This is an angsty little piece I wrote when I was feeling rather morbid. I hope you like it.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even this computer - it's my dad's. Grrrr.
Dana Scully had, she vaguely remembered, prayed that this day would never come. And yet here she was, staring blankly at the TV screen without taking any of it in, trying desperately not to let lose the tears which threatened to overwhelm her. She'd cried almost continuously for the first three days, but now she was simply sitting on the floor of her apartment, staring blankly at nothing, which was the only other thing she had either the energy or motivation for. The thought suddenly passed through her brain that she would rather like to scream, to scream as long and as loud as she could, but then the thought was gone again.
She'd lost people she loved before, her sister and her father not least, but
she'd never felt this complete and utter desolation. There seemed to be a huge
void somewhere inside that was consuming her, and the scariest thing about it
was that she had no idea what to do about it, how to make this pain go away.
Scully had been trained for dangerous and terrifying situations, she had become
acclimatised to the bizarre, but no-one had ever told her how you coped with
losing the one person you needed more than any other.
How was she meant to work, sleep, have breakfast, hell, even get up without
him? Was it possible that she could get up and carry on? Did she even want to,
despite her much-vaunted independence?
She felt a sudden sharp pain in her stomach, and realised that she hadn't eaten since the Gunmen had come round the night before and nearly destroyed her kitchen trying to reheat a lasagne. She considered getting up from her position on the floor and getting something to eat, maybe even making a start on the mess the Gunmen had made, but somehow there didn't seem to be much point to it. What the hell difference would it make anyway, it wouldn't change anything, wouldn't bring him back.
So she continued to sit on the floor, damning the bastard who'd decided that of all the hostages in the room Mulder would be the best victim, damning the guy who'd scared him, damning Mulder for dying and most of all damning herself for being unable, even with her medical training, to save him.
God, what a nightmare it had been. She had seemed to go into slow motion, hearing the shots being fired, then seeing her partner crumple to the ground. She thought she'd probably screamed, but wasn't entirely sure. She'd seen the growing red stain on the front of his shirt, tried her best to quench the blood flow but without proper medical supplies it had been hopeless. By the time the situation had been diffused enough to let the paramedics in, he had died. Died right in front of her and she'd not been able to save him, hadn't even been able to relieve the pain.
She thought that she ought to be glad that at least she'd been able to say goodbye, and that they'd had had 14 wonderful years as partners - eight of them platonic, the other six decidedly less so. Although she didn't regret their relationship, could never feel bad that they had become much more than friends, it did mean that she knew in earth-shattering detail exactly what she'd lost. And there wasn't even the slightest chance that she would hear the voice she loved best coming from the shadows saying "Keep going, FBI woman." This was it. He was dead, d-e-a-d dead, and somehow she was going to have to live with that fact.
Her eye was caught by her holster, lying on the couch. Maybe she didn't have to after all. What did she have to live for anyway? There just wasn't any point any more. She couldn't go back to the X Files, not without him, yet she couldn't imagine doing anything else. It had been her life for so long. Anything she did now would feel empty anyway, without him around to talk about it with. But on the other hand, could she justend it all? Would she have the guts to pull the trigger? Could she do that to her family and other people she knew?
Then another thought, stronger. The years ahead without him stretched before
her, and she suddenly felt sick to her stomach. No, even if she caused pain,
carrying on would be worse.
She slowly got to her knees and reached for her gun.
She checked that it was loaded and put it to her temple.
She took a deep breath.
She pulled the trigger.
Her world went black.