A/N: Almost done with season 8, and I just saw the episodes of Mulder's death a revival. Alright, who else was crying happy fangirl tears when Scully saw Mulder alive? Admit it, you did!
I had a strong urge to write Scully's thoughts and feelings on the matter, and I'm sure others here have. Its a bit depressing, but at least we all know things end well.
So, I hope you enjoy this oneshot.
I once had a talk with Mulder about starlight. How it's billions of years old. Stars that are now long dead whose light is still traveling through time. It won't die, that light. Maybe that's the only thing that never does. He said that's where souls reside. I hope he's right.
The truth hurt. It hurt more than ever before. This realization hit Dana Scully, as she stood among her partner's grave. Her colleague, her friend, her rock, her constant, and her love. It all hit her like a speeding train, blowing up in her face and dying away into a feeling of nothingness. Her heart was not broken, but simply gone. She was empty.
The first time she laid eyes upon his body, she felt confusion and uncontainable rage. How could she have been so foolish to have hope? That little bit of absurd, impossible hope. She wished she had gone on to prepare herself for his death. The second time she saw his body, she felt denial. Seven years of living a life of danger, full of tragedy and life-threatening situations, and they always found the strength to go on. How could the man who fought against all odds and for the greater good, simply die so soon? It wasn't his time to go. And the third and final time she saw his body, during the funeral, she felt overwhelmingly depressed. She could still picture his form as she closed her eyes. His body, abused and pale, decaying in a black suit. His scarred face held no emotion, and that disturbed her somewhat, yet comforted her that it held no pain. She still awoke in the middle of nights from the gruesome dreams of his abduction and torture, his gut wrenching screams penetrating her mind, and his desperate calling of her name echoing in her nightmares. She was certain he would haunt her for the rest of her days.
She had wept for months, during his disappearance and after. She wept until her eyes became dry, lifeless orbs. She would often let out her tears onto the soft pillows of his bed which she sought solace in, soothed by his faint scent that lingered there still. Being in his apartment gave her some little comfort, and so did the false allusions of him standing at his window she would occasionally have. She was running on very little sleep, but she knew that. The stress of this tragedy was starting to screw with her mind, and she knew that too. But honestly, she didn't care anymore. She didn't feel anymore.
Skinner began to drop by her house more often, and she assumed he knew she was becoming a little erratic too. Had he been stopping by in worry of the danger of hurting herself or perhaps worst, consideration of suicide? She didn't know. But she was sure that suicide had never crossed her mind, she still had some sense left in her. That, and Mulder would be completely against the idea. She was truly grateful for Skinner's concern though, he had become a close ally and good friend over the last few years. She did not consider until now, the grief that he may hold for Mulder as well. He would never allow himself to break his firm facade around her though, he needed to be strong for her. After all, he was the only one she could trust wholly now.
Though, there was John Doggett. The no-nonsense, rugged, ex-Marine Corps agent that filled in for her partner for the last few months. He was a good agent, no doubt about that. But after being fed so many lies and conspiracies during her time here with the FBI, she had a hard time lending trust to anyone. She thought in the beginning he would be another spy, to manipulate and use her for the government's own pleasures. Much like what Mulder first thought of her, and like Krycek. He proved her wrong slowly though, through his dedication to find Mulder and his own concern for her well being. But there was that doubting voice in the back of her mind saying, "Are the X-Files really in good hands, all of Mulder's hard work?"
No one could ever exceed Mulder in his line of work, no one could be as devoted him. The X-Files was his life. Who would have the same courage that he possessed to fight the future? She knew she did not, though she wished she did. She had always envied Mulder, he was everything she wanted to be. So much passion, so careless, so open, no fear. He believed in most everything, could find that glimmer of certainty in the victim's eye, and never judged or doubted them for a moment. She wanted to believe, more desperately than she realized. She had tried so hard these few months to be the believer. Seven years of seeing all sorts of the unknown, and you eventually have to give the paranormal some second thoughts. She still struggled though, struggled to make the decisions Mulder would, to take in his view of the world, to take leaps of faith. But she felt like she was blindly trying to follow in his footsteps. It frightened her. How could she go on to complete his work when she failed so miserably? The X-Files needed him. She needed him.
She wasn't the only life that needed him though. She settled a hand on her stomach, pondering the fragile and beautiful being taking form inside of her. It was all that gave her hope, all that kept her going, all that gave her the faintest of smiles. This unborn child, this miracle which shined a gleam of light in these dark days. Yet it broke her heart, all at the same time. All though she wasn't assured, she felt deep down this child also belonged to Mulder. This child would now be raised, fatherless. She could never picture anyone but Mulder standing in the place as the father figure. Skinner had crossed her mind once, but she knew it would be too much of a burden on him. She decided though that she would speak fondly and tell often of her partner to her child. Perhaps, she hoped, in someway Mulder could be an influence to her child, and maybe some sort of guardian beyond the grave. She liked to think this.
And she now gazed upon his etched name on the cold tombstone, gently descending to her knees, sinking into the snow that blanketed the ground. She laid a bouquet of white roses with a single red rose in the center, tied together with black satin ribbon, on top of the grave. In the silent snow fall, she prayed. She understood that death was something not to fear, she learned this from her father when she rested on her supposed deathbed. She knew Mulder was in a good place, full of light and contentedness. Perhaps he had been reunited with his sister at last, along with his mother and father. And one thing she did believe with all her heart, was that she would be reunited with him as well one day. No more pain, no more suffering, no more lies, no more fighting, no more death. Just two souls, residing in starlight, traveling forever through time.