Title: A Heartbeat Away
Author: Linda Phillips
Rating: PG
Classification: S/R
Keywords: MSR
Summary: Mulder's mother dies suddenly, leaving him to
deal with his memories. That's where Scully comes in...
Disclaimer: The usual stuff. The characters aren't mine. All
rights to them belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and
Fox Television. The song isn't mine - it was written by Carol
Bayer Sager and Albert Hammond. The story isn't mine...
Oh, wait! Yes it is!

Comments to Linda at FKAM06A@prodigy.com

*********************************

This is my first attempt at writing a story in the first person.
Please keep the flames on low!
Also, you'll notice that I'm completely ignoring Scully's
cancer. So there, Chris ! (blowing a raspberry)

Comments to Linda at FKAM06A@prodigy.com

****************

When I need you
I just close my eyes and I'm with you
And all that I so want to give you
It's only a heartbeat away
When I need love
I hold out my hand and I touch love
I never knew there was so much love
Keeping me warm night and day

****************

I was roused from a dream, but not entirely to
reality. I turned over in bed and started to drift away again.
Then that noise once more. I opened my eyes. Knocking?
Yes, insistent now. I glanced over at the clock, it's luminous
green numbers announcing 3:27 a.m. Grudgingly, I got out
of bed and put on my robe.
"I'm coming, I'm coming!" I yelled, thinking to myself
that the building better be on fire or someone was going to
be very sorry. Ever cautious, I checked the peephole.
"Mulder?"
I quickly unfastened the locks and opened the door.
"Mulder, what's wrong?" He looked like hell. His face was
pasty white, his eyes red. He stared past me, as if in shock. I
grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. "Mulder...what's
going on? What's happened?"
Finally he looked at me. "I'm sorry...Scully...sorry..."
I led him to the couch and he sat down. I perched on
the table in front of him, trying to get him to look at me. I
reached for his hands. They were cold as ice, although it
was a mild spring night outside.
"Mulder, talk to me. Please. You're scaring me."
He lifted his head and met my gaze. The anguish I
saw there made me wince.
"She's dead Scully. My mother's dead."
I felt as if the wind had been knocked out of me. I
struggled for words. "Oh, God, Mulder! Oh...how? What
happened?"
"She was having chest pain, they said." He looked
away, lost again. "She called EMS herself, but she was
unresponsive when they arrived." He took a ragged breath.
"The doctor called me at around 11:00 tonight."
I waited while he fought back the emotions. My
heart ached for him. Slowly , he continued.
"I got to the hospital at about 11:45. They had
pronounced her at 11:27." A single tear traveled down his
cheek. "I never had a chance to tell her goodbye, Scully.
Now, it's all gone..." a sob escaped with the last word.
"Oh, Mulder..." He leaned forward and I brought his
head to rest on my shoulder, gently rocking him. I stroked
his hair as he cried, the tears warm on my neck. My own
eyes welled and spilled over. Soon he was still, his tears
spent, but he made no effort to leave my embrace. Finally, I
pulled away. He wouldn't look at me, or couldn't.
"Let me get you something to drink, Mulder." I stood
and made my way to the kitchen.
With that, he leaned back on the sofa and rubbed
his face with his hands. His voice was strained as he spoke.
"Got anything stronger than coffee?"
"Sure." I reached high in the cupboard and brought
down a bottle of whiskey that had been there for longer than
I could remember. I poured a shot over some ice in a glass,
added soda, and brought it to him. He slammed it down in
one gulp, followed by a facial contortion that I couldn't help
chuckling at.
"What the hell was that?" he sputtered.
"Whiskey and Diet Coke. Sorry, it's all I have."
We sat in silence for a while. I watched him as he
sat back again and rested his head against the back of the
sofa. He didn't make any effort to talk. I sensed he just
wanted me nearby.
"Mulder, why don't you just stay here tonight?" I
heard myself saying. "It's so late...", and I don't want you to
be alone, I didn't add. To my surprise, he accepted
immediately.
"You're sure you don't mind?"
"Of course not."
He sighed. "I guess I have to go to the funeral home
tomorrow...well, today , now. Make arrangements..."
"I'll go with you, Mulder."
He looked at me oddly.
"Scully, you don't have to do that ."
"I know I don't. I want to." Was it so unbelievable to
him that someone would volunteer to help him with such an
unpleasant task? He needed me, I would be there. So
simple. The gratitude in his face made me want to cry again.
"Thank you."
He stood and walked to the window. I could see him
struggle with what he was going to say. "You know what the
first thing that came to my mind was Scully? When I knew
she was gone?"
He hesitated. I urged him on with my silence.
"I thought, now I'll never know what she knew. She
took all the secrets with her. How's that for a commentary on
the dysfunctional family, eh?" He turned to me,
expecting...condemnation? Surprise? Shock? But I felt
none of those things. I stood and went near him.
"Mulder, with what your family went through, it
would have been a miracle if it had survived intact. Your
mother loved you. I'm sure she did." My words sounded
hollow even to me.
"Really? She had a funny way of showing it." he
said, with more than a trace of sarcasm in his voice.
"Your mother survived losing a child. We can only
imagine what it must have done to her. She loved you the
best way she knew how, Mulder."
He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead
against the window.
"Then why have I always felt that she wished it had
been me instead?"

***************

He lay on the sofa with his eyes closed. He seemed
to be asleep, but his face was never peaceful. Even in sleep
his sorrow lay over him like an open wound. I had taken up
my vigil in a chair across from him, my eyes ever watchful.
As the sun began to waltz it's light across the living room, I
found myself in a silent argument with a God I was never
too certain of.
<How could you do this to him? Hasn't he suffered
enough? There's no peace for him. Everyone he loves has
been taken away, and the one who could have comforted
him removed herself from his life long ago.>
I kept trying to imagine what it must have been like
living in that house after Samantha disappeared. The
recriminations, the guilt, the silent blame that must have
been as loud as a siren. And a little boy lost in the midst of
it. A boy that needed love and assurance, when there was
so little left to give. And his mother had missed so much.
Not only the joy of a child, but the companionship of a fine
man. She had missed out on his wit, his passion, his kind
heart. I sighed and leaned back in the chair, drawing my
knees up and wrapping my robe tight around me. I didn't
want to go to bed, for fear he would be gone when I awoke.
<Life is so damn unfair>, was the last that I remember
thinking before I drifted off.

******************

We traveled to the funeral home in silence the next
day. Mulder had insisted on driving. To all outward
appearances he was calm and strong now, 'holding up well' I
guess one would have said. I sat quietly in the funeral
director's office while he made decisions about the service,
the flowers, the announcements. He even managed a smile
when the director addressed me as 'Mrs. Mulder'. Though he
didn't seem to need me, I was glad that I had come.
Mulder had one final decision to make before we
left. We were escorted into what I suppose they called the
'casket room'. Caskets R Us. Rows and rows of them. The
director walked us through the front two rows, describing
the different features, as if we were buying a new car. I was
remembering this same painful journey at my own father's
death, lost in my own thoughts, when I was shaken from my
reflection by a voice saying "Mr. Mulder, are you alright?" . I
looked up to see Mulder with his head tilted back, eyes
tightly shut. I quickly went to him.
"Mulder?"
No answer.
Softly, "Mulder?" He turned to me and opened his
eyes. I barely heard his reply.
"I can't Scully. I can't..."
I placed my hand over his trembling one, and
squeezed tight.
"Let me, Mulder. Let me do this." He
nodded. I led him back to the director's
office and sat him in a chair in the corner. He looked at me
with vacant eyes. I spoke firmly. "Wait here for me Mulder.
Will you wait for me?"
"Yes" he replied absently, his thoughts already far
away.
I swallowed my apprehension, and left him to finish
my task.

***********

Mulder said little on the way home. He stopped the
car in front of my building, but made no move to open his
door.
"Do you want to come in ?" I didn't want to press
him.
"No. I don't think so. I think I want to be alone for
awhile." His hands were tight on the steering wheel. Without
looking at me, he said "I can't tell you how much I
appreciate..."
I interrupted him with my hand on his arm
"Mulder...I know. I know. I'm here if you need me." I got out
of the car and hurried into the building without looking back.
I felt a wave of relief as the key turned in my door
and I entered my apartment. My sanctuary. I felt exhausted,
drained. I was almost glad that he hadn't come in. I needed
a little time to distance myself from the gloomy memories of
my own family's losses. My father. Melissa. I was amazed at
how little the sting of remembering eased over time. I
collapsed on the sofa with my arm across my eyes, as
selfish tears fell.

************

I'm not tired, even though the 11:00 news has
started, which is usually my signal that it's time for bed. I
had fallen asleep earlier on the sofa, and when I awoke it
was dark. I checked my answering machine, thinking I may
have slept through a call from Mulder. Nothing. I've tried his
apartment 3 times in as many hours, his cell phone, and e-
mail. I'm worried about him. I'm worried *for* him. As soon
as his demons seem to be at rest, an earthquake occurs and
they are loose again. He has remarkable strength. But even
Hercules had his limits.
I run a hot bath and add fragrant oil. Attempting to
wash my soul of the day's ache, I immerse myself, allowing
my mind to dream of happy moments past. It helps. Before
long I am as pure as a newborn babe. I towel off and put on
my favorite soft nightgown and my fluffy terry robe.
As I make myself a cup of tea, I hear a knock. Of
course, I know who it is. I don't even think twice before I
open the door.
He stands there, eyes cast down, hands deep in his
pockets. He doesn't look at me, his silence begging my
understanding. Without a word, I slide my arm around his
waist and bring him inside, closing the door quietly behind
us. We continue to the kitchen, where he dutifully sits down.
I start a pot of decaf coffee, and as it brews I am busying
myself with the basic things that I know he has forgotten.
Food. Drink. Rest. I scramble two eggs, drop bread in the
toaster. Reaching up in the cupboard I bring down a
prescription bottle. I tap one capsule out into my hand. The
eggs done, the toast buttered, I turn and lay the plate in front
of him. Filling two mugs with coffee, I sit down.
"Eat." I say.
He does, on automatic pilot. I know he does not
taste a thing. I place the capsule in his hand. He stares at it.
"Take it Mulder. It'll help you sleep."
He swallows it between bites of food. When the
plate is empty, he looks at me at last.
"Scully, I know it's late, I'm sorry...."
I interrupt him again. "Shhh. I don't want to hear you
say I'm sorry again. I'm glad you're here." I can't stand the
thought that he feels he is an imposition. We sit in silence
for a moment. I have a sudden thought that I blurt out before
deciding if it's the right thing to say.
"Mulder, tell me about the happy times that you had
with your family."
He looks perplexed. "What?"
Yes, I think. This is what he needs. "Happy times.
Before Samantha was gone. I know you had some. Those
memories are as important and real as the unhappy ones.
Tell me some of them."
He is thinking. I know that I’m unlocking something
stored away, something precious. I gently try to urge him on.
"Did you take vacations together? Did you have somewhere
special that you liked to go?"
His mouth moves, no sound at first, then a word I
know well.
"Quonochontaug."
I wait.
"In the summer. We went there every summer.
Samantha and I... had a lot of fun there...before."
Yes. Go on Mulder.
"There was a stream. We use to catch polliwogs,
and crayfish. She was scared to touch the crayfish though,
she always made me pick them up for her." He smiled. "She
was such a weenie. But she always tried to keep up. There
were two boys my age who lived nearby, and we would try
to sneak off without her out to the woods, but she always
knew about it. When we got there, we'd turn around and
there she'd be."
"All little girls look up to their big brothers. I know I
did. What about your parents? Did you do things together?"
"Oh yeah. My dad still went to work during the
week,and he'd come out in the evenings. A lot of nights we
would all sit on the front porch and my dad would point out
constellations to us, or we'd watch for falling stars, or just
look at the fireflies." His gaze was miles away, years away.
"We would tease my mom and dad about kissing each
other.” He studied his hands for a moment. “They loved
each other once."
I take his hand and smile. "I know. You're proof of
that Mulder." His other hand settles on mine. "Tell me
more" I say. And he does. I am transported by the stories,
imagining a young family with hopes and dreams. An
adoring younger sister. And a brown haired boy, soft and
flushed with youth, before life had honed the sharp edges he
now bore.
After a time, his words slow down. I tell him he
should try to get some sleep. I tell him I want him to sleep in
my bed, I will take the sofa. He doesn't argue with me. With
my urging he slowly gets up from the table and heads to my
room. I watch him go, and silently will him a dreamless
night.
My maternal instincts emerge, and after a while I go
to check on him. I knock on my bedroom door.
"Are you in bed?"
"Yeah."
I open the door. He lies there on the right side of the
bed, my side of the bed, which seems fitting. He is lying on
his back, hands beneath his head, staring at the ceiling. He
doesn't look at all sleepy. Exhausted, yes. But not sleepy.
He remains like that as I move toward him. I lean over and
pull the comforter up around his neck, tucking it in slightly. A
poor substitute for a mother, I know. But it is what I have to
offer him right now.
"Try to sleep, Mulder."
I click off the lamp on the bedside table, and turn to
go.
"Scully..."
I sense him searching in the dark for me. I reach out
and we connect. I sit on the edge of the bed, still holding his
hand, waiting.
"Scully..."
An amazing thing, a voice. Physiologically very
complicated. Air rushes across a larynx, the vocal chords
shifting ever so slightly and precisely to make sound. The
lips and tongue must form language from the noise.
And yet so very elemental. What one can hear in a
single word is sometimes absolutely primal.
Fear.
Pain.
Loneliness.
Need.
"Scully..."
"I'm here, Mulder."
A heartbeat in time, and space, passes.
"Scully, you're all I have left."
The words tear at me. My eyes burn. This man does
not deserve this. And I know, at this moment, I would do
anything for him.
Anything.
He needs to feel me with him, to know that there is
someone willing to enter his tortured world.
I stand, and let go of his hand. My hands fumble at
the belt on my robe, until it is untied, and it falls to the floor.
He watches me in the pale light that the streetlamps cast
through the window. I lift my nightgown over my head and
drop it next to the robe. I cannot be any more exposed to
him, emotionally or physically. I am willing to give him all
that I have.
I pull back the covers, and he moves back to allow
me in. The sheets are warm where he was. I lie back, and
wait. He lifts himself up on his elbow, above me, and his
eyes travel my face as if they had never seen it before. I
reach my hand up and rest it behind his head, my fingers in
his soft hair. Gently, I pull him to me. He kisses me so
tenderly. I feel the gratitude in his kiss. And the love. He
leans back again. In silence, I wait. I feel no need to fill the
void with sound. His breathing is enough.
He watches me.
I wait. I wait for a touch in secret places, his lips
hard against mine. I wait for him to grow strong with the
need to be inside of me.
Still, he watches me.
I need to feel him. I touch his face, his cheek cool
and rough against my palm. I am unable to summon the
words to express my emotions. They are strangled within
me, my lifelong curse. I try to let my hands speak for me.
'Mulder...' they say.
'I won't leave you.'
He pulls the comforter back, leaving me covered
with the smooth cotton sheet. With a sigh, he leans down
against me, and rests his cheek on my breast. His left arm
encircles my waist, holding me tight. I wrap my arms around
him, offering him what shelter I have. I stroke his hair, make
soft patterns on his back.
"I'm here, Mulder."
I feel his muscles relax. He listens to the beating of
my heart, feels me breathing. His eyes close. His breaths
become slow and easy.

Finally, he sleeps.