Schisms (13/?)       
by Singing Violin (Pearl on Ephemeral/Gossamer)

Email: perlner@mit.edu
Rating: G
Category: X-Files VRA

Spoilers: I Want To Believe

Summary: What could possibly cause these two to break up? A series
of short stories explaining the reported status of Mulder's and
Scully's relationship upon the revival miniseries.

Disclaimer: The X-Files characters and universe are not mine.
Archiving: Anywhere, as long as you let me know. I put stuff on AO3,
ffnet, and Ephemeral/Gossamer.


Chapter 13: In The Cards

Doctor Dana Scully couldn't stop thinking about a particular young
boy. No, this boy wasn't her son...she'd pushed that one far
enough out of her mind enough times that it had become old habit.
That one was tucked away in the dark recesses of her brain, a
memory too painful to revisit voluntarily. From time to time, that
one would come unbidden to the forefront of her consciousness,
and with his image came the inevitable tears she was also
practiced at hiding, but never practiced enough.

This boy, however, was part of her daily life, at least for the
moment. His parents didn't even know this boy's doctor had been
a mother, once; they did, however, understand that she shared
their faith, and that was the only thread that allowed her to
continue her work as his physician.

It would still be some time before she knew if she had succeeded, or
if she'd unnecessarily subjected a dying patient to unspeakable pain.

The boy, for his part, seemed to understand her drive, almost support
her, even though he didn't fully understand everything that was
happening. She hoped, one day, he would, but for that to happen,
he had to first survive.

She'd thought about praying for him -- the Catholic hospital, of
course, would encourage that -- but somehow, after her interactions
with the pedophile priest who had helped rescue the missing FBI
agent while claiming to be speaking for God, praying seemed less
palatable than usual.

As she headed toward the local coffee shop, someone grabbed her
arm, and she had to bite her lip to keep from yelping. It seemed an
infinity ago when her first instinct would have been to draw her
service weapon.

Scully turned around to face the wide, worried eyes of an elderly
woman wearing a colorful head scarf and equally colorful, flowing
robes. Before she could speak, the woman spoke to her. "I need
to speak with you; it's very important."

Before she could formulate a coherent brush-off, she found herself
uttering the words, "Do I know you?"

The woman smiled slightly at her. "You will."

Scully sighed. "Well, what is it? I really have to get back to work."

The woman eyed her suspiciously. "Not here. Come."

The former FBI agent should have known better than to obey, but
something inside her trusted this unknown woman, and curiosity
spurred her to find out what pressing matter needed to be told.

The woman led her down a flight of stairs, into a basement
entrance to what looked like an apartment building, then into a
finely-decorated room that smelled vaguely of incense. Scully
barely had time to read the sign on the door: "Psychic."

The woman motioned for her to sit at the small, round table in
the center of the room. She hesitated. "I don't believe in this
sort of thing," she tried.

The woman looked askance at her. "There was a time when that was
true," she told the doctor, "but you have seen too much. You
would not be here otherwise."

Scully bit her lip again, trying not to gasp. A logical conclusion,
she reminded herself. Anyone could have guessed that, given
that I'm still here. Still, she wondered why the woman had clearly
targeted her specifically. Did she look like an easy mark? Were the
lines on her face evidence of her seemingly endless suffering,
something that made her vulnerable to anyone offering any
semblance of hope?

Yet, she was here. Might as well stay to see the result.

The psychic meaningfully eyed the collection jar on the table, and
Scully resisted rolling her eyes. Of course she wants money. She
should have exited then, but then she reminded herself that, even
if this woman was a fraud, she needed to make a living, and since
she was gainfully employed, she had a few dollars to spare. But she
knows I'm a doctor; I'm dressed for work, Scully reminded herself.
Yet still, she found herself wanting to know what the woman had
to say. She drew out her wallet and extracted a twenty-dollar bill,
which she placed in the jar.

Then she sat, all the while kicking herself for playing along. Mulder
will rip me for this later, she thought. If he finds out. I suppose I
don't have to tell him.

Now, the woman sat across from her and took out an ordinary deck of
playing cards. Scully raised her eyebrows. "You're not even going to
use Tarot cards?"
The old woman gave a hearty laugh. "Tarot cards are for the
tourists," she said. "I'll get just as accurate information from
these."

Scully shrugged, now more curious than ever what was going to
transpire, even as she expected to be taken advantage of.

The woman shuffled the deck, then turned over the top two cards:
the ten of diamonds and king of spades.

"Do the numbers ten and thirteen mean anything to you?" she
asked pointedly.

Scully stared at the cards, puzzled. "Not really," she admitted.
"Although come to think of it, they do seem...familiar. Is that odd?"

The woman grinned. "Not at all. Let's see what more the cards have
to tell." She turned over two more cards: the three of clubs and king
of hearts.

"There is someone whose name starts with C," the psychic said, "who
bears heavily on your life right now."

Christian, Scully thought to herself, suddenly even more intrigued.
Maybe she can tell me if Christian will recover.

"You have a man in your life," she continued. "Someone you love
dearly. He is your king, and he has stolen your heart."

Okay, Scully thought to herself, this is getting cheesy now.

"Hmm," Scully replied, not wanting to give the psychic any more
fodder, but still unable to stop her entirely.

The old woman turned over two more cards: the seven of clubs
and the queen of hearts.

"You are going to a dark place," she told Scully. "You will be there
for a long time...seven years. But your heart will remain true.
As will your king's."

"But?" Scully couldn't help uttering.

The woman turned over two more cards: the twos of clubs and
diamonds.

"In order to survive, to be revived at the end of your dark time,"
the woman said, "you will need to break off the relationship with
your king. If you do, there will be good fortune in your future,
after the seven years of darkness have transpired. But if you do
not, neither of you will ever be seen again."

Now Scully was annoyed. Break up with Mulder? What an absurd
notion. After so many years of fighting to be together, this woman
who didn't even know her was suggesting they shouldn't be together,
that their very existence hinged upon it?

No way.

She rose in a huff and forced herself to graciously utter, "Thank
you, Ma'am, but I think I'll be going now," before she stormed
out of the room, up the stairs, and back to her office, forgetting
her original errand, but now worked up enough so she didn't
need the caffeine anyway.

She blew through the rest of the day, hardly registering what
she was doing, then drove home to the remote house where the
love of her life resided. As she sat behind the wheel, she felt a
heaviness in her chest, a deep worry she wanted desperately
to ignore, but could not.

Later that night, she lay awake, and Mulder snaked an arm around
her waist. "What's wrong?" he asked, nuzzling her neck.

"Nothing," she tried, but he knew her too well to let that stop him.

"Please don't do that," he begged.

"Do what?" she feigned innocence.

"Shut me out," he told her. "Just tell me what's bothering you.
I know it's something."

She sighed. "You'll laugh at me."

She could feel him shaking his head against her back. "No, I won't.
I promise."

"Fine," she replied, not really believing him. She rolled over to
face him and propped up her head on her hand, supported by her
elbow. "I saw a psychic today."

"On the street?" Mulder asked, confused, sitting up and crossing his
legs. "That's pretty normal in DC, isn't it?"

"I spoke with her, Mulder," she told him. "She gave me a reading."

"And?" he asked, intrigued.

"She told me to break up with you," Scully admitted. "But it's
silly. Said it had something to do with someone whose name
started with C, and I couldn't help thinking maybe she meant
Christian."

"The boy with the degenerative brain disease?" Mulder asked.
"How is he anyway?"

"I don't know yet," Scully responded, "but we'll find out soon.
I'm just worried that if I don't do the right thing, he won't
survive...and according to the psychic, neither will we. But as I
said, it's silly. I mean, since when do I even believe in this
stuff?"

Mulder sighed. "I know it's supposed to be my job to be your
skeptic now, Scully. You believe and I refute, since it's usually
the other way around. But we've both seen our share of psychics,
including..."

Scully cut him off, sitting up to face him, mirroring his
cross-legged pose. "Don't say his name. I don't want to think
about him."

"All right," Mulder conceded. "But the point is, I don't blame you
for wanting to take this seriously."

She shook her head. "No, you don't get it. I don't want to believe
it. I didn't even want to see her. She pulled me out of the street,
and it seemed so urgent. I don't even know what I was thinking."

"You weren't thinking, Scully," Mulder told her, and she opened
her mouth to object, but he continued, "you were feeling, and
that's okay. Sometimes your gut knows better than your brain.
Mine does, anyway."

"Well, what's your gut telling you now?" Scully asked. "If it knows
so much, maybe I should listen to it."

"Right now, it wants a midnight snack," Mulder admitted, causing
her to giggle slightly. Then his face grew serious. "But it's also
telling me that, if something's bothering you this much, there's
probably something to it."

"You're not actually suggesting that...?" she asked, disbelieving.

He nodded. "I don't want to disappear forever...do you?"

She shook her head. "No. I want a future...but I want it with you."

"And we'll have it, eventually," he told her. "But only if we do
this first. Did she happen to give you a timeline?"

"Seven years," Scully admitted.

Mulder nodded solemnly. "Seven years was the time between
when we met and when we kissed for the first time. If we could
wait then, we can wait again now." He took her hands in his and
squeezed gently. "Let's go to sleep, and tomorrow we'll start
making arrangements. But I think some time apart could be good
for us. And if it's miserable, you can just come back."

"I can't believe you're taking this seriously," Scully told him, but
in the back of her mind, she agreed.

"I love you," he told her as he lay back down in the bed.

"I love you too," she replied, lying down with her back to him.

He leaned forward and kissed her neck. "We'll do whatever it takes
to be happy together, eventually."

"Yeah," she agreed, not quite believing she'd just made a major
life decision based upon the word of a crazy old woman. Well,
stranger things have happened, she thought to herself.

"On a weekly basis," he muttered in his sleep.