Title: Much Better Than This
Author: Vesper (Regina)
E-mail: vespertanmer@yahoo.com
Warnings: none
Category: Story, Angst
Keywords: MSR
Spoilers: The Blessing Way, Memento Mori
Summary: A verbal reaffirmation of vows that have long remained
unspoken, prompted by their own inner voices.
Disclaimer: All characters in this story, namely Mulder and
Scully, are copyrighted by 1013 Productions, Twentieth Century
Fox, and Chris Carter. I merely borrowed them, because they
relax my mind while I try to write about people who I can
copyright. The song belongs to Sarah McLachlan. I make no
profit from this.
Archival: If you wish to archive, please link to my website.
Please keep all my headers intact.
Notes: This was inspired by "Full of Grace," that marvelous song
by Sarah McLachlan. This story assumes M and S have been
partners for a long time, which in the timeline of the series
would put them somewhere in the sixth season. However, this is a
story that stands separately from the series. The entire song
can be found at the end of the story.

*

"The winter here is cold and bitter--it's chilled us to the bone,
We haven't seen the sun for weeks, too long, too far from home."

The wind was chill but it bathed his heated face as he escaped
from the overwhelming voices in the student center. He welcomed
it, and the darkness that accompanied it, as he wandered the
concrete path into the center of the quadrangle. The sounds of
the quietness calmed him, and it came to him, with the certainty
of time itself, that he expected someone to be here...

He woke, the low voices and faint light from the television an
intrusion into the peaceful feeling that enveloped him. He
turned the sound completely down and thought about what he had
dreamed. The dream that had come the other night--it had been
among his old friends at Oxford--and now the continuation. He
believed in strange, unexplained occurrences, but most of them,
in his line of work, came with the edge of fear and danger. His
dreams, as a consequence, had the same edge, and never before had
this peace permeated them.

This peace remained with him all through the day, through all his
work. He could not tell if his partner sensed it, but once he
caught her staring at him, a somewhat quizzical look in her blue
eyes.

That night he lay in bed, anticipation making him smile, and he
fell asleep...

The wind was chill, and the dead leaves skittered across the
concrete path. He walked head down, seeing and yet not seeing
the concrete's scars from past ice melts. He looked up and saw
her. She was small, or she seemed small. Everything about her
whispered alone, and lonely. Her red hair was long, wavy, and
reminded him of the Birth of Venus. Her head was bent down, and
he walked so silently that he was barely two feet from her when
she looked up. There were tears in her eyes...

*

"Feels just like I'm sinking, and I claw for solid ground.
Pulled down by the undertow, never thought I could feel so low.
Oh, darkness, I feel like letting go."

She woke, and the sorrow that she felt enveloped her. She
remembered his hazel eyes, so calm, so deep. Her tears flowed
freely as what she dreamed came back fully to her memory, yet the
sorrow seemed calm, not tempestuous. She had visited her friend,
at Oxford. The loneliness drove her from her friend's room
outside into the chill November wind. She found the quadrangle,
and wearied from her walk--everything seemed to make her weary
now--she sat down on the bench. The silence of the night was
deep, until she forsook her loud thoughts and lost herself in the
sounds of the wind that caressed the bare limbs of the trees.
She could hear a lone cricket, no doubt lost, sharpening his
legs. She sensed someone's presence then and looked up into his
eyes...

That was when the dream had released her, and she opened her eyes
to the moon's liquid light flowing through the glass of her
window and bathing her face. She could not sleep until the early
hours of the morning.

*

He noticed her eyes that morning as she came into the office.
The blue was clouded with darkness that was matched by the
smudges beneath her eyes. He felt as if he should say something,
but the words would not come and he held his silence. She broke
that silence with three words, as she sat behind her desk, "Good
morning, Mulder."

He looked at her, shocked that she would seem so calm, but she
was not looking at him. He decided to open the subject and
asked, "Scully." He had to clear his throat and continue,
"Scully, what do you know about dreams?"

She jerked slightly and then said, "Do we have a new case?"

"No, just asking."

"Jung considered them a network to others, Freud believed that
they were a link to our subconscious desires. Others say that
they hold no significance. But this is more your department,
isn't it?" A faint taste of accusation laced her tone.

He looked at her steadily, disregarding the rancor, his hazel
eyes dark in the shadows, and asked, "What do you think they
are?"

A long pause, as she recalled a time when he had spoken to her,
when she thought he had died. Mulder prompted her, "Scully?"

"Reflections of our everyday life." She turned back to her
computer, leaving him to unravel the threads of her blouse with
his thoughtful gaze.

*

He spoke, "May I sit here?" She opened her mouth, slightly, then
motioned for him to sit. She wrapped her arms tightly around
her, and he knew that she did not want him there, but something
about her compelled him to stay. They did not speak and the
silence stretched long and tight. When she spoke, her voice, low
and rasping, startled him.

"What is your name?"

"Fox Mulder."

She nodded. "Dana Scully." And they were silent again.

He spoke this time. Hesitancy in his voice, he asked, "If...if I
were to say that...I feel I know you--"

If she had looked at him, she would have seen him trying to
memorize her features. But she didn't.

She said, "I wouldn't laugh at you, because," and she turned to
look at him and what he saw in her eyes took his breath away, "I
feel I know you as well as I know myself." She looked away and
he could breathe again.

"Why were you weeping?"

He never heard an answer. As he rolled over to pick up the
phone, he looked at the time--1:48 am.

"Mulder."

"Mulder, it's me." Her voice was strained, trembling, and he
straightened up into a sitting position.

"What's wrong, Scully?"

"I don't know, Mulder. Who..." Her voice trailed off.

"Say it, Scully, who what?" He suddenly felt possessed by the
need to know.

"Who am I in your dream?"

Her voice was soft, yet so tense with some unspoken emotion that
he was left bereft of words.

"Mulder?"

"I'm here."

"Please answer my question." Her voice was thick and clotted and
he realized that sorrow was choking her.

He closed his eyes and saw another version of her, sitting on
that bench, her blue eyes filled with tears.

He answered, his voice a whisper, "I've just met you and you are
so sad, so sad." He opened his eyes.

There was silence on the other end, but he could hear her
pathetic attempts not to sob.

Fully aware he was not supposed to continue walking through the
minefield they were now trapped in, he did it anyway.

"Scully, who am I?"

She sniffed, then said, "You are so kind to me, and when I look
into your eyes, I don't see the pain you have now. You are so
young, alive, so much like you were when I first met you." She
sniffed again, then asked, "Mulder, what is happening, why are we
dreaming this?"

For once, he knew theories were not what she needed, so he
answered honestly, "I don't know, Scully. These dreams seem so
much more than a subconscious reliving of the events of the day."

"Then we should let them run their course?"

"What else can we do?"

"Nothing, Mulder, nothing."

He heard the click and did the same, then lay on the couch,
staring into the darkness.

*

When sleep came to her, after long hours of wakefulness, she
slipped back into the new world her, their, minds had created.

He looked at her, reluctance and a desire to know warring in his
hazel eyes, and asked the question she had hoped desperately he
wouldn't ask.

"Why were you weeping?"

The one true answer to that was one she did not want to give--it
was too personal, too close to the bone. If she answered he
would not believe her. He cared for her; she knew this with a
certainty that took her breath away. She had looked down, to
avoid his piercing eyes. When she looked, foolishly, again into
his eyes, she relinquished the last of her stubbornness into the
depths of those eyes. She was lost forever, and she did not
mourn it.

"I only have a few months to live."

*

Mulder woke, gasping, tears gumming his eyes together. As he
tried to gain footing on the slipping sand of reality, the last
words she had said clanged loudly in his head, _I only have a few
months to live_.

He sat up on his couch, and placed his head in his hands. How
long, he wondered, how long would the dreams continue? It had
gone beyond a simple, recurring dream. It now haunted him even
awake and there was nothing he could do. His nightmares had
receded into the background and all that was left was this echo
of a past unlived or the promise of a future not yet existent.
All he knew was that the man in his dreams was he and the woman
was his partner.

The thought had occurred to him that this was a remembrance of a
past life, one unaided by a regression session. But hypnotherapy
was no longer a god that he looked to; it was too uncertain, too
dependent on personal experience. He no longer operated on faith
alone. It was now accompanied by needing the proof.

The proof was always scarce.

He contemplated dialing her number, knowing that if she was not
yet awake, then she would be, but a prompting within him urged
him not to call, to let her sleep.

He lay down again, placing his forearm over his eyes, and tried
to sleep.

*

"If all of the strength and all of the courage,
Come and lift me from this place,
I know I can love you much better than this.
Full of grace, full of grace, my love."

He looked at her with sad eyes, and his next words broke her
heart.

"I refuse to believe that."

She smiled cynically, and said, "So your faith is strong enough
to withstand even cancer."

He shook his head, uncomprehending of her agony, and said, "The
strength of belief is amazing, Dana. I will not believe that you
have this illness, you mean too much to me."

She stood, breaking eye contact. With bitterness straining her
voice, she said, "After only fifteen minutes and already you
profess undying love. I have to go."

He caught her hand, "Please stay."

She shook her head. "No, I can't. My friend would miss me."

"Stay."

At this order, she looked down into his eyes, and saw again what
she had demeaned. It was love, hard and stubborn. She couldn't
leave.

He pulled her back down to sit beside him. She felt the strong
urge to lean her head against his shoulder, but thought better of
it. It was too soon to act on the love he had shown her. He
still held onto her hand and the security of it enveloping her
small hand was enough.

*

She awoke slowly, consciousness returning long before she opened
her eyes. When she did, she became aware that she was smiling, a
small, content smile. She remembered all that had occurred, how
bitterness had given way to release in the simple basking of his
love. How strange that she could not give way to their mutual
understanding outside of the disconnected surrealism they shared,
how strange that the only time she felt truly free was in the
dream.

The course this dream, or was it a prevision, was taking her on
was not one she wanted to take. It was happening, though, and
there was nothing she could do to stop it. The events that
happened in her dream were out of her control, and although she
hoped with all that was in her that the dream was something from
her subconscious, time with Mulder had taught her that all was
not as it seemed. Faith was required with this, and faith was
scarce for her. The only things that remained solid and true
were her faith in the existence of a God, and Mulder, who had
truly remained closer than a brother.

Glancing at the clock she saw that it was 1:26 am. The night was
still young and she needed her sleep, so she closed her eyes, and
prayed that the dream had finished its course for the night.

*

"It's better this way I said--having seen this place before,
When everything we say and do hurts us more and more."

They were sent on a case the next day. No dreams came while they
slept on the plane, lulled into slumber by the gentle hum of the
engines. When they arrived at their destinations, eyelids heavy
and clothes rumpled, their time sense knocked out of equilibrium,
the last thing on their minds was the trip their subconscious had
sent them on.

There were no dreams that night either, drugged as they were by
exhaustion. The following day, after long hours interviewing
witnesses, suspects, examining sites, they each went into their
motel rooms, silently, with no discussion of the day's events.

It was an eerie silence they observed, Mulder thought. Revealing
words did not come easily to the both of them, they were both
very private people. What revelations they did make verbally
were on a need to know basis, and that need to know was rare.
Most of them were nonverbal, a glance here, a touch there, all
taken together, a meshing that was more total than a lifetime's
worth of words. The intimacy that existed in the silence was not
something he would trade, even if it brought back his sister.

But the silence was sometimes wrong, a wall that kept them apart,
until the issue between them was resolved, silently as always.
Then it became that intimate union once again. He'd learned the
hard way not to push his luck with her. She solved her problems
internally.

With an uneasy peace, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

*

The air was sharp with the tang of burning leaves as he walked up
the path to the house. He'd left his car parked in the dirt road
in front. He hoped that she would be here. He needed her to be
here.

He rapped on the door with the doorknocker a few times. It was
opened by a dark-haired woman, who had laugh lines around her
eyes, yet at that moment she seemed sorrowful.

"Mrs. Scully?"

She looked at him, sad-eyed, and said, "She doesn't want to talk
to you."

"I know that, but will you let me?"

She opened the door wider to let him in and said, "She's on the
porch in back."

He found her, a blanket wrapped around her, sitting on the porch
swing. Her hair was cut short, and he mourned for the loss of
the hair he used to caress. There were more subtle changes as
well, a pinched look about her lovely mouth, a tightness of the
skin over her cheekbones, and faint shadow lines under her eyes.
The illness had taken her youthfulness.

She was looking away from him, into the distance, but as she
heard his footsteps she turned her head to look at him.

There was a brief flicker of joy in her eyes on seeing him, but
it was quickly stifled by cold neutrality. It was worse than
seeing anger.

"Dana."

Her voice was low, tired, and weak. "Why are you here?"

The only answer. "To be with you."

She sighed and nodded. "Of course."

He advanced further, timid that she wouldn't let him and sat
beside her.

"Dana--"

"Yes." She was looking out into the distance again.

"Why did you leave?"

She closed her eyes, and her face grew tighter.

"I had to."

"Why?"

She opened her eyes and he could see the anger that had been
missing before.

"Look at me, Fox, why would you want this? I can't even stand
myself this way, and I couldn't bear to--" her voice broke, and
became clogged with tears, "let you see me like this."

He reached out to wipe away her tears and she flinched. He
paused momentarily, then wiped them away. "It doesn't matter to
me. You know that. I want to take care of you."

"And I can't allow that." Her voice was hard.

"I love you."

She shook her head. "Please leave, Mulder. Leave."

She wouldn't look at him, so he knew she didn't really want him
to leave, but he did as she asked.

Mulder woke, and stared into the unrelenting darkness of the
room.

*

"Just as we stay, too long, in the same old sickly skin,
Pulled down by the undertow, never thought I could feel so
low..."

In the next room, his partner awoke with a gasp. What she had
dreamed seemed so vivid and so sure that she felt overwhelmed by
the need to check if he was still there. Before reason could
take over, she slipped on her robe and quietly exited her motel
room. She paused hesitantly in front of his door, then rapped
lightly on it with her knuckles. She called softly, "Mulder...."

She was about to go back to her room when the door was opened and
he stood there, the lostness that she felt reflected on his face.
He reached out to her, sliding his hand from her shoulder down to
her forearm and pulled her into his embrace.

Her arms slid around his middle drawing him tightly to her and
they remained that way for a long time.

Eventually she spoke, "I dreamed I sent you away."

He whispered back into her hair, "And I dreamed that I left you
behind."

"But I could never send you away. I hope you know that, Mulder."
This confession came out in the merest whisper, but she sealed
its sincerity by looking up into his face.

"I know, Scully. Much as I believe it would sometimes be best
for us if we had never met, I know that you would never send me
away. As much as I know that I could never leave you."

She exhaled and looked down briefly, then back up at him, and
said, "May I stay with you here, tonight?"

He smiled and nodded. "I promise not to try any funny stuff."

The mood broken, she smiled back, "Not anymore so than usual?"

He looked at her briefly, surprised that she had humored his
humor, took her hand in his and said, "Let's go to sleep."

"Whatever you say."

And they slept, peacefully, the dreams having run their course.

"If all of the strength and all of the courage,
Come and lift me from this place,
I know I can love you much better than this.
Full of grace.
I know I can love you much better than this
It's better this way."

End.

*

Full of Grace

The winter here is cold and bitter--it's chilled us to the bone,
We haven't seen the sun for weeks, too long, too far from home.
Feels just like I'm sinking, and I claw for solid ground.
Pulled down by the undertow, never thought I could feel so low.
Oh, darkness, I feel like letting go.
If all of the strength and all of the courage,
Come and lift me from this place,
I know I can love you much better than this.
Full of grace, full of grace, my love.

It's better this way I said--having seen this place before,
When everything we say and do hurts us more and more.
Just as we stay, too long, in the same old sickly skin,
Pulled down by the undertow, never thought I could feel so low.
When all of darkness, I feel like letting go.
If all of the strength and all of the courage,
Come and lift me from this place,
I know I can love you much better than this.
Full of grace.
I know I can love you much better than this
It's better this way.