Foundation I (4/6): Laying the Groundwork

Disclaimer in Part 1

Four Days Later

Nowhere, U.S.A.

The over-loaded Ford Explorer leaves little room to stretch. The hours pass slowly, in uncomfortable silence. Scully watches the highway turn into a two lane paved road, and then a dirt road...and then a single lane, rut-filled cow path that barely allows the rented Explorer access. Branches scrape the sides of the Explorer as it squeezes through the densely overgrown path. The road stops, finally, at the edge of a brilliant green meadow. At the head of the meadow, over a mile away, their cabin, their home for the next two months, is visible. Scully breathes a sigh of relief.

"Shall we?" Mulder asks, cheered by the first sign of life his partner has shown today. Scully nods her assent.

"How was your trip?" she asks softly. Hers went without a hitch, and she hopes his has been as effortless. Mulder shifts the Explorer into gear and they head into the meadow, right to the back door of the cabin.

"It was painless," he says, getting out of the car. He opens the back hatch and begins unloading. "How did your last appointment go?" he asks cautiously. He knows she had an appointment with her oncologist a few days before they left. He espies a guilty flush rising to her face.

"Everything's fine," she replies softly. "Everything's going to be fine."

She picks up a grocery bag and heads into the cabin. She closes the door behind her and leans against it briefly, seeking its support. "We can't keep this up much longer," she whispers softly, brushing away a silent tear.

"I can't keep this up..."

______________________________________X

Scully spends the rest of the afternoon exploring, stopping every so often to rest. Her strength is limited today. She chalks it up to four days of continuous travel. The cabin consists of four large rooms, a bedroom for her, one for Mulder, a kitchen/living/laundry area, and a glorious bathroom.

She immediately makes plans to enjoy a bubble bath tonight. She'll stash a bottle of the white zinfandel Mulder ordered, take her candles and some soft classical music, and she'll be set -

"Scully?" Mulder interrupts her reverie. "I'm going for a run - you up for it?" he asks, smiling at her. Her heart does a strange flip-flop which she squelches with a severe grimace. She forces herself to calm down, and replies with a soft smile, "I don't think I'm up for it today, Mulder. I'll just stay here, maybe start dinner..." she trails off, mentally going over their supplies. "How does pasta sound?" There is a tentative peace offering in her voice, which he immediately accepts.

"Sounds terrific. Can I help?" he offers.

"You can make a salad when you get back," she says. She watches him leave the cabin, wishing she had half the energy he seems to. She putters around the kitchen, enjoying the spaciousness and the picture windows that frame Mulder jogging in the meadow below.

She turns on a classical CD - Mahler. His Symphony No. 1 is her favorite. She feels that she identifies quite well with the music, but doesn't allow herself to delve any deeper. Will not discover why she feels that way.

Music is to her an enigma. She knows she could easily solve the puzzle, the *why* of it all, but to do so would be perhaps to lose herself. To lose hercontrol.

She cannot lose her control.

Some things are best left in the dark.

__________________________________________X

"You make one hell of a salad, Mulder," Scully says, smiling. She gets up to help him clear the table.

"I'm okay, Scully. I *do* know how to wash dishes," Mulder tells her.

"I trust you," she replies. Her eyes sparkle in the firelight. Though the weather is warming, the nights are still cool in the mountains. She moves to place another log on the fire. Mulder sobers in the wake of her words. She places a comforting hand on his arm. "Come on, let's finish this," she says softly. "Mulder?" she asks, waving a hand in front of his eyes. "Dishes, Mulder. Wash and dry - "

Mulder shakes himself for his near lapse of good judgment. Three innocent little words from her and a feather-light touch on the arm, and she has him squirming

"Mulder? Still with me?" she jokes. She uncomfortably notes Mulder's heated gaze; in a flash, it is replaced by his earlier good humor.  

"All present and accounted for, Captain!" he salutes smartly.

"I thought I'd lost you for a minute, Sailor," she grins. She throws him the kitchen towel and begins washing their few dishes.

"Scully," Mulder begins tentatively. He watches her fold the dishcloth and drain the sink. He takes her hand and their wine glasses and leads her to the couch. "I know you're not too thrilled to be stuck up here with me for two months, but - "

"Mulder," she interrupts softly. "I need to tell you something..."

Mulder sits quietly, watching his partner intently watching him. He makes no effort to interrupt. He is prepared to listen. She sips her glass of wine, focusing her gaze on the gold-leaf edge of the rim. Her heart is heavy when she ponders the words she must say to him. She wonders if now is the right time. Perhaps tomorrow -

"Scully," Mulder says, his voice quietly urgent. "You don't have to say anything. We can talk when you're ready," he whispers. He is suddenly frightened at the magnitude of his emotion, and struggles to hide it from her.

Her. The one person in the world from whom he could never truly hide anything.

"It's time, Mulder," she whispers. "It's time to face this." She draws a deep breath, savoring the fullness, the flavor of the air she breathes. "I spoke with my doctor several days ago, Mulder," she begins, her voice steady and dispassionate. She has had time to become accustomed to the idea. "I don't have much time left."

As accustomed as one can get.

"How long." Mulder says, his voice a monotone. He struggles for calm. For the steady acceptance Scully herself has displayed.

"Perhaps a month," she says softly. "Perhaps more." The words are spoken with such finality. Such beatific acceptance.

Mulder nods. He wants to be strong, for her, for himself, but can't stop the ache in his heart at her words. He reaches out to her; she enters the circle of his embrace. She is comforting him, now, as much as he comforts her. He laces his long fingers through hers, focuses intently upon the picture their hands make in the firelight.

"Dana," he whispers. He wants to tell her that he would give it all up, his life, the X Files, anything that was asked of him, provided she was given a cure. He wants to tell her -

"Mulder, I'm tired," she says. She extricates herself from his arms. "I'm going to run a bath and go to bed."

_____________________________________X

He hears Mahler through the thin walls of the bathroom. He smells incense burning, along with various candles. He retreats to the backyard, overlooking the meadow. Tonight the grasses are black, as is the sky. There is no moon. He moves again to the bathroom window where he is hidden from view by dense foliage. "Not Dana," he whispers. He wipes away a solitary tear. "God, please, not her..."

Scully is inside, moving slowly about the room, blowing out candles. She is clad in a heavy white robe. She puts a small hand to her forehead as she comes to the last candle, a multicolored orb, each individual facet displaying a tiny star. The facets come together to form larger stars in a stained-glass effect. Scully sits on the edge of the tub, silently regarding the candle. She pours herself one last glass of wine and downs it quickly.

Perhaps tonight she will sleep.