Title: Mind Sweeper Author: XRie Classification: V, Mulder POV Contents: UST, MSR Rating: PG Spoilers: Sixth Extinction Summary: Mulder struggles against reading Scully's mind. What he finds there. Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. They are the property of Chris Carter and 1013 productions. I'm just trying to preserve my sanity by filling the void between the season premiere and its continuation. Have mercy. Notes: Hopefully it's obvious, but this story takes place in THE SCENE from the ep where Scully finally shows up in Mulder's hospital room. Feedback: Please! This is my first fanfic, and I am not too proud to beg. Send feedback to x_rie@hotmail.com. ****************** Mind Sweeper ****************** And now she stands beside me. Does she know what I am doing to her? Does she realize I not only hear her words but absorb every thought, every whim and desire that flits through her brain? I try to block out the voices that whisper her secrets, suspending all physical movement to channel my energy to this purpose. It is the most profound act of will I have attempted since my brain became a tool of the voices, something not my own to control. You see, I never wanted to read her mind. As much as at times I would have given anything to know her thoughts, I never wanted to violate her. The voluntary surrender of her intellect, or at least a glittering piece of it, was a treasure for her alone to offer. And I revelled in every new invitation she held out, beckoning me to take a step further into her mind. I did not want to take that from her. I do not want to take that from us. But the voices know nothing of love, respect, or the sweet joy of discovery. They will not heed my request to spare her mind, despite my battle against them, my eyes rolling painfully in my head, seeking to grab at least a small handful of my consciousness and squeeze it into submission. I have been used too far, and I can't fight anymore. If I had the power of speech, I would beg her to leave, to run far away where she cannot be penetrated. And yet ... a corner of my brain that still is mine selfishly wishes her to stay. She has been gone too long, and the sound of her voice penetrating the cacophony in my head is comforting beyond expression--a lifeline to grab hold of. In her I see shimmering light--a contrast to the murky depths I have been forced to probe--a purity of expression, of thought and intent. The images unwind from the spool of her mind, revealing themselves in brilliant focus before me. Her neck glistening with sweat, feet caked dry with sand, kneeling on the canvas floor of a tent, sliding another piece into an intricate design at her feet. ... "It's a puzzle. But the pieces are there for us to put together" ... She leans back on her haunches. Her eyes focus on the greater image; intense, burning, determined. And in that gaze is where I understand it first: she is not doing this for science, for religion, for the billions who could be saved by this knowledge, even for the truth. She is doing this for me. Then I hear her sob my name, her voice crack, and I am hungry. Hungry and parched with thirst and empty and desperate to pull her into my head and overwhelm the voices inside me with her clear, firm tones. I plunge in, surrendering control. The tendrils of my mind whip through hers, licking the edges like a wildfire, afraid to leave a drop unconsumed, untasted. A young girl throws her head back, eyes alight in absolute bliss. Her ponytail trails her like a flame as the sun dances across her freckles and she stretches her toes toward the treetops. "S'not high enough Billy. Push me higher!" ... "Dana, honey, are you telling me the truth, because if not" ... *Et veritas Domini manet in aeternum* ... A student clutches a notebook to her chest, tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she leans towards the cadaver for a closer look. "Here we have a full view of the lower digestive track. Now this" ... "C'mon Dana. He's your *instructor.* Aren't you even the least bit concerned of what people" ... "It's the people you'll meet along the way" ... *Along the way* And abruptly my mad, careening race decelerates. I am in a hallway. Stained and speckled linoleum. Naked bulbs reflected in dull brass numbers. My hallway. And there is a man standing in front of me, pleading. Tall with burning hazel eyes. ... "You make me a whole person" ... He is me. But not myself. Myself through her eyes. And he is not tarnished, or dirty, or black, or dark. He is infused with the light that permeates her consciousness, leaving nothing untouched. It burns through him, searing, cleansing, healing. It emanates back from him, imbued with strength. And in his eyes I see the reflection of hers: brilliant and blue, caring and tearful, hopeful and longing. And they are filled with love. I hold onto that image. I hold on. THE END