Title: Heaven Can Wait
Author: Gina Rain ginarain@aol.com
Category: S, H
Rating: PG-13 for naughty words that 8-year olds know.
Spoilers: Brand X
Summary: Deep suction lands Mulder in some deep ... Uh, 
never mind. You'll see.
Muchas gracias to Sybil who issued a challenge I never, 
ever thought I'd answer and, of course, for being a 
super-beta.



The last thing he felt was a troop of tobacco beetles 
marching their way up his throat and through his nose 
and mouth.
The last thing he saw was the freedom dance these brave 
soldiers performed on the plastic wall of his oxygen 
mask.
The last things. The very last things.

Until he ran into Seymour.

After his close encounter with the bugs, Mulder simply 
‘found himself'–for lack of a better description–behind 
a Lucite desk. One moment, he was in the hospital, 
struggling to find a small space in his lungs for a tiny 
gasp of air and the next, he was in front of a rather 
nondescript, thin man in his early thirties. The man 
looked up from the pad he was writing on, smiled, 
introduced himself as "Seymour" and told Mulder he'd be 
with him momentarily. His recent ordeal gave Mulder  
more patience than he usually possessed. He used the 
other man's preoccupation with paperwork as an 
opportunity to take in the unfamiliar surroundings. 
Aside from the see-through desk, there was no furniture 
in the room. There were no real walls, either. They 
seemed to be in a room that, except for the fleecy white 
floor, was totally made of glass. All around him, the 
sky was an incredible shade of blue. And, for an 
enclosed room, it had remarkable ventilation. He felt as 
if he was outside on the most perfect of days. The air 
was neither too hot, nor too cold. It was just right. He 
took a very deep breath, and let the air fill his 
surprisingly pain-free lungs.

Deep suction. Of course. That was the answer. Scully 
must have signed him up for another of those deep 
suction technique sessions that he was so fond of. One 
week ago, Scully using such a term would have sent a 
thrill straight down to his nether regions. Having 
experienced said technique, however, his nether regions 
retreated faster than a turtle going back into its shell 
in the face of a dreaded predator. Suction was great–if 
the sucker's strength couldn't actually pull the body 
part straight off  the mother ship. Mulder smiled to 
himself. If this FBI thing didn't work out, that was a 
porn scenario that was just crying to be made.

Nether regions aside, though, surgeons served up some 
good drugs when they put you under and this little room 
in the sky seemed to be the end result. Cool. Mulder had 
a fun imagination. He couldn't wait to hear what it 
would make old Sy say after he finished writing the 
Gettysburg Address.

"Fox William Mulder," Seymour read aloud from his list.

"That's me," Mulder said, completely relaxed and waiting 
to be entertained.

"Done in by tobacco beetles," he shook his head sadly. 
"You've disappointed us. Most of us were going with the 
autoerotic asphyxiation scenario–although perhaps this 
qualifi ... nah. There was nothing erotic about your 
demise and, really, it's not like you caused it, either. 
But, if you had to go in another way, I think we would 
have preferred something a little more heroic than 
getting your lungs filled with some nasty looking bugs. 
Blech."

"Who are you again?" Mulder asked, looking around the 
room for an exit. 

"Well, you know, I'm kind of the guy you hit before you 
go on to the pearly gates. St. Peter is the true 
gatekeeper. I'm kind of like the guy who takes your 
luggage at the curb."

Mulder frowned. This didn't feel like a side-effect of 
mind-altering drugs. Shit. Where was his gun?

Come to think of it, he had a few more questions. How 
did he end up here? And where was here? And where was 
Scully? He didn't feel quite as relaxed anymore. In 
fact, he felt a full-on panic attack ready to surface.

"You're dead, Fox," Seymour stated.

"I am not dead."

"Very dead."

"I'm not. I'm sitting here talking to you. Dead people 
can't talk."

"Of course we can. It's a cinch to talk to other dead 
people. It's done all the time. Talking to live ones is 
a bit harder, but can be done."

"You're dead," Mulder said, a tone of skepticism in his 
voice that Scully would be proud of.

He flipped his hand at Mulder. "Oh, sure. For years and 
years. Died in 1953." He leaned forward. "You want to 
hear about a non-heroic death? I'll give you a non-
heroic death. I went on a roller coaster with my 
girlfriend, Lucille. She was scared and I tried to 
impress her by showing her I wasn't afraid of anything. 
I stood up just as we were about to take a nosedive and 
I flew off the roller coaster and landed down on the 
ground. Dead. As a doorknob," he sighed. "Still, they 
gave me a real nice job up here. By all rights, they 
could have made me a kind of court jester or village 
idiot or something but my death did led to stronger 
restraints in amusement park rides, so I guess that 
counted for something."
					
Mulder didn't care about Seymour's career rise through 
crashing. All he cared about was Scully. If he was dead, 
the last sound he should have heard was the soft sound 
of her voice telling him she loved him. The last vision 
should have been those deep, blue eyes looking at him 
the way they did when they were completely alone 
together, waking up in a hotel room on the road, just 
the two of them. Instead, he got those grungy little, 
crawly ...

"Mother-fucking shit," Mulder yelled out loud.

"Technically, I suppose they qualify as ‘mother-fucking 
shits' since there was more than one beetle. Yeah, I 
feel your pain, brother. A vision of Dana would have 
been a kinder last view of your world. Oh, and I should 
warn you, the Big Guy frowns on that type of language. 
He understands and forgives but you really don't want to 
tick him off too much."

"Skinner is dead, too?"

"Who? Oh, Walter S. Skinner. You think he's the Big 
Guy?" Seymour scoffed at the idea. "You have NO idea."

"God? You're talking about God?"

"Yes, God is the Big Guy. It's just a term of endearment 
really, but it seems to amuse him."

"So ... I ended up ..."

Seymour smiled. It was a nice, friendly sort of smile. 
"Of course you did, Fox. You're always so hard on 
yourself. Hey, your methods may have been off and you 
may have inadvertently, and not so inadvertently, caused 
the deaths of a whole bunch of folks, but your 
intentions were good."

Mulder slumped back in his chair.

"I'll be damned."

"Actually, no, you won't." Seymour laughed at his own 
joke.

"You have to send me back," Mulder said, leaning forward 
in his chair.

"You watch too many old movies, buddy. We don't send 
people back."

"Ever?"

"Well, rarely."

"Aha. So, send me back."

"Why?" 

"I can't live without Scully."

"Technically, what you'd be doing here is not living in 
the strictest sense of the word, so you'll do just 
fine."

"No. I won't. I can't."

"You can. Besides, she'll be here eventually. If you got 
in, it's a given that she will. I mean, she has good 
intentions and not as many dead bodies on her scorecard. 
Anyway, you and Dana will be reunited and you can all 
live–well, exist, happily ever after. Now, come on, 
let's get you processed."

"No. I mean it, Seymour. You just don't understand. 
Scully and I ... not too long ago...decided to take that 
step, make that move, we ..."

"Oh, come on, Fox," Seymour rolled his eyes at Mulder's 
clumsy attempts to tell him about the change in status 
of his love life. " I know all about those things. I saw 
some pretty racy movies when I was still alive. You 
know, that Myrna Loy was some hot number. You and Dana 
became boyfriend and girlfriend. Yes, I know all about 
it. Man, I loved dating. I miss that."

"You ... can't do that up here?"

"Oh, sure you can. But I have a very responsible job. I 
mean, it's my choice, really. I like to dedicate myself 
completely to my calling. Much like you did all those 
years before you started to keep company–in that way–
with Dana."

Mulder gripped his head between his hands.

"Wasted time. All that wasted time."

"Come on, Fox. The faster you get processed, the faster 
you can see your father and mother."

Mulder didn't move from his chair. 

Scully. She had waited for him for so long. As he had 
waited for her. And what was the waiting for? The right 
time, the right place, the right circumstances. And were 
they ever exactly right? Or did being together just make 
them right? As they would have in any time or place. And 
what did all that waiting give them? A couple of months 
of pleasure among all the pain of living in denial of 
their feelings?
So many, many questions. If he could feel pain, he'd 
have a headache.
And if he weren't already dead, he'd kill himself for 
being such an ass.

Seymour slapped the table and Mulder looked up.

"I know. Oh, Fox–this will change everything. Forget 
your parents. I can give you what you've dreamed about 
for years. Your sister, Fox. As soon as you're checked 
in, I'll bring you to your sister. You have a lot to 
catch up on."

Samantha.
Sweet Samantha.
How much of his life had he given in his quest to find 
his sweet sister? 

That question caused his eyes to fill with tears he 
absolutely refused to shed.  Even in heaven, choices 
were not easy. A lifetime search coming to a final, 
final end or the infinitesimal chance of a new 
beginning. 

 "I guess you guys have all the answers here," Mulder 
said.

"Well, more than you have down there."

"Scully doesn't know. That's the problem. She can't know 
because I didn't tell her. All I ever told her was how 
important finding Samantha was to me. And it was. At one 
time, it was everything. And then, it wasn't. Scully 
was. But she always acted on the assumption that she was 
in second–or maybe even third–place to all the other 
things I was searching for. And she stood beside me 
anyway. *She* put me first. Please, Seymour, Samantha–
and heaven--can wait. I need to go back."

"How do you know you won't go back and mess things up? 
Perhaps give up your chance for the ultimate reward? 
Give up your chance to spend eternity with Dana?"

"I don't know. I can only try. What I do know is ... we 
didn't get enough time. Please, Seymour? I know I'm a 
selfish bastard but I need more time to prove to Scully 
that ... she really was–is--the most important person in 
my life."

"That's fucking beautiful, man."

"Seymour! The Big Guy..." Mulder looked up at the glass 
ceiling and the slightly darker shade of blue the sky 
had suddenly turned.

"Sorry. I spent a lot of time last week processing some 
motorcycle gang members from the Bronx. You'd expect 
them to be tough–all the leather and chains–but really, 
they had hearts of gold."

Seymour shuffled some papers on the desk. 

"Autoerotic asphyxiation. Eh. I don't think I'll go for 
that choice in the next pool. I mean, why would you 
bother if you have someone as lovely as Dana as your 
girl? Go on–I'll have someone work the paddles on you 
one more time. You'll be revived. Of course, you might 
be in for more of that suction stuff."

"Anything, Seymour. I'll do anything."

"Hey, don't get carried away. Eternal gratitude is not 
necessary. I'm just a sucker for romance," he leaned 
forward again. "To tell the truth–my girl–the one I 
tried to impress–Lucille--was checked in just last week. 
She took one look at me, slugged me and called me an 
idiot. She said I traumatized her and ruined her life. 
Because, you know, well–they closed the ride and kind of 
left her up there while they were retrieving my body and 
she was alone and deathly afraid of heights. Plus, she 
kind of was horrified at my fall and all...then, there 
were the years of therapy and the time in the commune 
and then more therapy and ... well, I'm hoping she'll 
get over it some day and we'll have a second chance. 
Maybe by the next time you see me! Go on, get out of 
here. I'll see you in thirty or forty years."

"Thank you, Sey..."

The first thing he saw when he regained consciousness 
was blue. The clear blue expanse of an endless sky. The 
promise of eternity in their depths.

Scully's eyes. Looking at him with such love from behind 
a thin, clear veil of tears.

As soon as he was able to speak again, he'd wax poetic 
about her eyes. After all, he now knew they were the 
same color as the welcoming skies of heaven. But perhaps 
he'd always known that. After all, they were now 
welcoming him back to the little glimpse of it he was 
always able to find right here on earth.

The End..


The challenge: Take an episode with a near-death 
experience and go for the kill. Done. I just went one 
step further and reversed the action. I mean, I just 
couldn't deal with the hate-mail I'd get for not 
sticking a CD warning in the headers. This way, I get 
off on a technicality.