"The Fisher King" by Pellinor 

CLASSIFICATION: SA

RATING: PG

SUMMARY: Mulder has been shot, and Scully wants to know why; but, 
sometimes, getting what you most want can be the worst thing of 
all. 

**********

It was different this time.

Distant human murmurs from the corridors. The gentle sound of the 
monitors. The echoing sterility of the under-furnished room. The 
sense that time was somehow suspended here even as the machines 
beeped out the passing seconds....

And Mulder....

Oh, the old, painful trappings - they were all there, surrounding 
her with their familiarity, embracing her as she took her usual 
place and waited.

Nothing new. But yet....

It wasn't even that his condition was all that serious this time. 
He'd been shot, of course, and lost a lot of blood, but had 
arrived at the hospital in time. It had been touch and go for a 
little while, long enough for her to feel once again the panic of 
losing him, but it was now agreed he was out of danger. He'd be 
in pain for a while - that was only to be expected - and would 
have to take things easy for a few weeks, but still there was no 
reason to believe that he wouldn't make a full recovery.

No reason.

Scully stood up quickly, the chair scraping harshly on the floor, 
suddenly desperate to be doing something - anything - even if it 
was only to pace up and down his room, her heels high and loud in 
the hollow silence.

"God!" she muttered, pausing at the window and leaning her head 
on the glass, feeling the cold reach into her mind, feeling the 
tears start in her eyes. "What can I say?"

It _was_ different this time. She could feel it in the 
atmosphere, in his face, in the shadow of the past few days.... 
in the thing she'd learnt that had thrown doubts on everything 
she'd thought she'd known about him.

If she was right, that is. _If_....

"Oh God!" she mouthed, silently this time, wiping a hand across 
her eyes and feeling it come away damp. "If I'm right, please 
help him. Please...."

Then a sound from the bed cut into her hurried prayer, and she 
turned round, heart beating fast with mingled hope and dread, 
watching as Mulder's eyes slowly opened and his head turned a 
fraction, oh so slowly, towards the chair where she'd been 
sitting, looking.

"Mulder, I'm here." Her voice came out as a little croak, hoarse 
with the tears that she now blinked back, determined to keep her 
voice neutral.

Mulder's head sank back deep into the pillow and he closed his 
eyes, a small groan escaping his lips.

Silence.

She could hear his breathing, loud and slow, as if he was making 
a conscious effort to appear calm, even asleep, but she could see 
from the heart monitor that this was anything but the case.

A small spark of anger flared within her as she realised that 
once again he was running away from her, trying to hide behind 
closed eyes and a pretence of sleep when all the time he was 
suffering inside. 

"Damn you, Mulder!" she whispered, clenching her fists to keep 
herself from expressing her anger out loud. "Not this time."

She took a step forward, breathing slowly to keep herself calm, 
then another, hearing her every movement loud in the oppressive 
silence of the room, until she was back at the chair beside the 
bed.

"Mulder?" she said, quietly, touching his arm gently. 

But what else could she say? More than anything, she needed to 
know where he'd been the last few days, what had happened to him, 
why he'd left without telling her, selfishly unaware of the worry 
he was putting her through. Familiar questions. The questions 
he'd expect - the questions she'd had to ask him all too often 
over the past years.

But she couldn't. God, she couldn't. Not after.... after knowing 
what she did. 

"Mulder?" She spoke a little louder now, still feeling her own 
voice over-loud in the small room, still getting no response.

She sighed, leaning back in the chair, chewing on her lip as she 
sought the right words. But what could she say, when she didn't 
know anything? She'd thought she'd known him, but this.... This 
changed everything. She just didn't know him any more.

"Have you come to shout at me, then?" Mulder spoke suddenly, his 
voice harsh even though it was scarcely above a whisper. His eyes 
were still shut and he moved his arm a fraction, taking it away 
from her touch. 

She snatched her hand away, hurt by his rejection even though she 
knew what his anger was concealing. Enough of him remained for 
that.

"It's just normally when I wake up in hospital you're there to 
shout at me for getting hurt." Mulder's voice was gaining 
strength now, although he still didn't move his head, didn't open 
his eyes.

Scully felt the anger rising again. "Mulder!" Her voice was high 
with defensive warning. "That's not...." But then she made 
herself stop, knowing that this wasn't the right way to deal with 
the situation. Things were far too serious.

"That's not fair." Mulder finished her sentence for her, his 
voice full of shame. "I'm sorry, Scully." He opened his eyes at 
last, although he appeared to be struggling to focus as he looked 
at her. "You're right. That wasn't fair. God knows I deserve your 
anger, but you.... you've always.... you've never reproached me."

Scully tried to smile, knowing it was dismal failure. She should 
make a joke of it - do what they always did and hide their pain 
and anger with a pretence of humour, each of them knowing that 
the other was hurting but knowing that as long as they could make 
feeble jokes about it they would survive. But this time it was 
beyond joking, beyond smiling, beyond.... hope? 

"So, what happened?" Her tone was more brusque than she'd have 
liked, but she had to banish those thoughts.

"I....." Mulder moistened his lips with his tongue. "I was shot."

"I know!" She was snapping now, hating herself for it, but unable 
to respond any differently to his evasion. Why couldn't he trust 
her and tell her everything? God! Why couldn't he have trusted 
her two days ago and stopped this before it had started?

Mulder sighed, shutting his eyes. "I was out running when I saw 
someone acting suspiciously." His voice was dull, lifeless. "I 
went over to investigate and he shot me."

"Did you think it was an X-File?" She had to ask, hoping, 
praying, that the answer would be yes, but knowing that it 
wouldn't. Mulder taking insane risks on an X-File.... Well, she 
could never like it but at least it was something she was 
familiar with, could deal with.

"No. It was just.... As FBI agents we're always on duty." He was 
defiant, challenging her to disagree, but she was silent, waiting 
for his next words. "I thought I could stop him, that's all. 
That's all!" These last two words came out almost as a shout, 
although his eyes were turned inwards and he seemed to be trying 
to convince himself more than her.

Not that it mattered.

Lies. It was all lies, of course. She wondered if he realised 
she'd not been taken in when he called in sick but had gone round 
to visit him, only to find that he'd disappeared. Or that she'd 
spoken to the police and knew that he'd apparently gone alone 
against half a dozen men, almost as if....

"Mulder," she said, warningly, refusing to follow that train of 
thought. "I know."

He licked his lips, the top of his tongue red with blood. His 
eyes stared at her almost in panic.

"I know there was more than one man." The words slipped out 
before she could stop them, although she'd been fully intending 
to confront him with the truth - with the whole truth. 

Mulder gave a small gesture that could have been a shrug, his 
muscles visibly relaxing. "Well, maybe there were a few more," he 
said, his tone overplayed calm.

Oh God, she _had_ been right. His reaction - his relief that she 
hadn't confronted him with.... with what she had to confront him 
with - proved that beyond doubt. What was he planning to do? He 
clearly thought he was safe from talking about it for now, but he 
couldn't hope to escape it forever. Sometime - not long - _she_ 
would come and then....

She shuddered, feeling the tears again in the back of her throat. 
Was _that_ what it was about? Rushing into a hopeless situation 
in the hope that it would provide an alternative to dealing with 
the situation?

But why? _Why_ was it affecting him like this?

She took a deep breath, digging her nails into her palms. She 
couldn't keep on evading it. He had to know that she knew.  He 
_had_ to talk about it.

Silence.

Oh God! _How_ can I get him to talk about it? What's happening? 
Help me, help me, help me.

Help him....

Her nails imprinted deep red curves on her palms as the dark 
fingers of memories and fears reached out for her mind. She took 
a deep breath, relaxed shakily, focused on the weave of the 
blanket across his chest.

"I had a call from your mother." 

Cream wool coarsely woven. Small fibres shining in the light.

Mulder stiffened, but said nothing.

"She was wondering if you got her message." 

A deep grey shadow in the lee of his arm, trembling. Cream wool 
fading to grey.

"Message?" Mulder stammered, his eyes dark with trepidation even 
though he was evidently trying to look surprised, as if he'd 
never heard of any such message. He was a poor liar. He'd never 
been able to keep his emotions from his eyes, even though he'd 
always tried to keep them from his voice.

Scully could feel herself shaking, fighting an urge to stop 
talking, to run away, to hide and hope the whole thing hadn't 
happened. But she couldn't. That's what Mulder had done. She had 
to be strong. She had to help _Mulder_ to be strong.

"I went to your apartment." She tried to keep her voice level, 
but could hear the shake in it. "I.... I listened to it."

Mulder's knuckles were chalk white as he clenched his fists, a 
look almost of terror in his eyes. "You shouldn't.... You had no 
right...." His voice blazed with an anger she knew he didn't 
feel.

"You _did_ get it, didn't you?" She was stern, relentless, 
finding it the hardest thing she'd ever done. 

Silence.

"Mulder....?"

Mulder shut his eyes, turning his head away from her, his voice a 
terrible void. "I'm tired. I want to sleep." 

"Mulder!" She reached for his arm again, shaking it in sudden 
panic. He _couldn't_ shut her out now. This was something that 
_had_ to be dealt with.

"Leave me alone!" Mulder's voice was fierce, his eyes full of 
despair. "Normally when I'm hurt you nag me all the time, telling 
me to rest, stopping me doing what I want. But now I actually 
want to _do_ that, you won't let me!" His hand reached for the 
call button.

"Mulder!" Scully grabbed his wrist, risking his anger as she 
stopped him calling for a nurse. "You can't just ignore what's 
happened!"

"Nothing's happened!" Mulder spoke through gritted teeth, though 
he was too weak to pull away from her iron grip in his wrist. "I 
was shot. I'm tired. Just. Leave. Me. Alone."

Something snapped inside her then. Was there no end to his 
denial? She'd tried being gentle, but he _had_  to deal with the 
truth.

"Damn it, Mulder!" she hissed. "Your sister's come back and 
you.... you...." She ran out of words, the brief spurt of anger 
draining out of her. "Why, Mulder? Why are you doing this to 
yourself? Please tell me.... Please."

Mulder's mouth twisted in a feigned smile that was closer to a 
grimace. "Samantha?" The intonation was surprised, pleased, but 
the shake in his voice, the despair in his eyes, gave it away. 
"She's come back? I didn't...." And then he gave up the pretence, 
letting his head fall back on the pillow, shutting his eyes.

Scully reached for his hand, stroking the clenched knuckles with 
her fingers. "Mulder? Please talk to me. I can't bear to see you 
doing this to yourself." 

Mulder turned his face away. "I just needed some time by myself 
to.... think." His voice was dull, lifeless. "Just a little 
time...."

"But your mother?" Scully could hear her voice getting harsh 
again, but Mrs Mulder had sounded so distressed on the phone. 
"Fox!" she'd said, her voice cracked by tears as she spoke to 
Mulder's machine. "It's Samantha. She's come back. I.... I don't 
know what.... Please come here now. Help me... I can't tell her, 
Fox. You're stronger than me. Please...." But Mulder had listened 
to all that the turned his back and left without a message, 
letting his mother handle the situation by herself. Selfish, 
that's what her original thought had been. Selfish. Even now, 
seeing his evident distress, some remnants of that opinion 
remained, causing her to speak harshly when she knew she 
shouldn't.

"I never really liked her." Mulder spoke quickly and quietly, as 
if he hoped she wouldn't hear, that he hadn't really said the 
words.

Scully was silent, stunned.

"That night she was taken, we were fighting." His voice was an 
empty monotone, as if he was trying to cut himself off from the 
emotions of what he was saying. "We fought a lot. She annoyed me 
- tagging along, taking things.... taking Mom and Dad's attention 
so there was none left for me. I.... I wanted her to disappear. 
'Get out of my life,' that's what I said - my last words to her."

Despite his words, Scully allowed her to feel a small flowering 
of hope. If this was all there was to it..... "Mulder, everyone - 
_everyone_ - fights with their brothers and sisters. Remember, I 
was one of four. We were always fighting. My brothers because I 
wanted to play with the boys. Melissa...." Already on the edge of 
crying, she felt the tears moist on her cheeks at the memory. "We 
fought too. But we still loved each other."

Silence.

She stroked his hand, willing him to listen to her. "Mulder, you 
love your sister. Anyone can see that." Indeed, she sometimes 
wondered whether there was any love in his heart to spare for 
anyone else. 

Mulder snatched his hand away. "That time.... When she came 
back.... when I thought she'd come back.... I didn't know what to 
say to her. I remember, she said 'Any chance of a game of 
Stratego?' and I said ' Twenty-two years too late.' Too late, 
Scully. I don't know what to say to her. What if.... what if we 
have nothing in common?"

She clutched her hands convulsively, unable to touch him, unable 
not to. More than anything she wanted to reassure him - to hold 
him like a mother would a scared child in the darkness - and tell 
him he was safe. But she knew that she couldn't. He needed 
comfort, but he needed honesty more, and respect.

"Mulder." She regulated her voice carefully, clinging again to 
the lifeline of the blanket as an anchor to her thoughts. "Of 
course it will be hard. I can't pretend it won't be." Twist of 
wool, prickly on her fingers, distracting her from the lie she 
had to make. Can't meet his eyes. Can't. "You remember last month 
I went away for the weekend? To a friend's wedding?" 

No response. The muscles in his face, his hands, were _so_ tense.

"I met some friends I haven't seen for over ten years." She 
carried on, ignoring his silence. "We were so close at school - 
inseparable - but we'd lost touch. When we first met last month 
it was so awkward at first. We just didn't know what to say to 
each other, but within minutes we'd relaxed. It was as if we'd 
never been apart - as if nothing had changed." 

She smiled, hoping the smile would tinge her voice. He wasn't 
looking at her.

"You should have heard us, Mulder." She fought the rising 
hysteria in her voice, keeping it light. "We were giggling like 
schoolgirls. And I should warn you. My friend Carole is very 
interested in meeting my cute partner."

Nothing. No sign of the sly insinuation such a remark would 
normally have triggered. His face was closed - no sign of having 
heard her lie. The awkward silences of that reunion were loud in 
her memory, and the solitary night-time tears mourning lost 
youth..

Her finger was red and sore from the twisting tightness of the 
wool. It inflamed her voice, giving it an edge of impatience she 
knew she would regret. "But does it matter, Mulder, really? Even 
if you don't end up close, you'll know she's safe. That's all 
that matters, isn't it? That's what this whole thing's been 
about?"

"This whole thing?" The force of Mulder's reply started her, 
brought the anxious face of a nurse to the door. "It was my 
_life_, Scully," he continued in a harsh whisper. "My whole 
life."

"I know." She spoke softly. The nurse took a step forward, but 
she gestured to her to go. "I know it was your life, Mulder. You 
needed to know she was safe, and she is."

His lips moved, framing words she couldn't make out. Was one of 
them "happy"? But there was such despair in his eyes....

"She _will_ be happy, Mulder. I know you'll make sure of that." 
She bit her lip, wondering. Would it be an intrusion if she....? 
"_I'll_ help you make sure of that," she said, firmly, making up 
her mind. "If she needs a friend - someone of her own age - 
someone who's been...."

She fingered the back of her neck, running out of words.

"How can she be happy, Scully? How?" A sudden cry, fierce, even 
angry.

"Because you love her." Her voice was hoarse, catching on the 
lump of unshed tears. "Because your mother...."

He whipped his head round with a cry, his hands clawing the 
sheets, struggling to sit up. There was such pain in his eyes, 
and she knew it was worse than merely physical - much worse. 
"Because my mother....," he repeated at last, slowly, sinking 
back onto the pillow. 

A question? She frowned, wondering. His face was closed again, no 
words, no clue. She licked her dry lips, thinking of her mother's 
warm arms helping her through a thousand childhood crises. 
"Because your mother loves her," she said, firmly, making up her 
mind. 

"Loves?" There was such bitterness in his voice - such force. 
"You have no idea, do you Scully? You don't understand."

"Help me to understand." She reached for him - reached for him 
the way she'd failed to do the last time she'd said those same 
words to him. It had been close then, that gargoyle case, but it 
hadn't scared her like this did. "Help me to understand what the 
problem is." She stroked his hand. He stiffened, but didn't pull 
away. "Don't try to do this alone, Mulder. Tell me."

Silence. His face was carved from stone, tense and rigid. And 
then he moved, and the cruel chisel marks of memory slashed 
across his features, gouging lines of pain.

"I want to understand, Mulder. I want to help you through.... 
through whatever it is you're finding difficult." Her voice was 
trembling with sincerity. He so seldom talked to her - really 
talked. They were in different states, the walls they built up.

But when it came, it came with the dark ferocity of a panther 
pouncing, death in the uncoiled fury of a single claw.

"You want to understand? You can't ever understand, Scully. How 
can you understand - you in your perfect family?" He was 
shouting, face twisted with anger. "You are so arrogant, Scully - 
so quick to judge. Do you think I can't see on your face what 
you're thinking when you read a profile? It's all 'he came from a 
broken home so of course he turned out bad.' I've _seen_ you, 
Scully. You stand there all squeaky clean from your perfect 
upbringing, so ready to judge, so.... so...." He swallowed, 
fighting to keep his voice under control, fighting to find words 
When he spoke again, the anger was still there, but the grief was 
louder. "You really have no idea, Scully," he finished, his eyes 
dark.

She clenched her fists, fighting the hurt that his words 
inflicted. The anger was a defence, she knew that, but his 
words.... His words stabbed like a knife, drawing blood. 

His words were.... true? No....?

"Try me, Mulder. Tell me." She whispered over and over her mantra 
of silent command. Straight back. Calm. Calm voice. Blink back 
tears. Calm.

"It's _her_. I'll have to tell _her_" He was so lost now - no 
anger in his voice. "Mom said.... She can't do it. She's run away 
and landed it on me and I.... I can't take it any more, Scully. 
Twenty-four years of it.... It gets so heavy, Scully. So heavy."

"The guilt?" She did no more than breathe the word, scared of 
breaking the spell - of pushing him back behind his walls. She 
knew the answer, though. He wore his guilt like an albatross 
around his neck.

"Their guilt. His guilt." He sighed, so weary now, so devoid of 
_anything. "He sold his own child to the devil. Mom knew about 
it. They put her there between them, and then they ran away. That 
night.... He just left her. He knew they were coming, but he 
walked away. He didn't try to fight."

"Mulder." She made her voice soothing, wondering once again 
whether _any_ of this memory was true. "You said yourself that 
they were too strong to fight. Maybe he has no choice. Maybe they 
threatened your mother or you if he fought. Maybe he had no 
choice. Maybe he...."

"He should have fought. Even if there was nothing but death, he 
should have fought. _I_ would have fought...."

She smiled at that - a sad, fond smile tinged with tears. He 
would have fought too. He was so driven, so courageous, so rash, 
so.....

And then the smile froze. So broken, now. So lost. It was as if 
he'd lost everything that made him Mulder. Mulder without his 
drive was.... heart-breaking.

"And afterwards...." His voice was dull, unaware of brief smile. 
"He ran away then, too. He never stood and fought. I was his 
scapegoat, taking his guilt. I was her protector, assuring her 
I'd get her back. I took it all and now...." He shook his head 
slowly, eyes moist. He was so pale, so weak. 

"And now your mother's putting it all on you again," she finished 
for him, voice rising with anger. But not at him. She'd seen his 
face in the hospital when his mother had her stroke, seen his 
face in other hospitals when once again his mother had failed 
even to call and ask how he was. How could she....?

"Don't _think_ that!" His face came alive for a second - alive 
with anger. "Don't think _anything_ against my mother. I deserved 
everything they did to me. I deserved...."

Oh God! She was speechless, unable to offer the comfort he needed 
so badly. A second passed, then another. She had to _deny_ it, 
but she.... What could she say? 

She swallowed, coughed. Reached out blindly with her hand to 
reassurance with a touch when her words were inadequate and 
choked. "You didn't deserve any of it," she said, hoarsely.

"You saw the file in the mine, Scully. It should have been me." 
His voice was dead. Only his use of her name showed her he was 
even aware of her presence. "He chose to keep Samantha but they 
tricked him and took her instead. They left him with a child he 
didn't want. I could see it in his eyes. If I did _anything_ 
wrong I could see it. I didn't know then, but I see it now. 
Whatever I did wrong - whatever I did at all - was just a 
reminder that they took the wrong child. It broke them, being 
left with me. No wonder they couldn't bear to look at me."

She was falling into a whirlpool, flailing wildly for supports.  
The air pulsed in her ears like death. That he had lived with 
this and not told her....

"You don't...." She stopped, licked her lips, looking for 
inspiration that didn't come. "How do you....?"

"I know, Scully." Hard. Final. Brooking no argument. "I know. It 
should have been me, and I've got to tell her that. I've got to 
tell her what sort of family she's come back to. I've got to...."

"No you don't." She surprised herself with her answer, the words 
firm and brisk. Anything less and she'd break down and weep for 
the tortured twelve year old bearing more pain than anyone should 
see in a lifetime. "You don't have to tell her."

"Yes I do. How can I even look at her knowing....?"

"You think of Samantha, Mulder, that's what you do. Think of 
Samantha, not yourself. If the truth would hurt her, don't tell 
her."

"Damn it, Scully. She's not eight any more. I owe her the truth. 
I will _not_ become like my father, living a lie." 

He was trying to sit up again, his pulse racing. She reached out, 
touched his face, holding his gaze. Slowly, slowly, his struggles 
died away and he collapsed back onto the pillow. But his eyes 
were darting, and she knew the struggles inside were undimmed.

"You owe her happiness, Mulder," she said, when she knew he could 
hear. "Life owes her some happiness. Hearing all this just 
after...." She hesitated, seeking a neutral term. "Just after 
coming back," she continued. "That would be wrong. Let her get 
settled. Get to know her. Find out her needs. Make sure it's for 
the best. Only then should you tell her."

"But the truth?" It was a tiny whisper again, not fighting.

"Sometimes ignorance is bliss, Mulder." She smiled sadly, 
reaching again for the small raised scar at the back of her neck. 
If she'd never remembered, would she be happier? 

He nodded, sighed. It was so.... It wasn't what she was 
expecting. She'd expected a fight. That a few minutes could over-
ride two days of fears.... 

Unless...?

Oh God, no! 

"There's more." She whispered the words, horrified, silent. 

A memory came into her head then - a memory of a smug voice in a 
greenhouse of death. "More than you will ever know". And with it 
came the smell of the expensive after-shave that now lingered in 
Skinner's office where once, for four long years, there had been 
the smell of cigarette smoke. 

No-one had found the body, of course.

She bit her lip, wondering what to say. Was _this_ what he was 
worried about - that her return was but an effect of internal 
Consortium politics and that his own efforts had all been futile? 
That he was no longer considered important enough to be kept in 
check by the threat to his sister's safety?

Or that Samantha's father was....? Or that _his_ father....? She 
couldn't complete the thought, though she has never forgotten the 
distant words of accusation he'd thrown at his mother one night 
months ago, before.... before everything changed and the smell of 
smoke went out of their lives, and, for a brief moment, they had 
smiled again.

"Why, Mulder?" She knelt on the floor, her face so close to his, 
her voice so quiet. "What is the _real_ reason you fear her 
return so much?"

He started, eyes terrified. Had he thought he'd fooled her, 
escaped? His lips moved but no words came out.

"Is it because....?" She paused, remembering his earlier words, a 
long eternity of minutes away. "Is it because this quest was your 
life and you're afraid you've got nothing now - nothing to aim 
for?"

He nodded, oh so slowly, but there was guilt there too. Not there 
yet, Scully. Nearly, but not yet. Don't let him slip away.

"But it's not over." She remembered another time he'd been deep 
in despair, remembered the words that had pulled him out of it, 
then. "You have your work and you have me, Mulder, and you have 
yourself. And this time you have Samantha too, and she'll bring 
her own questions." She stroked his hair. "It's not over, Mulder. 
It's only just beginning."

But she couldn't look at him, not any longer. She couldn't feel 
the truth of her words. 

"But it's not, Scully." There was such despair in his voice. 
"When I heard that message from my Mom, I realised. My whole life 
I've wanted the truth, and now I've found it. I...." A sob. "I 
wish I hadn't."

"The truth?" She mouthed the words, but the voice stuck in her 
throat, yielding no sound.

"It's not Samantha."

She flashed then, seeing the corroding green blood, wondering in 
a sudden flash of hope if she was totally wrong about this.

"Not Samantha?" she stammered. "Then who?"

"It's me, Scully. Me. My failed life. Me." He thumped at his 
chest, a violent finger pointing accusingly. "Me. Not her."

"You?" She was lost again, always lost. Whenever she caught up, 
he was away, racing ahead of her on a fresh course of self-
destruction.

"I don't want Samantha back. I never have. Not a living a 
breathing little girl, or an adult whose life I haven't shared. 
Twenty-five years I've kidded myself that I want her back, 
but...."

The floor was hard on her knee, painful. She was glad of the 
pain. It was an anchor in this terrible spiral of darkness. She 
blinked at him wordlessly, wanting him to continue, not wanting 
to hear him.

"All I wanted was happiness, Scully." Such a simple statement, 
but there was such guilt in it - as if he felt he didn't deserve 
what was everyone's right. "Just happiness. Love. A family. 
Completeness."

"I know, Mulder." Nothing could make her break her contact with 
him - nothing. There were twenty-five years of pain to make up 
for in a touch. 

"No, Scully, you don't." His eyes were the eyes of a drowning 
man. "Samantha was only a symbol - an image. I could blame 
everything on her loss. Everything. No relationships. No career 
prospects. No family.... It wasn't my fault - wasn't because I'm 
a loser - it was because of Samantha. When she came back, 
everything would magically be happy again. Everything would...." 
A sob. "Mom and Dad would love me again."

"Oh, Mulder." There was nothing else she could say. She touched 
his face, offered him a lifetime of love that no-one else would 
give him.

"But it isn't, is it?" He pulled away, hurting her. "I'm still 
me. I still have nothing. And now I don't even have the hope."

"You haven't got nothing, Mulder. You've got a sister, and you've 
got me."

"Do you know the story of Amfortas, the Fisher King?" He spoke 
dully, not hearing her. "He was maimed - impotent. His whole 
kingdom was a wasteland, but he just sat and waited, doing 
nothing, waiting for the Holy Grail. Just waiting. In the 
Wasteland. He didn't even _try_."

"But the Grail came, Mulder." Tears pricked her eyes, sudden and 
unexpected, at the sound of her father's voice reading her the 
legends, at her mother's voice scolding, saying they were too old 
and violent for her. "It came, and he was healed. The Wasteland 
was green again."

He sighed, looked away. "No, Scully. He died. In the older 
version, he died. His head was cut off and his whole kingdom 
killed but seven. The Grail never came. The other side had it all 
along."

"But you...."

"She was my Grail, Scully. Can't you see? I was twenty-five years 
waiting for the magic that would give me happiness, always ready 
to blame others for keeping her from me, but all the time it was 
me. I ruined my own life. I was wrong to blame anyone else."

"But you can rebuild it." She reached for his hand again, 
fighting his resistance. "_We_ can rebuild it. You have so much, 
Mulder. Strength. Loyalty. Courage. Integrity. I know you're in a 
dark place right now and can't see this, but you can find your 
own happiness. I _know_ you can." Tears ran down her face and 
dripped onto their clasped hands. "This.... This is the start, 
Mulder, not the end. You're learning to live for the future, not 
live twenty-five years in the past. When you find your happiness 
it will be the happiness of here, now." She touched his forehead 
then his chest, pointing as she spoke. "It will be real, not the 
imagined golden age of the past."

He turned his head slowly. His eyes were deeply shadowed, and she 
remember again how weak he still was - how badly he'd been hurt.

He licked his lips, cleared his throat. "Scully, I...."

Then a nurse came in and he drifted away from her.

*********

"Scully, I...."

Same words, two days later. She'd smiled then, but this time her 
eyes were red with weeping, her hand shaking as she held the 
phone.

"Mulder!" Shouting his name, clinging to his voice. "Where are 
you?"

"Scully."

"Mulder? Are you okay, Mulder?"

Please come home, Mulder. Come home. To your mother. To Samantha. 
To.... to me.

"I'm okay, Scully. I...."

Silence.

"Mulder...."

The hospital had been in an uproar, dozens of guilty voices all 
speaking at once. That he could have slipped out like that.... 
No-one had noticed. Someone should have noticed. She should have 
noticed, have been there for him.

"My sister....?"

Deep breath. "I've met her, Mulder. She's.... she's happy." 
Beautiful eyes, just like her brother's. No memory of pain - not 
yet. The same age. She could be a friend.

"I'm glad. Thank you, Scully." 

"Thank you?" Dread. There was such finality, such farewell.

"I need.... I've tried and I can't.... I'm sorry, Scully. I 
can't...."

A click.

**********

END

**********

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Okay, I'm not intending to imply that this is how 
Mulder will react if Samantha returns. However, I do think it is 
a possibility, and, whatever happens, he would have a lot of 
emotional things to work through should she ever be returned, 
alive or dead.

As for the legend, once again I'm appropriating a good old 
British legend and twisting it when it can't fight back. However, 
as Mulder says, the "original" of the Fisher King legend is often 
said to be the Celtic legend of Bran the Blessed, who had once 
been a god but had somehow declined over time, and who was 
(possibly) maimed and impotent. He sailed to Ireland to fight an 
enemy who, rather unfairly, had a giant cauldron of rebirth which 
revived all their dead soldiers. Bran ended up dead, and his 
seven remaining followers carried his head to London in a magical 
journey that lasted 80 years, during which the head didn't decay 
but gave them all sorts of missing time experiences that Mulder 
would normally love, were he in a better mood. The head was 
buried in London and magically protected the Island of Britain 
from marauders, until King Arthur dug it up on the grounds that 
relying on magic like that made his men weak and complacent, and 
he'd rather have the legends says that _he_ was the one who 
protected the country, not some dead ex-god.

On another related note - not that anyone really cares - one 
version of the Grail legend has it that the Fisher King is the 
brother of King Pellinor. So there.