Subject: NEW: Penance III: Redemption by L. Phillips From: "RN500" <RN500@prodigy.net> Date: 3 Nov 1997 04:10:48 GMT Title: PENANCE III : Redemption Author: Linda Phillips Rating: G Classification: V / A Keywords: Mulder / Scully UST Spoilers: Ascension, One Breath Summary: Scully is recovering after her abduction, and is about to be discharged from the hospital. We continue to see the experience from Mulder's POV. Companion piece to Penance, and Penance II: Attrition. ************************ Comments to Linda at FKAM06A@prodigy.com ************************ I was just going to leave the flowers on the table and go. Really. It was a last minute thought. When I left the hospital tonight I went straight home and collapsed in the chair in the living room, lights still off, tie still on. I must have sat there for an hour, staring up at the dark ceiling. I wasn't thinking. I was tired of thinking. Exhausted. Every now and then the same words would find their way through the haze and come forward in my mind. She's coming home. How long had I waited for those words? Not months, or weeks. Minutes. Thousands of minutes, ticking past one by one. I was in her room this evening when the doctor came in and said, Well, I don't see any reason why you can't go home tomorrow. Her pale face went bright with a beautiful smile that she beamed in my direction. I smiled back. I didn't stay long after that. I needed... something. I wasn't sure what. The cold wind struck my face as I left the hospital, and I sucked in as much of the stinging air as my lungs could hold. She's coming home. I don't really remember the drive back to my apartment. Or walking up the stairs, or opening my door. Finally, a loud rumbling from my empty stomach roused me from my trance in the chair. I stood, pulled off the tie and jacket, and lost the shoes. My toes wiggled against the cold linoleum in my kitchen as I looked for something to eat. The cupboards presented me with the pathetic stock of a man who was never home. The refrigerator was even worse. I shrugged off the rest of my work clothes, slid into some sweats, and was out the door. Stopping at the nearest all-night supermarket, I picked up a sub, some fruit, and soda. Then I saw the flowers. A flower shop in a grocery store. At ten o'clock at night. Next thing you know, you'll be able to get your tires rotated while you're shopping for a roast at 2 a.m. Moving closer, a huge bouquet of what looked like wildflowers caught my eye. Daisies, Brown Eyed Susans, and many more I could not identify, a riot of soft colors. A pale blue vase. It was perfect. As I went through the check out, the bleached blonde cashier gave me a smile as she rang up the flowers, her too-blue eyeshadow crinkling in the corners of her eyes. "Someone's a lucky girl." "Hmm?" I said, looking up from my wallet. "The flowers. For your girlfriend?" "Um, no. Uh, she's just a friend." Just? "She's been sick." The king of understatement. "Ahh." As I paid, she glanced up at me with one eyebrow raised, that familiar signal that says, who are you kidding? Yeah. I knew that look by now. I drove the well-known route to Scully's apartment in silence. Not in the mood for music or asinine radio shock jocks. I wasn't sure what I was in the mood for, exactly. I ate about half of my sandwich on the way, and an apple, washing it all down with a warm soda. Quietly, I slipped the key into the lock and turned it. The door opened easily, and I closed it just as quietly behind me. I didn't really want anyone to notice me entering the apartment at this hour, and having to explain myself. As I flipped on the light switch, there was a sickening twist in my gut as I remembered the last time I'd been here. For a moment I still expected to see the shattered window, the blood, the crushed telephone. But, nothing was out of place. Everything clean, smelling like freshly polished wood. It was as if it had never happened. I set the flowers on the kitchen table. The fragrance filled the room, and I couldn't help but smile. It would be the first thing she noticed. Perfect. I would love to be here, to see the look on her face. But I knew her mother would want to be the one to bring her home, tuck her in, make her tea. All those mom things. I wouldn't want to be in the way of that. Mrs. Scully and I have become friends over the past few months. We've shared some things no two people should ever have to share. She's dried my tears, and I've dried hers. But I'm not family. I'm only Scully's partner, her colleague. Her friend. The man who would love her, if she would let me. If I would let myself. It started while I was looking for a piece of paper to write a note. I went to her desk, rummaged around until I found a pad of note paper and a pen. But, although I had found what I was looking for, I kept searching. I looked through an old check register, the entries so neat in her tight script. Bills, letters, some scattered photos. But that wasn't it. I stood and looked around the dimly lit room. It was her apartment, the same furniture I'd sat on dozens of times. The same lamps, shelves, books. But so...empty. There was nothing of *her* here. She'd been away too long. I wondered how long it would take for her to feel safe here again. Maybe she never would. I wasn't sure how much of myself to offer, to help. I would have gladly stayed here with her, until she could sleep through the night without waking at every windblown sound, every unfamiliar noise. I know that feeling only too well. But I don't know if she would admit to needing me. If only she knew that I would be honored to slay a dragon or two for her. If only she knew that she's already chased off a few of mine. I made my way to the bedroom, hesitated before I passed through the doorway. I felt her presence more, in here. He hadn't come into this room, there were no malignant spirits to be exorcised. I touched the perfume bottles on her dresser. Picked one up, the curved glass smooth against my fingers. Opened it, passed it beneath my nose. Oh, God, it had been so long! So long since I had linked her face with anything but that peculiar scent of disinfectant mixed with the unmistakable odor of sick people. I opened her closet door, and suddenly the thought came to me that she would be so angry at me for being here like this. Despite all that we've shared, Scully was desperately private about many things. Then I thought, no. No, she would understand this. As she did so many things about me. I didn't want to invade or intrude. I just needed... to remember. I've been so afraid to remember. Her. Us. What it was like, before. What it may never be like again. At first I was afraid because I might lose her. Then, when we knew she would live, I was afraid that she may not want to come back. I didn't want to think about being alone again, but it was always there, right at the edge, like a shadow I could never quite catch in full vision. She has assured me that she is anxious to get back to work. But I don't know if it can ever be the same. She shows no fear, but I know it's there. Her suits hung like straight backed soldiers, awaiting orders. Shoes queued up below, their line straggled and chaotic. I stroked my fingers over the sleeve of a soft tan jacket, the one she often wore with a scarf-like thing instead of a blouse under it. I never realized that I had noticed things like that. I slid the closet door shut, and sat down on the edge of the bed. Oh, Scully. No matter how I try to hold back the darkness, it always comes to this. I am responsible. I am responsible. I know that it was another who took you, hurt you, stole from you. But in the final judgment, my name will be there. You know this. Yet you still believe in me. I've missed you so much. I lay down on your pillow, breathing you in. My eyes sting, and I rub away the wetness. I will stay only a few more minutes. When you're stronger, maybe I will tell you what I'm feeling. When you're ready. There's no rush. We have plenty of time. You're coming home. ***************** End Comments appreciated! Send to Linda at FKAM06A@prodigy.com