Night Ride Across the Caucasus
by Politic X

Part 4
See part 0 for header information.


Scully winced.

"No, Dana.  No."  She smiled sadly.  Scully's
lover?  The thought overwhelmed her.  "No,
I'm not your girlfriend.  I'm not anyone's
girlfriend.  I'd definitely remember if we
were... If I was..."  She trailed off,
embarrassed at her inadequacy, at her
inability to say how flattered she felt, or
how miserable.

The look on Scully's face was heartbreaking.

"Don't you think I'd remember being your
lover?"  Monica hugged her arms to her chest.
"Yours?" she emphasized.  "I'm sorry, that's
not my memory of us."

'Believe me.'

"I believe what you're saying is what you
think is the truth."

'But you think brain damage.'

She shook her head.  "I don't know what to
think, Scully. Your memory's different from
my memory.  And both of our memories are
different from everyone else's.  No one knows
about a case you were on. You said Doggett
was with you and he wasn't.  But no one
believes that you were with me yesterday
morning, either.  How could they?  You can't
be with me and be across town getting shot at
the same time."  She looked away. "I didn't
imagine you," she muttered. She was trying to
convince herself of this more than Scully.
Monica's thinking was muddied and she needed
to sleep.

When she looked again at the screen, Scully
was watching her read. 'I didn't imagine you,
either. I remember everything.'

Monica didn't reply.  The sadness in the room
was palpable.  She felt she was standing in
the middle of a Salvador Dali painting, and
that time was melting like tears around her.

'Ask me anything.'

She shook her head.  No.

'Mole inside left thigh, on right breast.'

Chills swept over her body.

'Back problems since accident when 7.'

She looked at Scully's face.  It must be the
coma or the brain injury causing her to
"remember" these things that she had no way
of knowing. Or maybe she was remembering them
like Monica remembered Scully being at her
loft.  Maybe there were two realities.

'Not uninterested in finding birth parents,
just afraid.'

This was too much. Shock gave way to
disbelief, and disbelief began turning to
pain.

'Scar from 1st time shaving legs.'

She covered her ears with her hands, but
Scully's sound wasn't audible, and she
couldn't mute it.

'You keep money in ginger jar.  Lots,
thousands.'

She wouldn't let Scully see her face.  She
wouldn't let her see the recognition.

'Leather fetish.'

She pulled a handkerchief from her jacket
pocket - one of her leather jackets, as a
matter of fact - and twisted it in her
sweating hands.  "Yeah," she said shakily.
"That's not much of a secret."

'Way you use it in bed is.'

Her head jerked up, her face aflame. In bed
with Dana Scully.  The vision of it reduced
her to ashes. She buried her face in her
hands again, hiding her tears.  She didn't
look up until Scully tapped.

'Told you, Reyes, I remember love. Waited all
my life for you.'

"Oh!" It came out as a strangled cry.  She
stuffed her fist against her mouth.

'Monica.'

"No."  She rocked back and forth, clutching
her sides.  "Please stop."  She couldn't bear
this.

'Reyes. Look at me. Stop looking at screen.'

She looked at her, but couldn't meet her eyes
for more than a second.  She stared at the
monitor instead.

'In love.  Couldn't forget anything about
you.  Wanted to, sometimes.  So believe me.
My memory isn't impaired.'

"No."  She stood up.  "It isn't true.  It's
not the truth I know."

'You still sleep with men?'

"Still?  What's that supposed to mean?"

Scully didn't form a reply, just looked at
her sadly.

"We're not lovers, Scully."  She saw the
effect of her vehemence in Scully's eyes.
"I've got to go.  I'm sorry."  She moved to
the door.  "I've got to go."

The truth was, she believed her.  Every word.
Maybe it was an alternate universe, maybe it
was missing time, maybe it was a parallel
life.  But she didn't doubt Scully's love.
It was the way her eyes consumed Monica's
body.  It was the way they blazed with need.
It was the way they scorched her that made
Monica believe Scully's memory more than she
believed her own.

****
fIve

Monica hadn't been gone long when she
returned.  "I haven't slept since Friday
night, and I didn't sleep much then," she
said, leaning heavily against the door.  Her
voice was raw, her hair a tangled mess, her
eyes swollen and red.  She was, as always,
beautiful.  "All I do is think about you.

"So, I'm going to give you my theory.  And
I'm going to stay right here to do it.  I
don't want you telling me anything else about
how you feel about me.  Okay?  I just can't
take it right now.  Maybe later we can
discuss our memories and how they differ."

Scully watched her, admiring Monica's courage
and self-preservation. She was grateful she'd
come back; she didn't think she'd see her
again.

"The problem's that we've got too many
memories going on here, and who's to say
which is correct?  Maybe all of them are. I
remember you were with me, you remember John
was with you, John remembers being up to his
knees in crawfish when Skinner called him
with news you'd been shot, and nobody - not
one of us - has a clue as to why you were in
an alley in that part of town on a Saturday
morning. But your story pans out to the
extent that the only witness to your shooting
is a man you name as John's murderer."  She
shook her head.  "Even though John's not
dead.

"The only thing that explains any of it,
including our - your - our love affair-" she
waved her hand. "Is that you crossed into
another world.  Or something.  You and
Lukesh.  There's a connection between you;
maybe you stepped across the same boundary at
the same time.  The point is, he's lying and
you're not."

She sighed. "I want to be standing on the
sidelines so I can sort things out, but I'm
caught up in the middle, and it's all I can
do to keep my bearing."  She smiled
wistfully.

"You're not going insane, Scully.  I believe
you.  I believe you're the sister of the
Scully I know; a cosmic twin of some sort.
You're from a different time or place, maybe
a different world, with different events."
She stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets.
She sounded incredibly tired. "I think the
important thing for us to learn here is that
there are enormous similarities between your
world and this one.  That has to be
significant.  The fact that you and Mulder
had a child together in both places..."
Monica gave her an odd look.  "The fact that
you work on the X Files in both places must
be significant of something.  And the fact
that we know each other in both places...

"It makes me wonder if each of the choices we
have every day isn't played out in a parallel
universe.  What if, in another world, I'm the
one who goes on the stakeout, and I'm the one
who's paralyzed?  Or, take it a step further.
What if there's another me in another
universe who wasn't given up for adoption?
What if I'm adopted by someone different in
another world?  Your mother, for instance?
What if you and I are lovers in one world,
and sisters in another?  What if Mulder's our
brother?"

She took a breath.  "What if there are a
thousand universes?  What if our souls
traverse freely back and forth?  I want to
research the idea, to see what's out there.
I need to refresh myself on philosophy and
religion, because quantum physics is beyond
me.  If there are parallel universes - two or
two thousand - it could explain a lot of
things.  Like synchronicity, or the
experience of deja vous and premonitions."

God, she loved her.  Brilliant woman,
thinking outside the box.  She didn't always
believe Monica's theories, but she always
respected them.

"I just wanted you to know that I didn't take
anything you said to me lightly."  She
started to leave, but turned back.  "I'm
going after him."  A hard look crossed her
face.  "It's not just what he did to you
physically, but Lukesh took you out of your
own world, Scully.  He took you away from the
one you love.  He's going to pay for what he
did to you."

Oh, no.  No!  Lukesh would kill her!  She
tapped her finger against the box.  She
struggled to move, to make some sound.  She
pressed the nurse button rapidly and
repeatedly.  The light flashed outside her
door.

But Monica was already gone.

****
sIx

She did a 180 on Third and parked outside
Starbucks. There was a parking meter, but she
didn't have change, so she left the motor
running and made the call from her car.
Stephanie wasn't at home.  She checked her
watch.  Maybe she had play practice, which
seemed to be more often than not.  She tried
her cell.

Steph answered on the first ring.  "Hello?"

"You picked up pretty quick.  Expecting an
important call?"

"Yours.  You okay?"

"Yeah.  Are you busy?"

"Play practice. We're doing a run through.
Blocking."

"For school?"  Stephanie took acting and
directing work wherever she could find it.
Sometimes this got in the way of her
teaching, so sometimes she stopped teaching.
Those were the times when she leaned on
Monica the heaviest.

"Yep."

"What is it?"

"Downstage. Erin! Downstage!"  She yelled.
"What? Oh, sorry, it's 'The Crucible.'"

"Again? Didn't you just do it?"

"A couple of years ago. It won state, babe.
Gotta stick with the winners. Besides, I
can't do 'Equus' around here."

"Thank God for that."

"I'm surprised they even let me rehearse on
Sundays." She snorted. "Know what I mean? And
why do you hate that play so much?"
Stephanie sounded wired, like she was on
caffeine again. Monica had never known her to
be without a vice. "Never mind," she said.
"I know why. So, what's up?"

"I need to talk to you."

"Talk."

"No, it's going to be a long story, I think.
I'll call you at home later."

"I won't be home later, tell me now.  Hang
on, let me get some privacy."

She heard her moving.

"Hang on.  Give me a minute."

She heard shouting, but it was muffled.  A
minute later: "Can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear."

"Okay."  Stephanie breathed hard. "Balcony,
laser pointer in hand.  They move wrong, they
get it in the eye."

Monica chuckled.

"Just kidding." She sighed. "Well, not
really."

"It's about Scully."

"Knew it was.  How's she doing?"

"She's... she's hanging in there."

"I guess that's the most you can hope for."

"She said that she's in love with me."

"Whoa." Stephanie whistled. "Wow."

"I just - I just don't understand it."

"Honey, what's to understand?  She's fallen
for you - why wouldn't she?"

"But, Stephanie-"

"Don't even say it," she interrupted.

"But, she's-"

"Don't go there.  Don't put your foot in your
mouth," Stephanie warned.

"But, I'm not ... I don't ... I can't return
that love."

"Why not?  You adore her.  You've been in
Washington how long?  Six, eight months?  Do
you know how much you talk about her?"

"I just admire her.  She's practically a
legend.  She could've been Director,
Stephanie.  There's not many women you can
say that about."

"Look, I know you have a lot of respect for
her, but you've got to face some facts at
some point."

"What are you talking about?"

"Quit - never mind."  Stephanie was moving
again - she could hear the swish of a skirt
and the clunk of boots - and a door closed.
The reception on the phone became a little
worse. "Let me tell you something.  Do you
know what *I* know about her?  Her name's
Dana Scully.  She's drop dead gorgeous, she's
brilliant, she's my age.  She has a baby boy
that you helped to deliver in some backwoods
God-forsaken part of Georgia.  She's petite,
has unbelievable hair."  She paused. "She's
perfectly manicured and made up every day.
She has incredible blue eyes.  She's risked
her life more times than I've probably run my
hose, and everything she does is for the good
of our country.  I'm in love with her and
I've never even met the chick."

(Continued in part 5)