Vivo Per Lei

by uberscully

THUNK! "He shoots he SCORES!!!!! And the crowd goes wild!!! Foxfoxfoxfoxfox!"

Had anyone else been passing by Fox Mulder’s basement office, they might have been a little concerned at finding one of the Bureau’s best agents playing basketball with an apple core and a wastebasket. Fortunately, the woman who entered the room knew Mulder well, and was merely amused.

"Slow day, Mulder?"

"Scully, you have NO idea. There isn’t even a mundane case to look at, much less an X File. Paranormal activity has dried up this week. I never knew this job could be booorrring." The last word came out as a full-fledged whine. Mulder dropped his head into his hands, and looked mournfully through his fingers at his partner, until she had to laugh at him.

"If you’re really all that bored, you can come watch me do this autopsy I’ve got scheduled."

Mulder made a face.

"Or you could review some case files."

Mulder rolled his eyes.

"Or you could clean your desk."

This earned Scully a raspberry, and it was her turn to roll her eyes. "So take the day off. Go home, watch some movies. I’ll call you if anything comes up."

Mulder nodded and grabbed his jacket. As he reached the door, he heard Scully say his name.

"What?"

"REAL movies, Mulder. Try to hold off on Sexy Susie Goes To The Dentist."

Mulder grinned and left.

But once he got home, Mulder found he was in no mood to watch any kind of movie. He had changed out of his suit into his favorite jeans and faded pink T-shirt, and was trying to toss the remote into the wastebasket. He had scored 24 points for the Knicks, when a free throw went wild, and knocked askew a painting hanging on the wall. Mulder pulled himself off the couch to straighten it, when he was hit by a rush of memory.

-opening the door to a trashed apartment, pictures hanging at funny angles and papers on the ground, the drawers of his desk opened and searched-

Mulder left the painting as it was, and sagged against the wall, breathing heavily.

-trying not to cry and then not caring as the tears spilled down his face and onto his outstretched hands which couldn’t help her and couldn’t punish those responsible-

"Whoa," Mulder whispered to himself, trying to get a hold of himself. He hadn’t had a memory attack like that in a long time. It had been a long time since he had let himself think about Scully’s abduction and near-death after her return. He tried, as a rule, not to think about it. No one could function racked with guilt, and every time he thought about it, he only prosecuted himself in front of the worst hanging judge of all - his conscience. Had he not give her that implant . . .

"Whoa," he repeated. It was over, and she was fine. She had lived through it. Mulder shook his head, blinking back tears. He had risked Scully’s life so many times, over and over and over again. And she had always lived, lived to save his life - how many times? Mulder gasped as he fought back the memories of a submarine disappearing under a glacial floe, freezing temperatures, and the sickening feeling that his blood was curdling within his veins. If Scully hadn’t arrived at the ER when she did, he would most certainly have died. It was by the greatest amount of luck that she was able to determine his whereabouts - but he had gone alone to Alaska so as not to endanger her life again. Endangered lived, that was all their work was about. But Mulder was always ready to risk himself, and he knew, as he sat on the floor of his apartment, that Scully was always ready to follow him to the edge - and over it.

"I don’t deserve her," he muttered, pulling himself up and straightening the painting. He went back to the couch, turning Scully over and over in his mind. He had hated the closure of the X Files, not just for the interruption of his work, but for the separation of him and his partner. Nothing was right without her, there was no one to support him and question him and - he smiled - slap him down when he needed it. Before she had been sent to debunk his work, the X Files were his personal project, and when someone said "X Files, someone else invariably said "Spooky Mulder." Now whenever the files were mentioned, in the same breath was said "Mr. and Mrs. Spooky." As scientifically cynical as she was, Scully’s need to know the truth had been intensified, and her mind had been forever opened to new ideas and possibilities.

The chirping of his cell phone brought Mulder out of his reverie, and he dove for it. "Mulder," he answered.

"It’s me. I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?"

"No," he smiled. "Not really. What’s up?"

"Nothing work-related, I’m afraid. But my mom just called and told me she’s got a bug, and she can’t go to the concert we were planning to go to tonight. If you’re not busy, and you don’t mind a little culture injection-"

"Not the opera."

"Andrea Bocelli."

"Who?"

"He’s Italian. He’s very good. He’s won awards."

"I’d love to."

"Really?" Scully’s raised eyebrows projected an image of themselves over the phone. "Kennedy Center at eight."

"I’ll pick you up at seven." Mulder hung up the phone. He would have gone to the opera with her. He’d go anywhere with her tonight.

Scully set the phone down and stared thoughtfully at it. She hadn’t really expected him to want to go, even though she thought he may actually enjoy the tenor. She wondered what had put him in such an agreeable mood.

"What do you think so far?" Scully whispered, ignoring the frowns around her.

"He’s incredible, Scully." Mulder wasn’t exaggerating. He hadn’t known what to expect, having never seen a world-renowned tenor in concert before. He had missed The Three Tenors on PBS. He had merely wanted to spend a relaxed evening with Scully, basking in her presence and hoping that without saying anything, his warm appreciation of her would show through. But the dark, slightly scruffy man on stage had captured Mulder’s attention from the moment he had opened his mouth. Although Mulder didn’t speak a word of Italian beyond "spaghetti," he could feel the emotions behind each song. The current one ended, the one Mulder had proudly recognized as the aria from the movie Philadelphia, and he joined the rest of the audience in loud, enthusiastic applause. Scully followed suit, the amused smile of that morning making an encore appearance. Mulder loved that smile - the smile that crinkled the corners of her blue eyes, the smile she had given him when he awoke in an Alaskan hospital, the smile that had met his presentation of "Superstars of the Superbowls."

Scully felt his eyes on her and looked at him. "What?" she asked, obviously expecting a dose of Mulder’s patented sarcasm. But he surprised her.

"You look nice, Dana."

She cast a disbelieving eye at him, but nevertheless smoothed her rich, mahogany-colored, velvet skirt. "Thanks. You do too." Mulder saw her mouth Dana?, think a minute, and shrug her shoulders. He grinned. The audience quieted as the piano onstage began to play arpeggios, and Bocelli began to sing, in a quietly passionate voice that drew Mulder like no other song had.

"What’s it mean?" he quietly asked Scully, who had studied Italian as an undergrad.

"Hang on - um, ‘I already hear her die, but she’s calm, as if she wants to sleep. She . . . she looks for me, then she surrenders, the last veil, the last sky . . perhaps it’s my fault, perhaps it’s your fault . . . what is life, everything or nothing . . . with her hands she looks for me, slowly she releases me, she holds me, she looks for me . . . .they call it love, a thorn in the heart that gives no pain . . . you who hear me no longer, who see me no longer . . . at least I had the courage and strength to tell you that I am with you . . . perhaps my fault, perhaps your fault . . . I already hear that she can hear no longer . . in silence she went to sleep.’"

Bocelli’s gentle crescendo faded, and Scully’s whisper with it, and Mulder sat frozen, clutching his program tightly.

-staring at a pale, motionless face and trying to remember how to pray and who to pray to, and willing life back into a limp hand, and not letting himself register that the shallow rise and fall of her chest was the only thing that differentiated her from a corpse, because she looked like she was sleeping, only sleeping, but so far away from him- "-alright?" Mulder jumped as Scully touched his shoulder.

"Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine." Mulder heaved a sigh and tried to smile reassuringly at Scully.

"If you say so. Wasn’t that fabulous?" Scully bit her thumbnail and stared at the singer 25 rows in front of her.

"It was. Thanks for translating. You know, Scully . . . " Mulder’s voice trailed away as he realized that even if this was the time and place to tell his partner all she meant to him, he simply wouldn’t have the words. He wished he could somehow give to her his memories, all the times she had saved him and lied for him, and he wished she could understand how their friendship . . . partnership . . was everything to him, how it defined his life and made him who and what he was. But Bocelli was singing again and the words Scully translated silenced Mulder.

"This is lovely, Mulder . . . ‘I live for her since the first time I met her. I don’t remember how, but she entered me and stayed there . . I live for her, she makes my soul vibrate. . . I live for her and it’s not a burden . . . she belongs to someone who is alone and now knows that she is also for him . . through a piano death remains far away . . . . I live for her who knows how to be sweet and sensual . . . she sometimes stuns you, but the blow never hurts . . . I live for her . . . It is painful when she leaves . . .I live for her in the vortex . . I have nothing else . . . I live for her on a dais or against a wall, I live for her to the limit, to the very edge . . . every day a conquest, the protagonist will always be her . . . "

The piano took over and Mulder stared at Scully. She had to, she had to know what this was. . .

"’I live for her because I have no other way out . . I have never truly betrayed . . . um, she gives me rest with freedom . . . if there were another life, I’d live it for her . . . she is unique . . I live for her."

Scully smiled as the blind tenor took his final bows of the evening. "Vivo per lei means I live . . . for . . .her . . ." Scully had turned to Mulder halfway through her explanation, and this time, her voice trailed off. Mulder was suspiciously bright-eyed, and in wonder, Scully raised her hand to his cheek to catch the tear rolling down it. Mulder caught her hand and held it to his face for a long moment, oblivious to the people around them standing and gathering their coats. Then he took her hand and pressed it to his lips. When he released her, she sighed and stood, offering her hand back to him. He took it and she helped him to rise. When both of their overcoats were on, they began walking up the aisle to the exit - and halfway up, Mulder put his arm around Scully’s shoulders. She leaned into him as they walked.

An old woman behind them said to her husband "Vincent, look at that sweet couple."

They didn’t correct her.

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