Open to White by Dasha K. (Part 2/2) dashaxf@gmail.com Headers and disclaimers in Part One. It's quiet now. Mulder may even be asleep; his breathing is soft and even. He's over on his side of the bed, his back to me. This is not a night for spooning ourselves to sleep. I can't sleep. It's too warm and stuffy in this room, I drank coffee and iced tea nonstop during the day, and despite the lovely sex, I'm still feeling a bit on edge. My mind feels like it's desperately trying to remember something just beyond its reach. I'd get up and take an Ambien but it seems too complicated, somehow. Instead, I listen to the whirring fan. From the dark comes Mulder's voice, slow and drowsy. "Hey, Scully?" I hear him roll over. "Are you awake?" "Mmm-hmm." "Want to go to the movies with me tomorrow night?" He chuckles. "Are you asking me out on a date?" "We could go to one of those hundred-screen megaplexes with air conditioning so cold you can hang meat." "That sounds nice," I say. I can't remember the last time I saw a movie in an actual theater. "What do you want to see?" "I don't care - some dumb summer movie. Car chases. Gratuitous violence. Slapstick falls." "That sounds like our lives, Mulder." "You probably want to see some kind of chick flick," he says. "Lots of tenderness and people coming to terms with things." "Is Colin Firth currently in anything?" "Ha, I knew it!" "You knew what?" "I knew you had a thing for him. When 'Pride and Prejudice' was on TV you walked around in a stupor for the whole week." "I did not!" I laugh into the pillow. "Oh, you certainly did. But if he's in a movie, we can go see it if you spring for the popcorn and Coke." "Diet Coke," I say. "I stand firm on that one." "It's a date, then." He pecks me on the forehead, a kiss like the sweet, chaste kisses he occasionally gave me before anything happened between us. There's so much I want to tell him, so much left unsaid. I want to tell him I love him, but the words are still difficult for me to say very often. I brush my lips against his. So soft, those lips. "Go to sleep, Mulder. It's late." "It's late. . ." he repeats, his voice trailing off to slumber. Someday I'm going to be able to tell him everything that runs through my head, all the things I'm not able to say. I'm going to tell him that he's the best thing that's ever happened to me, even after the rough, scary road we've had to travel to get to this place. And I'll tell him that I can't fathom a life without him by my side. Mulder is fully asleep now, soft snores coming from that nose of his. He won't admit that he snores sometimes and one of these days I'm going to tape his snoring, just to prove him wrong. Sleep is not going to come for a while. I'm sweaty and sticky and the sheets feel like a damp washcloth. I concede defeat and get up to take a shower. Mercifully, the bathroom is clean. It's a dingy affair but at least nothing seems to be growing on the tiles. I turn the shower on to lukewarm and step in, letting the grime of the day wash away. It's no sparkling blue swimming pool, but it's better than nothing. As I stand under the running water it hits me, something I've come to know intimately over the last few years, so intimately I've given it a name, the Big Black. It's a wave of sadness and fear so powerful it almost physically knocks me over. My heart starts racing and my hands are shaking. I have to turn off the water and sit at the edge of the tub. The Big Black often visits at night, to taunt me. Lately, it's been telling me that this happiness won't last. I wonder, what's next? There's always something horrible around the corner, waiting for us. What monsters and demons are hiding in the shadows? What more do we have to endure? We've seen it all - disease, bullets, shadowy smoking men, and monsters of all shapes and sizes. Abduction, torture, imprisonment, experimentation - been there, done that. What's left? Death. It's the only thing we haven't faced yet. At least, not Mulder's death and not my own. We've come close, oh so dangerously close, but neither one of us has crossed the line. Is it only a matter of time? I don't want to think about this, can't think about this. Living without Mulder is something I can't comprehend anymore. For a long time, I sit on the tub's edge, trying to take deep, even breaths and slow my heartbeat. After a time, the Big Black recedes somewhat and I get up and turn the shower back on, letting the water run as cold as it can to shock the rest of it out of my system. My head has cleared and I feel like I can breathe again. I towel off and pad back to our damp nest of sheets. My body has cooled from the frigid water and the air coming from the fan actually feels refreshing. I close my eyes and try to dream something happy. A rainy fall night after long hours at the office. Mulder and I are walking to my apartment after driving around for a half-hour trying to find a parking place on a Friday night in Georgetown. We're sharing an umbrella and our arms are touching, just a little, which sends a low electric hum through my body. It hasn't been long for us, just a few weeks since that weekend on Martha's Vineyard, and everything feels so new. It's exciting, yet a bit overwhelming, to know that we're going back to my apartment to make love. I shiver, thinking of my hands on his body, his mouth on mine, tugging down the zipper of his trousers, feeling him slide into me so slowly I want to shriek, the sound of his voice as he comes, waking to the surprise of his dark head on my pillows. We stop at an intersection to wait for the light to change. Mulder bends down and brushes stray hair out of my eyes, kisses me high on my cheekbone. He says, "I can't wait to get you home." I laugh, a little self-consciously. "What are you going to do then?" His laugh is a low rumble. "Well, first I'm going to take that dress off you and. . ." Oh God. they'recomingthey'recomingthey'recomingthey'recomingthey're coming I sit bolt upright in the sagging bed, stifling the urge to scream. It's a million times stronger than the night I was called to the bridge. I can feel it centered in the nape of my neck and radiating out to my limbs. They're coming. It's too late. Everything we've done to fight this thing, it has come to nothing. They're almost here; I can feel their collective presence, getting nearer by the second. I never wanted to believe in this day. I demanded proof, something tangible I could see with my own eyes, something to believe in. Anecdotes and shadowy informants weren't enough. Even the hazy recollection of something in the Antarctic sky wasn't enough. Not even my trust and faith in the man sleeping by my side. It was too huge and terrible for me to imagine. "They're coming," I gasp through trembling lips. Mulder rolls over with a groan and switches on the bedside lamp. "What's wrong, Scully?" This time I scream the words. -------------------------------- The unit was quiet. The patient rooms were soundproofed, and for good reason. Nurses, befrienders and orderlies glided along the corridors with intent purpose. It didn't have the same atmosphere as the other units, where the patients were up and about, flapping around in their pajamas, looking simultaneously stunned and giddy. As she passed Craig, an orderly, he said to her under his breath, "Hey, Rach, I heard they defrosted a nice, small woman just for you so that if you two get in a fight, you can take her." She flashed him a dirty look and kept walking until she found K in his cubicle, his limbs looking ridiculously long as he sat in a Human-sized desk chair. The first time she'd seen one of them, she'd been shocked. Even though she remembered very little of her past, she was sure she'd never seen anyone like that before. The word that immediately sprung into her mind was "alien." Now, she was used to seeing the Others and they didn't seem so strange to her eyes. Genetically, they were cousins, she'd learned in Orientation. K had a long, narrow face, high forehead, a flaring nose, and a square jaw. His eyes were lashless and dark gray, though Rachel had seen some Others with greenish eyes. No eyebrows, either. Skin so pale it seemed almost gray, especially under fluorescent lights. His hair was black and wiry, cut so short she could see the scalp underneath. "Good morning," he said. His voice was soft and hesitant, slightly lisping. Rachel liked their accent and enjoyed overhearing them speaking among each other, the words long exhales of sibilance, punctuated by the occasional hard consonant. "Do you want some coffee?" She made a face and shook her head. "That stuff is crap, K." "I heard that the first coffee crop will soon be planted in Hawaii," he said. "What is it with you people and your obsession with that drink?" "It's a Human thing, you wouldn't understand." K pulled up another chair and motioned for her to sit. "Are you going to be all right?" he asked. Rachel shrugged. "This is my job." "I know, but I have to make sure you're okay before we get started and you don't seem okay. You seem nervous." "Wouldn't you be?" she asked. "Besides, I can handle it." She squared her shoulders. K was the only one of them she really knew, she mused. There wasn't any overt hostility between the Humans and their benefactors, but each group tended to keep to itself. They worked together, but when the shift was over, they each retreated to their own quarters, their own food, their own friends. But K was somehow different. The Others weren't known for sparkling senses of humor, but K liked to sit in the befrienders' lounge and listen to them joke about their patients and roommates. After a while, he even began to smile at the jokes and try to make some of his own, as feeble as they were. He avidly followed the gossip swirling around the Clinic - who was slacking off, who was going to be reassigned to a new city, who was stealing rubbing alcohol to make hooch back in the dorms, who was sleeping with whom. "I don't think this one will give you any trouble," he said. "She seems like a happy sleeper." "What's her story?" K punched some keys on his computer with long, slender fingers. "I'd say she's in her mid-thirties, although you might be a better judge of that. No name, no match in the Bank. You get to start from scratch with her. A nice clean slate" Rachel grimaced. "A happy sleeper, you say?" "She looked peaceful." "They all look peaceful, K, even. . ." She didn't want to finish the sentence. "She had a little smile on her face when I checked in on her. Must have been dreaming about something nice." Someday she'd remember to ask K if the Others dreamed, too. Deep breath. "Okay, let's do this," she said. K handed her the connector and she hooked it around her ear. He tapped his monitor. "Rachel, I only have you today. If anything even slightly odd happens, Security will be there in 30 seconds." Deeper breath. Focus. K reached over and squeezed her hand. Rachel froze; she'd never touched one of them. His hand was cool and seemed drier than Human hands. "Believe that you can do this," he said. She nodded and he let her hand go. Oddly, she found herself blushing. Today's room was cornflower blue, the pictures on the walls of wildflowers. Her patient was lying under a blue and white striped comforter. Rachel appraised the patient in the bed. She was a small woman, her red hair vibrant against the white pillow, pale gold hospital gown, delicate eyebrows etched above closed eyelids, a small mole above her upper lip. She would pretty once she opened her eyes and her face came to life. The patient was still, but there was REM activity visible behind her closed eyes and a trace of a smile lingered on her lips. She almost hated to wake her patient. It was time. Rachel sat in the bedside chair and took the woman's soft, warm hand in hers. She didn't think of her former patient, not then. She was intent on the task ahead. "I'm ready," she murmured to K, whom she knew was watching and listening. "I'm ready." -------------------------------- Black as ink, soft as velvet. I've never been quite as happy as I am right here, right now. From here, I can see everything. The triumphs, the mistakes, everything lost and gained. Amazingly, I regret very little of it. I remember laughing hysterically, soaked with rain, in an Oregon graveyard. I remember airports and stakeouts and roadside cafe blue plate specials and how he'd sometimes bite his lip when he was thinking too hard. I remember Martha's Vineyard and how we both started shaking, we were so nervous at the prospect of touching each other. I remember a hot, hot night in West Virginia, stuck in a town so remote the single motel didn't even have air conditioning so we sweated and ate ice cubes, talking about baseball games and summer blockbuster movies. I remember amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me, I once was lost, but now am found, was blind, but now I see. Thousands of twinkling stars in the sky, lit by a full moon in the mountains. The screaming sound of the ships overhead is deafening. Mulder takes my hand in his. Somehow, I always knew we'd die together, I think, my breathing quickening. As strong as we are, there's no way one could survive without the other. Can you even imagine such an existence? The earth begins to shake under our feet. I look at Mulder in panic. "Can you feel it coming?" I shout. We will be together in the next life, Mulder. I believe. There was so much I didn't believe in. I didn't believe in vampires, werewolves, or goat-suckers. I didn't want to believe in extraterrestrials. But in this I truly believe. I touch the small cross hanging around my neck. We will be together in the next life, Mulder. Brilliant light flares behind my closed eyes and I clamp my eyelids tighter, wanting the light to go away. Leave me alone in this darkness. Mulder and I turn to each other. We say goodbye with our eyes. But it isn't goodbye, Mulder. We will be together in the next life. It feels so intimate to die together. With a flash of white light I am blinded and everything just stops. Black as ink, soft as velvet. I've never been quite as happy as I am right here, right now. From here, I can see everything. The light is brighter now. Somebody needs to stop that light. Music comes from somewhere, lovely threads of piano and violin. We will be together in the next life. It's like individual grains of sand slipping from my cupped hand. One by one they fall. We will be together. The next life. A cool hand squeezes my own hand. It's not his hand. The brighter the light gets, the more everything fades to sepia. We will. I hear a voice saying, "Good morning. It's time to wake up." Together. I don't want to wake but I feel myself rising to the surface, like a diver in the ocean, to the light, to the music. Next life. My eyes open to white. White ceiling tiles, so bright I immediately clench my eyes shut, hoping the soft blackness will return to soothe me. The hand squeezes mine again. "Open your eyes." The voice is gentle. Against my will, my eyes open. At first, everything is blurred and appallingly colorful. Sunshine on blue walls, stripes on the bed. A plastic tube runs from my hand to the wall. A voice in my head states: that is an intravenous line, a route of administration of medication directly into the vein. Tears spring to my eyes because I have no idea where I am. "Good morning," says the voice and I turn my head to the sound. It's coming from a woman sitting in a chair by the bed. Jeans, t-shirt, dark blonde hair pulled into a messy ponytail. She's smiling at me. She's the one holding my hand. "My name's Rachel. You're in a safe place and nothing bad will happen to you here," she says. Rachel. I feel exhausted. All I want to do is go back to sleep. Something is nagging at me. Something I forgot or something I needed to do that I didn't. "I promised," I sputter. "I promised." What did I promise? She only smiles at me. "What's your name?" Rachel asks. My eyes search the while tiles on the ceiling as if they hold the answer. My name? I have no earthly idea. I feel tears spilling down my face. To whom did I make this promise? My hand scrabbles at my neck, feeling for something that is no longer there. None of this is making sense at all. "You don't remember, huh?" she says. "That's okay. I'm going to help you remember your name." Why can't I remember my name? "This is going to sound really weird, but I want you to try this neat trick. I'm going to sing a song to you and I want you to look at me and listen." What the hell is my name? Rachel starts singing in a soft, melodious voice. "Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday, dear. . ." She stops and looks at me. Candles on a cake, colorful balloons, presents wrapped in shiny paper. She sings again, "Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday, dear. . . " "Dana," I hear myself say. She smiles as if I've solved the world's problems. "So, you're name's Dana, then." Dana. Day-nuh. I stop to consider the name, to taste each syllable to see if it fits. Something resonates from within. I am Dana. In the small room, Rachel and I sing the Happy Birthday song together, the two of us smiling because my name is Dana. -------------------------------- The night shift came on at the Clinic and Rachel left Dana peacefully sleeping under the influence of a healthy dose of sedatives. She'd most likely sleep until morning but there was a befriender on night duty in case she, or any of the other patients on the unit, awakened. After finishing her end-of-shift paperwork, Rachel walked down the hall to Bradley's office and poked her head in the doorway. He was at his computer, glasses sliding down his nose, madly tapping away at his keyboard. She'd heard he'd been a fairly lousy befriender but he was one hell of a bureaucrat. "Hey, Bradley," she said. He'd been so intent on whatever he'd been working on that he jumped a bit at the sound of her voice. "Oh hello, Rachel," he said, pushing his glasses back up. "How did it go today?" "It was fine, no problems at all." Her day with Dana had gone about as well as any first day could go. Dana had spent most of the day crying, as many of them did. Rachel had held her hand and murmured soothing words. Human voice and touch were critical to a patient's success. There had been some minor triumphs. Dana had eaten her first solid food - apple sauce - and even made a wobbly trip to the bathroom. It may have been emotionally draining for Rachel, but all in all, not a bad day after all. She was vastly relieved. "K told me you got a first and last name. Good work," Bradley said. "I told you that you could do it. Maybe you should try listening to me more often." She fought an overwhelming urge to roll her eyes. Rachel had a question for him, something that had been on her mind all day. "Hey, Bradley? What ever happened to him?" "Who are you talking about?" He wrinkled his forehead. Rachel found herself unable to meet Bradley's eyes. "My first patient. What happened to him?" As she'd held Dana and wiped away her tears, Rachel had kept thinking about her first patient. She hadn't been able to get the sound of his voice and the confusion and anger on his face out of her head. The memories were of him no frightened her, though. When she'd remembered her first patient as she held Dana's hand, Rachel had felt lonely. Bradley turned to his keyboard and resumed his wild typing. After a minute, he looked up at her. "Here he is," he said, turning the monitor so Rachel could see it. "This is the progress report we got for him." ************************************ NORTH AMERICAN SECTOR BOSTON ORIENTATION CENTER ONE WEEK PROGRESS REPORT ************************************ NAME: Mulder, Fox William DOB: 10-13-? [Year unknown to date] GENERATION: 7 SINGLE IDENTIFICATION #: 0023667341 SEX: M LAST KNOWN RESIDENCE: Unknown to date OCCUPATION: Unknown to date DNA MATCH: None RETRIEVAL DATE: Unknown RETRIEVAL PLACE: Unknown AWAKENING DATE: 11-18-1999 CLINIC LOCATION: Atlanta FWM adjusting well to center. No known violent episodes since arrival. Passed psych screening. Participates in all scheduled activities. Approval to enter vocational program granted. SUBMITTED BY: R. Ortega, Boston Orientation Center DATE: 12-15-1999 ************************************ Now she had a name to go with the face and the voice. Fox. Fox Mulder. It had an odd ring to her ears. Rachel found herself exhaling in relief, although she wasn't exactly sure why. It was a good report; he'd probably made it. If he hadn't, the Clinic would have received notice of his death or psychiatric institutionalization. After dinner, she left the cafeteria and started down the walkway to her dorm. She spotted K leaning against a wall, trying to look nonchalant and inconspicuous, which was difficult to pull off when one was nearly seven feet tall and grayish in skin tone. Rachel stopped before him. "What are you doing around here, slumming?" He tilted his head at her, seemingly confused. "Sorry," she said. "That's probably too slangy for your implant to catch." "What does it mean?" "It's hard to explain. Something about hanging around the lower classes for adventure." "Do you want to go for a walk?" he said abruptly, not meeting her eyes. "Sure. Where do you want to go?" "I don't know. Just a walk. . ." He shrugged his shoulders, a gesture he'd picked up a while back. They walked through quiet, almost deserted streets, passing few people on the way. Those they did come across seemed a bit taken aback to see a human and one of the Others, companionably strolling together for no apparent official purpose. Every so often they'd stop to look at a building in construction to speculate on what purpose it would serve. After a few miles, they found a small park next to a towering apartment building. Even though quite a few lights were on the building, the park's benches and tree- lined paths were empty. Outside the dome, it was getting dark. "It seems sad to have this lovely space and no one is using it," Rachel said. They sat down on a park bench facing some playground equipment that looked as if it had never been used. "More and more Humans are coming to Atlanta every day," K said. "Soon enough it will feel crowded and bustling, like a real city should." So many lost, she thought. I can feel them tonight. She turned to K. "I have a weird question for you. How do you say your name?" "You won't be able to say it. None of the Humans can." Rachel smiled at her lanky friend, dressed and jeans and a sweatshirt as if he were trying to fit in, to pass as a Human. "How will I know if I don't try?" K sighed. "Fine. My name is Kassshiiaaatessaahaaarasaahdt." At least, that's what it sounded like to her ears. She tried to repeat the sounds back to him and ended up dissolving in laughter. K smiled in response, since the Others didn't seem to laugh. "We'd better stick with K." He pointed at the swings. "What are those?" "Over there? They're swings." "Yes, but what do you do with them?" Rachel had no concrete memory of ever using a swing but something inside her told her that she absolutely, positively knew how to swing. She jumped up from the bench and started walking towards the swings. "Come over here and find out for yourself," she said over her shoulder. There were three swings in a row, surrounded by soft sand. Rachel sat on the middle swing and began pumping her legs. The swing took her higher and higher and she reveled in the exhilarating sensation of flying up and down, back and forth. She let herself come to a stop and looked at K, who was watching with fascination. "That looks like fun." "You should try it yourself," she said. "I don't think it would work. The swing is too low and my legs are too long." He was probably right. The average child's swing wasn't built for the Others. Rachel held onto the chains of the swing and leaned as far back as she could to see the stars emerging on the other side of the dome. She found herself singing: "Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are. Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky. . ." "That's a pretty song," K said. "Where does it come from?" "I don't know. This is the first time I've ever heard it, or sung it, for that matter," she said. That was the odd thing about memories. Sometimes songs, or trivia, or even skills would seemingly materialize from thin air. "It sounds like it could be a song for children," he said. This was what felt so wrong about the park. It wasn't the lack of people in general, it was the children. There needed to be children playing on the swings and the merry- go-round. There needed to be shouts of glee and grubby faces and parents sitting on the benches, gossiping and trading potty-training tips. "Do you have any children?" she asked K. He shook his head. Rachel bit her lip. "I did. I had a child. Or children. I don't know. . .I can't remember." She felt his soft touch on her shoulder. "That must be terrible for you," he said. "You have no idea." She turned away from K, remembering her horror and confusion after the exam in the Orientation Center when the doctor had gently explained to her that she appeared to have given birth to one or more children. How could a mother possibly forget her own children? She sighed. "How do you mourn someone you can't remember, K?" "I don't know. I can't even begin to imagine what it's like to live without my memories of the past." She nodded. No, he couldn't imagine. "Do you ever miss home, K?" she asked. He ran long fingers through his short scruff of dark hair. "Of course I do. I get homesick." No matter how fulfilled she was in her work, no matter how many friends she made, no matter how generally comfortable and safe her life was, Rachel never quite felt at home in the new world. It wasn't home. Atlanta was clean, shiny and untouched. There was no history here. Home was something far away, something she could not remember. Home had been a place called Florida, but it was just a word to her. Home had been being a mother, maybe a wife. She'd been somebody's daughter. She'd been a paramedic; she'd saved lives. There had been fires and floods and car accidents. "So do I," she said. "So do I. . ." Rachel wiped her eyes but there were no tears. She'd cried enough for her forgotten ones. It was time to find her home, whatever that meant. Rachel swung high into the air. For the first time, she remembered wind on her face. She looked at the tapestry of stars sparkling in the night sky and dreamed of a place called home. ************************************ NORTH AMERICAN SECTOR MINNEAPOLIS ORIENTATION CENTER ONE WEEK PROGRESS REPORT ************************************ NAME: Scully, Dana [Middle name unknown to date] GENERATION: 8 SINGLE IDENTIFICATION #: 0023449761 DOB: 02-23-1964 SEX: F LAST KNOWN RESIDENCE: Washington D.C. Area OCCUPATION: Unknown to date DNA MATCH: None RETRIEVAL DATE: Unknown RETRIEVAL PLACE: Unknown AWAKENING DATE: 01-09-2000 CLINIC LOCATION: Atlanta DS making adjustment to orientation program. Complains of frequent nightmares and insomnia, also frequent headaches. Participates in all scheduled activities. Approval to enter vocational unit granted. SUBMITTED BY: S. Avery, Minneapolis Orientation Center DATE: 2-12-00 ************************************ END "We shall find peace. We shall hear angels, we shall see the sky sparkling with diamonds." Anton Chekhov, "Uncle Vanya" This story is for Anjou, for being a fantastic focus group of one and for her friendship, which helped me find the confidence to finish this story. I owe Shari and jerry dozens and dozens of cookies for general loveliness and being kind enough to dust off their beta hats for me. I appreciate their time and effort more than I can ever express. My most grateful thanks to my friends for welcoming me back. Caffeinated Cravings: www.geocities.com/dashafic or http://dashafic.livejournal.com.