Untitled Document



"The Last Temptation of Scully"


     Quiet night washes over me, enveloping me in 
its peaceful embrace. I am lulled into sleep by 
the sheer bliss of knowing that I am home once 
more.

He touches me, so tentatively at first. It is 
our first time together; somehow, I know this. 
His hand cups my face to his as he reverently 
places a kiss upon my lips. He is so tender, so 
soft in his explorations of my mouth, I almost 
want to cry, but I do not because the pleasure 
is so great. He lowers his head, kissing his 
way down my neck until he runs his tongue, that 
gifted tongue, along my breastbone. I softly 
moan.

"Not too loud, Dana."

The words startle me. It is not his voice. It 
is not my own or that of the man who lies next 
to me. 

"It is I."

"Wha-" I manage to squeak out as I sit up to 
gather my thoughts after my lovely dream.

"I am here, Dana." The words seem to form in my 
mind as the visage of the one who speaks them 
comes into focus in front of me.

Out of the darkness he speaks. Clothed in 
shadows, he sits before me.

"You do not like my face. Yet, you certainly 
like his," he speaks as a smirk etches its way 
across his weather-beaten features. Small lines 
appear at the corners of his almost-black eyes. 

I know he is not referring to the man who 
shares my bed.

"Who are you?" I quietly demand.

"Who I am is not quite that important. Oh, 
sometimes it is. Tonight it is not. What's 
important is you, Dana. That's why I came 
here."

His voice drips with sincerity, yet there is 
something more. Something that I cannot begin 
to understand; yet, I know that it frightens 
me, makes me uneasy. I am cold, colder than the 
night air can possibly be making me. It is 
coming from within me, chilling me to my 
deepest thoughts.

"I know that you believe that he can make you 
warmer," again, sarcasm surrounds each of his 
words.  "You're wrong, you know. That's why I'm 
here. To save you."

"I don't need saving. I love Ethan," I reply 
with sternness.

"You know I am not speaking of Ethan. You knew 
that even as I spoke my first words. Ethan has 
no power over you. Yet, there is one who does."

I know of whom he speaks. 

"Mulder has no power over me," I shoot back as 
quickly as possible.

"Ah, my dear, that is where you are wrong. I 
know that he does and that is why you must go," 
he says with a patronizing tone. 

"Go where? And who are you?" I demand.

"As I said, who I am is not of relevance. 
Though, surely, I would think that you would 
know," he paused waiting for me to respond.

I looked more earnestly at the figure who sits 
before me. He seems to not have a definite 
form, just a slowly changing, shifting 
blackness surrounding him. I fear I do know his 
true identity.

"That's it, Dana! Good girl!" he mockingly 
congratulates my inner realization. "Now, you 
asked me a question; that's good. That means we 
are com-mun-i-cating," he says with 
satisfaction while drawing out the last word, 
syllable by syllable. 

"That's one of my greatest triumphs right now. 
People talking to each other and believing that 
they are in relationships, simply because they 
are yacking to each other. So many words, so 
many lonely people." He is chuckling.

"Now where were we?" he asks with a certain 
sick glee. "Oh yes, you asked me where you 
should go. Bright girl that you are, you 
already know. C'mon," he seems to encourage, 
yet I know he is not truly capable of that.

"You know you want to run as far away from him 
as you can. You know you want to leave this 
embarrassment of his work. Do something with 
your life, with your education. Do it, Dana. 
Leave him," he harshly whispers.
"I cannot. I was assigned to this project. I 
can't leave now," I reply.

"When will you leave him? When it's too late? 
When it has eaten up your life? When you are as 
old and withered as I appear before you? Leave 
now, and life may still be your servant. I can 
make sure of it," he says conspiratorially.

His offer runs through my mind like a slow-
moving slip of ice.

"Dana, I can give you what you've hoped for, 
dreamed of," his words hang in the air as his 
face changes before me. Features sliding, 
shifting into that of a young child. "Is that 
better? Does that remind you more of life? " 
says the child with light brown hair and hazel 
eyes.

My gasp was rewarded with a giggle from the one 
who sits before me. "Good, I've frightened 
you," says the child right before changing back 
into the elderly, ancient one. "Maybe now 
you'll listen, " he hisses.

"You'll never see that life. It will never be 
yours if you stay with him," he says hurriedly.

"I just work with him," I say, barely 
convincing myself.

"You fool! You know it will be more than that 
someday. It will be everything to you. And you 
will lose everything because of it. I don't 
think you're capable of handling that, Dana. Do 
you?"

I do not respond, which he takes as assent.

"See, even you know that is beyond you. You saw 
how you panicked back in those woods. There 
will come a time when you have every reason to 
panic because of that place. But that can all 
be avoided, if you listen to me."

My mind is racing almost as fast as my pulse. 
Is any of this real? Even if it isn't, what has 
caused me to invent this?

"You didn't create me, Dana. I am the angel of 
light from before time. I was so promising 
once, too. Like you. Flee from him. Leave him," 
he demands.

"And what if I don't?" I counter.

"You are more of a fool than he is. Death is 
not romantic. Never underestimate me," he says 
in a terrifyingly sweet whisper.

As if a sword has cut through the darkness, my 
thoughts turn to the faith of my youth: "Resist 
and he will flee."

"Funny, you weren't able to remember the holy 
words when you were sleeping with a married 
man," he says accusingly. "And quit focussing 
on me. I'm only here to help," he says, 
feigning innocence.

"No, you are trying to keep me from the life I 
have chosen," I say with a renewed strength.

"You're just running away, Dana, from your 
father, from Daniel, from yourself. For once, 
put yourself * first *," he says emphatically.

I know that is not who I am. I think of others, 
I think of the role my work plays in the lives 
of so many, in the life of the sad, brave man I 
call my partner. I cannot walk away. I will 
not.

"I will walk the path set before me. I know I 
will not walk it alone," I say strongly.

"Remember, only one man walked out of a grave," 
he says caustically, "I've kept the rest. And 
I'll keep the one you love someday, too. I gave 
you your chance, foolish little girl."

The form that terrified me is swept from my 
vision in a swirl of murky black as I stay 
transfixed in my bed, staring at the very empty 
place where this apparition once was.


The phone jars me from my waking nightmare. 

"Hello?" I speak into the receiver, fearing who 
the caller may be.

"Scully, it's me. I haven't been able to sleep. 
I talked to the DA's office in Raymond County, 
Oregon. There's no case file on Billy Miles. 
The paperwork we filed is gone.
We need to talk, Scully," implores Mulder.

"Yes, tomorrow," I offer.


I hang up the phone, knowing what I have done. 
I have sealed our fates: his, mine, ours. We 
will end up fighting Hell itself someday. And I 
am not afraid anymore.

END


Feedback: Visit me with your kind words 
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Author's Notes: Yes, I was hugely inspired by a 
scene in "The Messenger: The Story of Joan of 
Arc." It is with great respect that I put our 
ever-questing Scully in Joan's place in my 
story.

Thank you's  as always to dear Georgia, who 
never ceases in her beta kindness!