By Christine Leigh
Summary: Mulder POV during Dead Alive.
Blue is all there is. One moment it is crystalline as it was in the morning, and the next it is the soft dark hue of a midnight sky. Late in evening it was like that.
This he remembers.
Sometimes he is floating, but more often he is free falling. Or was that from before? What, though, exactly is before?
The questions never stop coming and that tires him. Perhaps this is why he feels rather than sees it. Too many questions. Take me back to the blue, please.
He cannot speak these words.
So, is this it -- nothingness for eternity? No, it can't be, he answers himself repeatedly. Something isn't right, or complete. If there is to be nothing, then he would not remember the blue. Wouldn't be craving it.
Had he believed in God would any of this be better? He supposes, reluctantly, that it would. Too late.
The torture had been unspeakable. He had become a hater who would have killed without remorse. Perhaps he did, and that is why the blue eludes him -- there is a God, and this is his punishment.
No. That isn't it. There is definitely something that isn't right about this and he can't fathom what, but that's not it. No matter. He knows what tethered him to Earth.
He decides to sleep, believing that when he awakens that he will have gained insight. As he drifts off, it occurs to him that the dead don't usually make plans to awaken. Then he wonders how he knows this.
Far too many questions.
Oceans and summer skies; cornflowers and blueberries; the ribbons Samantha used to wear threaded through her braids. He dreams of these things. Permutations, all, but one is missing. Should he awaken?
Then, he senses that it is near.
There is warmth around him. Somehow, things have changed. He is certain that this is what he feels. It is closer than it has been in a long time. This is not the effect of bright lights throwing searing heat into his bloodied chest cavity, but a loving warmth. He wants to cry and laugh, but is unable to move. Soon, please.
It is more localized now -- he feels the touch of flesh, warm and alive. He remembers trying to move his hand. Had he succeeded? And there is air. He is breathing in air, he is certain of that.
He must be very careful. He knows that he has found it and his heart is beating a dance as he dares to open his eyes.
~ End ~
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This story is (c) Copyright 2005 by Christine Leigh. "The X-Files" and its characters are the property of the Fox Network and Ten-Thirteen Productions and are borrowed here without profit or intent for profit.