort to appear calm, even asleep, but she could see
from the heart monitor that this was anything but the case.

A small spark of anger flared within her as she realised that
once again he was running away from her, trying to hide behind
closed eyes and a pretence of sleep when all the time he was
suffering inside.

"Damn you, Mulder!" she whispered, clenching her fists to keep
herself from expressing her anger out loud. "Not this time."

She took a step forward, breathing slowly to keep herself calm,
then another, hearing her every movement loud in the oppressive
silence of the room, until she was back at the chair beside the
bed.

"Mulder?" she said, quietly, touching his arm gently.

But what else could she say? More than anything, she needed to
know where he'd been the last few days, what had happened to him,
why he'd left without telling her, selfishly unaware of the worry
he was putting her through. Familiar questions. The questions
he'd expect - the questions she'd had to ask him all too often
over the past years.

But she couldn't. God, she couldn't. Not after.... after knowing
what she did.

"Mulder?" She spoke a little louder now, still feeling her own
voice over-loud in the small room, still getting no response.

She sighed, leaning back in the chair, chewing on her lip as she
sought the right words. But what could she say, when she didn't
know anything? She'd thought she'd known him, but this.... This
changed everything. She just didn't know him any more.

"Have you come to shout at me, then?" Mulder spoke suddenly, his
voice harsh even though it was scarcely above a whisper. His eyes
were still shut and he moved his arm a fraction, taking it away
from her touch.

She snatched her hand away, hurt by his rejection even though she
knew what his anger was concealing. Enough of him remained for
that.

"It's just normally when I wake up in hospital you're there to
shout at me for getting hurt." Mulder's voice was gaining
strength now, although he still didn't move his head, didn't open
his eyes.

Scully felt the anger rising again. "Mulder!" Her voice was high
with defensive warning. "That's not...." But then she made
herself stop, knowing that this wasn't the right way to deal with
the situation. Things were far too serious.

"That's not fair." Mulder finished her sentence for her, his
voice full of shame. "I'm sorry, Scully." He opened his eyes at
last, although he appeared to be struggling to focus as he looked
at her. "You're right. That wasn't fair. God knows I deserve your
anger, but you.... you've always.... you've never reproached me."

Scully tried to smile, knowing it was dismal failure. She should
make a joke of it - do what they always did and hide their pain
and anger with a pretence of humour, each of them knowing that
the other was hurting but knowing that as long as they could make
feeble jokes about it they would survive. But this time it was
beyond joking, beyond smiling, beyond.... hope?

"So, what happened?" Her tone was more brusque than she'd have
liked, but she had to banish those thoughts.

"I....." Mulder moistened his lips with his tongue. "I was shot."

"I know!" She was snapping now, hating herself for it, but unable
to respond any differently to his evasion. Why couldn't he trust
her and tell her everything? God! Why couldn't he have trusted
her two days ago and stopped this before it had started?

Mulder sighed, shutting his eyes. "I was out running when I saw
someone acting suspiciously." His voice was dull, lifeless. "I
went over to investigate and he shot me."

"Did you think it was an X-File?" She had to ask, hoping,
praying, that the answer would be yes, but knowing that it
wouldn't. Mulder taking insane risks on an X-File.... Well, she
could never like it but at least it was something she was
familiar with, could deal with.

"No. It was just.... As FBI agents we're always on duty." He was
defiant, challenging her to disagree, but she was silent, waiting
for his next words. "I thought I could stop him, that's all.
That's all!" These last two words came out almost as a shout,
although his eyes were turned inwards and he seemed to be trying
to convince himself more than her.

Not that it mattered.

Lies. It was all lies, of course. She wondered if he realised
she'd not been taken in when he called in sick but had gone round
to visit him, only to find that he'd disappeared. Or that she'd
spoken to the police and knew that he'd apparently gone alone
against half a dozen men, almost as if....

"Mulder," she said, warningly, refusing to follow that train of
thought. "I know."

He licked his lips, the top of his tongue red with blood. His
eyes stared at her almost in panic.

"I know there was more than one man." The words slipped out
before she could stop them, although she'd been fully intending
to confront him with the truth - with the whole truth.

Mulder gave a small gesture that could have been a shrug, his
muscles visibly relaxing. "Well, maybe there were a few more," he
said, his tone overplayed calm.

Oh God, she _had_ been right. His reaction - his relief that she
hadn't confronted him with.... with what she had to confront him
with - proved that beyond doubt. What was he planning to do? He
clearly thought he was safe from talking about it for now, but he
couldn't hope to escape it forever. Sometime - not long - _she_
would come and then....

She shuddered, feeling the tears again in the back of her throat.
Was _that_ what it was about? Rushing into a hopeless situation
in the hope that it would provide an alternative to dealing with
the situation?

But why? _Why_ was it affecting him like this?

She took a deep breath, digging her nails into her palms. She
couldn't keep on evading it. He had to know that she knew. He
_had_ to talk about it.

Silence.

Oh God! _How_ can I get him to talk about it? What's happening?
Help me, help me, help me.

Help him....

Her nails imprinted deep red curves on her palms as the dark
fingers of memories and fears reached out for her mind. She took
a deep breath, relaxed shakily, focused on the weave of the
blanket across his chest.

"I had a call from your mother."

Cream wool coarsely woven. Small fibres shining in the light.

Mulder stiffened, but said nothing.

"She was wondering if you got her message."

A deep grey shadow in the lee of his arm, trembling. Cream wool
fading to grey.

"Message?" Mulder stammered, his eyes dark with trepidation even
though he was evidently trying to look surprised, as if he'd
never heard of any such message. He was a poor liar. He'd never
been able to keep his emotions from his eyes, even though he'd
always tried to keep them from his voice.

Scully could feel herself shaking, fighting an urge to stop
talking, to run away, to hide and hope the whole thing hadn't
happened. But she couldn't. That's what Mulder had done. She had
to be strong. She had to help _Mulder_ to be strong.

"I went to your apartment." She tried to keep her voice level,
but could hear the shake in it. "I.... I listened to it."

Mulder's knuckles were chalk white as he clenched his fists, a
look almost of terror in his eyes. "You shouldn't.... You had no
right...." His voice blazed with an anger she knew he didn't
feel.

"You _did_ get it, didn't you?" She was stern, relentless,
finding it the hardest thing she'd ever done.

Silence.

"Mulder....?"

Mulder shut his eyes, turning his head away from her, his voice a
terrible void. "I'm tired. I want to sleep."

"Mulder!" She reached for his arm again, shaking it in sudden
panic. He _couldn't_ shut her out now. This was something that
_had_ to be dealt with.

"Leave me alone!" Mulder's voice was fierce, his eyes full of
despair. "Normally when I'm hurt you nag me all the time, telling
me to rest, stopping me doing what I want. But now I actually
want to _do_ that, you won't let me!" His hand reached for the
call button.

"Mulder!" Scully grabbed his wrist, risking his anger as she
stopped him calling for a nurse. "You can't just ignore what's
happened!"

"Nothing's happened!" Mulder spoke through gritted teeth, though
he was too weak to pull away from her iron grip in his wrist. "I
was shot. I'm tired. Just. Leave. Me. Alone."

Something snapped inside her then. Was there no end to his
denial? She'd tried being gentle, but he _had_ to deal with the
truth.

"Damn it, Mulder!" she hissed. "Your sister's come back and
you.... you...." She ran out of words, the brief spurt of anger
draining out of her. "Why, Mulder? Why are you doing this to
yourself? Please tell me.... Please."

Mulder's mouth twisted in a feigned smile that was closer to a
grimace. "Samantha?" The intonation was surprised, pleased, but
the shake in his voice, the despair in his eyes, gave it away.
"She's come back? I didn't...." And then he gave up the pretence,
letting his head fall back on the pillow, shutting his eyes.

Scully reached for his hand, stroking the clenched knuckles with
her fingers. "Mulder? Please talk to me. I can't bear to see you
doing this to yourself."

Mulder turned his face away. "I just needed some time by myself
to.... think." His voice was dull, lifeless. "Just a little
time...."

"But your mother?" Scully could hear her voice getting harsh
again, but Mrs Mulder had sounded so distressed on the phone.
"Fox!" she'd said, her voice cracked by tears as she spoke to
Mulder's machine. "It's Samantha. She's come back. I.... I don't
know what.... Please come here now. Help me... I can't tell her,
Fox. You're stronger than me. Please...." But Mulder had listened
to all that the turned his back and left without a message,
letting his mother handle the situation by herself. Selfish,
that's what her original thought had been. Selfish. Even now,
seeing his evident distress, some remnants of that opinion
remained, causing her to speak harshly when she knew she
shouldn't.

"I never really liked her." Mulder spoke quickly and quietly, as
if he hoped she wouldn't hear, that he hadn't really said the
words.

Scully was silent, stunned.

"That night she was taken, we were fighting." His voice was an
empty monotone, as if he was trying to cut himself off from the
emotions of what he was saying. "We fought a lot. She annoyed me
- tagging along, taking things.... taking Mom and Dad's attention
so there was none left for me. I.... I wanted her to disappear.
'Get out of my life,' that's what I said - my last words to her."

Despite his words, Scully allowed her to feel a small flowering
of hope. If this was all there was to it..... "Mulder, everyone -
_everyone_ - fights with their brothers and sisters. Remember, I
was one of four. We were always fighting. My brothers because I
wanted to play with the boys. Melissa...." Already on the edge of
crying, she felt the tears moist on her cheeks at the memory. "We
fought too. But we still loved each other."

Silence.

She stroked his hand, willing him to listen to her. "Mulder, you
love your sister. Anyone can see that." Indeed, she sometimes
wondered whether there was any love in his heart to spare for
anyone else.

Mulder snatched his hand away. "That time.... When she came
back.... when I thought she'd come back.... I didn't know what to
say to her. I remember, she said 'Any chance of a game of
Stratego?' and I said ' Twenty-two years too late.' Too late,
Scully. I don't know what to say to her. What if.... what if we
have nothing in common?"

She clutched her hands convulsively, unable to touch him, unable
not to. More than anything she wanted to reassure him - to hold
him like a mother would a scared child in the darkness - and tell
him he was safe. But she knew that she couldn't. He needed
comfort, but he needed honesty more, and respect.

"Mulder." She regulated her voice carefully, clinging again to
the lifeline of the blanket as an anchor to her thoughts. "Of
course it will be hard. I can't pretend it won't be." Twist of
wool, prickly on her fingers, distracting her from the lie she
had to make. Can't meet his eyes. Can't. "You remember last month
I went away for the weekend? To a friend's wedding?"

No response. The muscles in his face, his hands, were _so_ tense.

"I met some friends I haven't seen for over ten years." She
carried on, ignoring his silence. "We were so close at school -
inseparable - but we'd lost touch. When we first met last month
it was so awkward at first. We just didn't know what to say to
each other, but within minutes we'd relaxed. It was as if we'd
never been apart - as if nothing had changed."

She smiled, hoping the smile would tinge her voice. He wasn't
looking at her.

"You should have heard us, Mulder." She fought the rising
hysteria in her voice, keeping it light. "We were giggling like
schoolgirls. And I should warn you. My friend Carole is very
interested in meeting my cute partner."

Nothing. No sign of the sly insinuation such a remark would
normally have triggered. His face was closed - no sign of having
heard her lie. The awkward silences of that reunion were loud in
her memory, and the solitary night-time tears mourning lost
youth..

Her finger was red and sore from the twisting tightness of the
wool. It inflamed her voice, giving it an edge of impatience she
knew she would regret. "But does it matter, Mulder, really? Even
if you don't end up close, you'll know she's safe. That's all
that matters, isn't it? That's what this whole thing's been
about?"

"This whole thing?" The force of Mulder's reply started her,
brought the anxious face of a nurse to the door. "It was my
_life_, Scully," he continued in a harsh whisper. "My whole
life."

"I know." She spoke softly. The nurse took a step forward, but
she gestured to her to go. "I know it was your life, Mulder. You
needed to know she was safe, and she is."

His lips moved, framing words she couldn't make out. Was one of
them "happy"? But there was such despair in his eyes....

"She _will_ be happy, Mulder. I know you'll make sure of that."
She bit her lip, wondering. Would it be an intrusion if she....?
"_I'll_ help you make sure of that," she said, firmly, making up
her mind. "If she needs a friend - someone of her own age -
someone who's been...."

She fingered the back of her neck, running out of words.

"How can she be happy, Scully? How?" A sudden cry, fierce, even
angry.

"Because you love her." Her voice was hoarse, catching on the
lump of unshed tears. "Because your mother...."

He whipped his head round with a cry, his hands clawing the
sheets, struggling to sit up. There was such pain in his eyes,
and she knew it was worse than merely physical - much worse.
"Because my mother....," he repeated at last, slowly, sinking
back onto the pillow.

A question? She frowned, wondering. His face was closed again, no
words, no clue. She licked her dry lips, thinking of her mother's
warm arms helping her through a thousand childhood crises.
"Because your mother loves her," she said, firmly, making up her
mind.

"Loves?" There was such bitterness in his voice - such force.
"You have no idea, do you Scully? You don't understand."

"Help me to understand." She reached for him - reached for him
the way she'd failed to do the last time she'd said those same
words to him. It had been close then, that gargoyle case, but it
hadn't scared her like this did. "Help me to understand what the
problem is." She stroked his hand. He stiffened, but didn't pull
away. "Don't try to do this alone, Mulder. Tell me."

Silence. His face was carved from stone, tense and rigid. And
then he moved, and the cruel chisel marks of memory slashed
across his features, gouging lines of pain.

"I want to understand, Mulder. I want to help you through....
through whatever it is you're finding difficult." Her voice was
trembling with sincerity. He so seldom talked to her - really
talked. They were in different states, the walls they built up.

But when it came, it came with the dark ferocity of a panther
pouncing, death in the uncoiled fury of a single claw.

---

end of part 1. Part 2 follows straight on without a scene break.

**********

Pellinor@astolat.demon.co.uk

"King Pellinor could now be seen to be visibly troubled in his brains."
from "The Sword in the stone" by T H White.

Please don't forward to atxc
____

"The Rich Fisher" part 2 of 2

by Pellinor (Pellinor@astolat.demon.co.uk)

CLASSIFICATION: SA

RATING: PG

SUMMARY: Mulder has been shot, and Scully wants to know why; but,
sometimes, getting what you most want can be the worst thing of
all.

**********

continued directly from part 1 without a scene break

**********

"You want to understand? You can't ever understand, Scully. How
can you understand - you in your perfect family?" He was
shouting, face twisted with anger. "You are so arrogant, Scully -
so quick to judge. Do you think I can't see on your face what
you're thinking when you read a profile? It's all 'he came from a
broken home so of course he turned out bad.' I've _seen_ you,
Scully. You stand there all squeaky clean from your perfect
upbringing, so ready to judge, so.... so...." He swallowed,
fighting to keep his voice under control, fighting to find words
When he spoke again, the anger was still there, but the grief was
louder. "You really have no idea, Scully," he finished, his eyes
dark.

She clenched her fists, fighting the hurt that his words
inflicted. The anger was a defence, she knew that, but his
words.... His words stabbed like a knife, drawing blood.

His words were.... true? No....?

"Try me, Mulder. Tell me." She whispered over and over her mantra
of silent command. Straight back. Calm. Calm voice. Blink back
tears. Calm.

"It's _her_. I'll have to tell _her_" He was so lost now - no
anger in his voice. "Mom said.... She can't do it. She's run away
and landed it on me and I.... I can't take it any more, Scully.
Twenty-four years of it.... It gets so heavy, Scully. So heavy."

"The guilt?" She did no more than breathe the word, scared of
breaking the spell - of pushing him back behind his walls. She
knew the answer, though. He wore his guilt like an albatross
around his neck.

"Their guilt. His guilt." He sighed, so weary now, so devoid of
_anything. "He sold his own child to the devil. Mom knew about
it. They put her there between them, and then they ran away. That
night.... He just left her. He knew they were coming, but he
walked away. He didn't try to fight."

"Mulder." She made her voice soothing, wondering once again
whether _any_ of this memory was true. "You said yourself that
they were too strong to fight. Maybe he has no choice. Maybe they
threatened your mother or you if he fought. Maybe he had no
choice. Maybe he...."

"He should have fought. Even if there was nothing but death, he
should have fought. _I_ would have fought...."

She smiled at that - a sad, fond smile tinged with tears. He
would have fought too. He was so driven, so courageous, so rash,
so.....

And then the smile froze. So broken, now. So lost. It was as if
he'd lost everything that made him Mulder. Mulder without his
drive was.... heart-breaking.

"And afterwards...." His voice was dull, unaware of brief smile.
"He ran away then, too. He never stood and fought. I was his
scapegoat, taking his guilt. I was her protector, assuring her
I'd get her back. I took it all and now...." He shook his head
slowly, eyes moist. He was so pale, so weak.

"And now your mother's putting it all on you again," she finished
for him, voice rising with anger. But not at him. She'd seen his
face in the hospital when his mother had her stroke, seen his
face in other hospitals when once again his mother had failed
even to call and ask how he was. How could she....?

"Don't _think_ that!" His face came alive for a second - alive
with anger. "Don't think _anything_ against my mother. I deserved
everything they did to me. I deserved...."

Oh God! She was speechless, unable to offer the comfort he needed
so badly. A second passed, then another. She had to _deny_ it,
but she.... What could she say?

She swallowed, coughed. Reached out blindly with her hand to
reassurance with a touch when her words were inadequate and
choked. "You didn't deserve any of it," she said, hoarsely.

"You saw the file in the mine, Scully. It should have been me."
His voice was dead. Only his use of her name showed her he was
even aware of her presence. "He chose to keep Samantha but they
tricked him and took her instead. They left him with a child he
didn't want. I could see it in his eyes. If I did _anything_
wrong I could see it. I didn't know then, but I see it now.
Whatever I did wrong - whatever I did at all - was just a
reminder that they took the wrong child. It broke them, being
left with me. No wonder they couldn't bear to look at me."

She was falling into a whirlpool, flailing wildly for supports.
The air pulsed in her ears like death. That he had lived with
this and not told her....

"You don't...." She stopped, licked her lips, looking for
inspiration that didn't come. "How do you....?"

"I know, Scully." Hard. Final. Brooking no argument. "I know. It
should have been me, and I've got to tell her that. I've got to
tell her what sort of family she's come back to. I've got to...."

"No you don't." She surprised herself with her answer, the words
firm and brisk. Anything less and she'd break down and weep for
the tortured twelve year old bearing more pain than anyone should
see in a lifetime. "You don't have to tell her."

"Yes I do. How can I even look at her knowing....?"

"You think of Samantha, Mulder, that's what you do. Think of
Samantha, not yourself. If the truth would hurt her, don't tell
her."

"Damn it, Scully. She's not eight any more. I owe her the truth.
I will _not_ become like my father, living a lie."

He was trying to sit up again, his pulse racing. She reached out,
touched his face, holding his gaze. Slowly, slowly, his struggles
died away and he collapsed back onto the pillow. But his eyes
were darting, and she knew the struggles inside were undimmed.

"You owe her happiness, Mulder," she said, when she knew he could
hear. "Life owes her some happiness. Hearing all this just
after...." She hesitated, seeking a neutral term. "Just after
coming back," she continued. "That would be wrong. Let her get
settled. Get to know her. Find out her needs. Make sure it's for
the best. Only then should you tell her."

"But the truth?" It was a tiny whisper again, not fighting.

"Sometimes ignorance is bliss, Mulder." She smiled sadly,
reaching again for the small raised scar at the back of her neck.
If she'd never remembered, would she be happier?

He nodded, sighed. It was so.... It wasn't what she was
expecting. She'd expected a fight. That a few minutes could over-
ride two days of fears....

Unless...?

Oh God, no!

"There's more." She whispered the words, horrified, silent.

A memory came into her head then - a memory of a smug voice in a
greenhouse of death. "More than you will ever know". And with it
came the smell of the expensive after-shave that now lingered in
Skinner's office where once, for four long years, there had been
the smell of cigarette smoke.

No-one had found the body, of course.

She bit her lip, wondering what to say. Was _this_ what he was
worried about - that her return was but an effect of internal
Consortium politics and that his own efforts had all been futile?
That he was no longer considered important enough to be kept in
check by the threat to his sister's safety?

Or that Samantha's father was....? Or that _his_ father....? She
couldn't complete the thought, though she has never forgotten the
distant words of accusation he'd thrown at his mother one night
months ago, before.... before everything changed and the smell of
smoke went out of their lives, and, for a brief moment, they had
smiled again.

"Why, Mulder?" She knelt on the floor, her face so close to his,
her voice so quiet. "What is the _real_ reason you fear her
return so much?"

He started, eyes terrified. Had he thought he'd fooled her,
escaped? His lips moved but no words came out.

"Is it because....?" She paused, remembering his earlier words, a
long eternity of minutes away. "Is it because this quest was your
life and you're afraid you've got nothing now - nothing to aim
for?"

He nodded, oh so slowly, but there was guilt there too. Not there
yet, Scully. Nearly, but not yet. Don't let him slip away.

"But it's not over." She remembered another time he'd been deep
in despair, remembered the words that had pulled him out of it,
then. "You have your work and you have me, Mulder, and you have
yourself. And this time you have Samantha too, and she'll bring
her own questions." She stroked his hair. "It's not over, Mulder.
It's only just beginning."

But she couldn't look at him, not any longer. She couldn't feel
the truth of her words.

"But it's not, Scully." There was such despair in his voice.
"When I heard that message from my Mom, I realised. My whole life
I've wanted the truth, and now I've found it. I...." A sob. "I
wish I hadn't."

"The truth?" She mouthed the words, but the voice stuck in her
throat, yielding no sound.

"It's not Samantha."

She flashed then, seeing the corroding green blood, wondering in
a sudden flash of hope if she was totally wrong about this.

"Not Samantha?" she stammered. "Then who?"

"It's me, Scully. Me. My failed life. Me." He thumped at his
chest, a violent finger pointing accusingly. "Me. Not her."

"You?" She was lost again, always lost. Whenever she caught up,
he was away, racing ahead of her on a fresh course of self-
destruction.

"I don't want Samantha back. I never have. Not a living a
breathing little girl, or an adult whose life I haven't shared.
Twenty-five years I've kidded myself that I want her back,
but...."

The floor was hard on her knee, painful. She was glad of the
pain. It was an anchor in this terrible spiral of darkness. She
blinked at him wordlessly, wanting him to continue, not wanting
to hear him.

"All I wanted was happiness, Scully." Such a simple statement,
but there was such guilt in it - as if he felt he didn't deserve
what was everyone's right. "Just happiness. Love. A family.
Completeness."

"I know, Mulder." Nothing could make her break her contact with
him - nothing. There were twenty-five years of pain to make up
for in a touch.

"No, Scully, you don't." His eyes were the eyes of a drowning
man. "Samantha was only a symbol - an image. I could blame
everything on her loss. Everything. No relationships. No career
prospects. No family.... It wasn't my fault - wasn't because I'm
a loser - it was because of Samantha. When she came back,
everything would magically be happy again. Everything would...."
A sob. "Mom and Dad would love me again."

"Oh, Mulder." There was nothing else she could say. She touched
his face, offered him a lifetime of love that no-one else would
give him.

"But it isn't, is it?" He pulled away, hurting her. "I'm still
me. I still have nothing. And now I don't even have the hope."

"You haven't got nothing, Mulder. You've got a sister, and you've
got me."

"Do you know the story of Amfortas, the Fisher King?" He spoke
dully, not hearing her. "He was maimed - impotent. His whole
kingdom was a wasteland, but he just sat and waited, doing
nothing, waiting for the Holy Grail. Just waiting. In the
Wasteland. He didn't even _try_."

"But the Grail came, Mulder." Tears pricked her eyes, sudden and
unexpected, at the sound of her father's voice reading her the
legends, at her mother's voice scolding, saying they were too old
and violent for her. "It came, and he was healed. The Wasteland
was green again."

He sighed, looked away. "No, Scully. He died. In the older
version, he died. His head was cut off and his whole kingdom
killed but seven. The Grail never came. The other side had it all
along."

"But you...."

"She was my Grail, Scully. Can't you see? I was twenty-five years
waiting for the magic that would give me happiness, always ready
to blame others for keeping her from me, but all the time it was
me. I ruined my own life. I was wrong to blame anyone else."

"But you can rebuild it." She reached for his hand again,
fighting his resistance. "_We_ can rebuild it. You have so much,
Mulder. Strength. Loyalty. Courage. Integrity. I know you're in a
dark place right now and can't see this, but you can find your
own happiness. I _know_ you can." Tears ran down her face and
dripped onto their clasped hands. "This.... This is the start,
Mulder, not the end. You're learning to live for the future, not
live twenty-five years in the past. When you find your happiness
it will be the happiness of here, now." She touched his forehead
then his chest, pointing as she spoke. "It will be real, not the
imagined golden age of the past."

He turned his head slowly. His eyes were deeply shadowed, and she
remember again how weak he still was - how badly he'd been hurt.

He licked his lips, cleared his throat. "Scully, I...."

Then a nurse came in and he drifted away from her.

*********

"Scully, I...."

Same words, two days later. She'd smiled then, but this time her
eyes were red with weeping, her hand shaking as she held the
phone.

"Mulder!" Shouting his name, clinging to his voice. "Where are
you?"

"Scully."

"Mulder? Are you okay, Mulder?"

Please come home, Mulder. Come home. To your mother. To Samantha.
To.... to me.

"I'm okay, Scully. I...."

Silence.

"Mulder...."

The hospital had been in an uproar, dozens of guilty voices all
speaking at once. That he could have slipped out like that....
No-one had noticed. Someone should have noticed. She should have
noticed, have been there for him.

"My sister....?"

Deep breath. "I've met her, Mulder. She's.... she's happy."
Beautiful eyes, just like her brother's. No memory of pain - not
yet. The same age. She could be a friend.

"I'm glad. Thank you, Scully."

"Thank you?" Dread. There was such finality, such farewell.

"I need.... I've tried and I can't.... I'm sorry, Scully. I
can't...."

A click.

**********

END

**********

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Okay, I'm not intending to imply that this is how
Mulder will react if Samantha returns. However, I do think it is
a possibility, and, whatever happens, he would have a lot of
emotional things to work through should she ever be returned,
alive or dead.

As for the legend, once again I'm appropriating a good old
British legend and twisting it when it can't fight back. However,
as Mulder says, the "original" of the Fisher King (aka the Rich Fisher)
legend is often said to be the Celtic legend of Bran the Blessed, who
had once been a god but had somehow declined over time, and who was
(possibly) maimed and impotent. He sailed to Ireland to fight an
enemy who, rather unfairly, had a giant cauldron of rebirth which
revived all their dead soldiers. Bran ended up dead, and his
seven remaining followers carried his head to London in a magical
journey that lasted 80 years, during which the head didn't decay
but gave them all sorts of missing time experiences that Mulder
would normally love, were he in a better mood. The head was
buried in London and magically protected the Island of Britain
from marauders, until King Arthur dug it up on the grounds that
relying on magic like that made his men weak and complacent, and
he'd rather have the legends says that _he_ was the one who
protected the country, not some dead ex-god.

On another related note - not that anyone really cares - one
version of the Grail legend has it that the Fisher King is the
brother of King Pellinor. So there.

Please send feedback!

**********

Pellinor@astolat.demon.co.uk

"King Pellinor could now be seen to be visibly troubled in his brains."
from "The Sword in the stone" by T H White.