Author: Haha, no one's here, so I get credit! ;)
Summary: Scully's journal entry to Mulder following "This is Not Happening."
Spoilers: This is Not Happening, and brief references to Pilot, Duane Barry, Quagmire, Herrenvolk, Gethsemane/ReduxI/ReduxII, Triangle, Biogenisis/The Sixth Extinction/ TSEII, Requiem.
Archive: Email me.
Feedback: Please!
Author's Notes: Please read my other story similar to this, Reflections in Patience. I am planning on compiling and editing them together all through season 8...whenever I find time. ;)
> Mulder...I saw you dead last night. It was the most terrible experience of my life. My hands are too shaky to write, and my fingers are almost too shaky to type this.
I cannot bring myself to face the reality that I will never walk into the X-Files office and see your name plate on the desk, your posters and photographs, and you sitting in the chair, leaning back and smiling as I close the door.
I cannot bring myself to believe that you have left me forever. That I will never hear you pick up the phone and your reply to "Mulder, it's me." That I will never again say "I'm fine" to your questions about my well-being. That I will never have my partner working alongside me again. That my last hope for your survival is gone. That when I knock on the door of apartment 42, you will not be there.
But, if someone were to ask me how I am, I cannot say my reflexive "I'm fine." Because now, I am not. I am not complete. I am not doing well. I am not going to get over this. I am not alright. I am not fine.
Seeing you there brought back memories, ones that I had treasured, but now brought a new wave of pain each time they crawled into my mind.
When I first met you, you thinking I was sent to spy on you. How I was abducted the year after I was assigned to the X-Files. How I lost Queequeg in Lake Heuvelmans, and how you didn't exactly like my dog. How you tried desperatly, a few years ago, to protect the life of one who could later save yours. But you succeeded; he did not.
How you were there when my cancer went into remission, and how you strived so hard to find a cure. How you explored the Bermuda Triangle looking for a lost ship, and returned to me with injuries and crazy memories. How you had lost touch with yourself, how I traveled to Africa to find the links to your illness. And then, how you were taken from me, trying to protect my life, while sacrificing yours.
I am angry at myself for letting you go. Now you are gone, and I cannot bring you back. Now you are gone, and I cannot do a thing. As a doctor, as a partner, as a friend.
I cannot decide if I should bury these letters along with you, Mulder. There is no chance now that you will see my feelings, hear my thoughts in your heart. Your beautiful mind has been put to rest, in a way I thought would never happen. Torturous, awful. I will never share any more memories with you now, Mulder. But don't blame yourself. You can't.