Hopelessness
She tries hard not to spend a long time in front of the mirror these days. She tries hard not to do it because analyzing her body and watching closely to see if her belly has grown makes her wonder what her child will look like, makes her wonder if he or she will look like Mulder, makes her wonder where Mulder might be, makes her wonder if he will ever be back. She doesn't want to think about it, so she shies away from the mirror, hoping the thoughts will go away along with her reflection. They don't.
She buries herself in work.
She has always worked hard, but she has always done so because she has always loved her job, because she has always loved the challenges it imposes on her. Now she works hard simply to keep her mind busy, to be away from home as much as she can, to see if she can find him, to feel closer to him in this office that was his whole life.
In this office that IS his whole life, she corrects herself. She refuses to use the past tense when referring to him.
She works hard to continue his work, she works hard to make him proud when he gets back. She tries hard not to think that he might not be back.
How long has it been again?
Her pregnancy helps her keep track of time, and so does work. It's the only reason why she knows it's been 14 weeks since he disappeared, since he was abducted. She believes he was abducted, even though her rational mind tells her she is crazy. She has been trying hard to keep her mind open to extreme possibilities because she knows it is what might bring him back to her.
It is hard, but she tries.
She tries harder when Skinner tells her about UFO encounters that might be a clue to finding Mulder. His name is the magic word that turns her into a believer.
But believing can be painful sometimes.
She wishes she were the skeptic she used to be when she sees Theresa Hoese lying in a hospital bed because, now that she learned to believe, she can't help but see Mulder lying in that bed instead of that woman. She can't shake off the feeling that Mulder is doomed to the same fate.
She tries hard not to let the tears that puddle inside her eyes fall. She hopes no one notices when they do.
It is hard to admit it, but she thinks agent Doggett is right: as bad as she wants to find Mulder, she is also afraid of finding him. She doesn't want to find him dead.
She prays for her thoughts to go away, she prays for Mulder's safe return. She hopes it is enough.
She prays harder when she has another one of those dreams that are so vivid she can almost call them visions. They are always about Mulder. They are never good.
This time, there are all sorts of probes and drills in his body and he is attached to a chair, screaming. When she wakes up suddenly, she realizes she needs to talk to someone, she needs someone to convince her that her nightmares are not real. It is why she knocks on Skinner's door in the middle of the night, and she is grateful that he tries to comfort her in the best way he can. She is glad that at least she has a friend to rely on.
The next morning, she thinks of how Richie will never be able to rely on Gary again because now Gary is dead, dead by the same wounds she could swear she saw all over Mulder in her nightmare. She thinks that what might have caused Gary's death is the same thing to which she saw Mulder's body attached.
She allows a few tears to fall and then pulls herself together. There is no use in thinking of what hasn't happened yet. Hopefully, they will find Mulder in a completely different condition. She has to believe that for her own sanity.
That spark of hope gets stronger when they find Theresa Hoese alive and well. Perfectly well, in fact. There is a chance they will find Mulder like this, too, she reminds herself. She is desperate, she needs him to be okay. She will keep holding on to every bit of hope that she can, even if it seems impossible. She holds on to hope so much that she even believes Mulder is, in fact, standing in her motel room, looking serenely at her, before agent Reyes interrupts. She holds on to the hope that this vision means something, and that it means something good.
She is still holding on to hope when she runs like her life depends on it. It's Mulder, they have found him.
She is still holding on to hope when she is kneeling on the floor near his body, when she touches his cold face and realizes that it might be too late. She is still holding on to hope when she runs back to Jeremiah Smith. He is literally her last bit of hope, Mulder's last bit of hope. And her last bit of hope literally vanishes into thin air and then her world comes crashing down.
When she screams, she is surprised her lungs don't give up on her. She is surprised she even has a voice to scream that much. She is surprised she still has life left in her after realizing her heart is gone.
She is surprised that she is able to run back to Mulder, not paying much attention to the looks of sympathy on people's faces as she kneels in front of him and touches his face, as she whispers to herself and to him that this is not happening, that this can't possibly be happening.
Tell me this is a joke, Mulder. Tell me you're pulling a prank on me. Tell me you're not gone.
She whispers, she cries, she screams. There is nothing else she can do. This is how hope turns into hopelessness.
She stays there until someone takes her away, when she has no strength to fight back anymore, when she has no voice left to scream or even whisper that she wants to stay with him, that she needs to stay with him, that he needs her. She doesn't know how long she has been there.
She surrenders to slumber after someone carries her to her motel room and helps her into her bed. She thinks it's agent Reyes helping her, but she can't be sure. Her mind is too fuzzy for her to recognize anything or anyone. She can only think that Mulder is gone and she was left behind. She can only think that from now on she'll have to start using the past tense when referring to him. She doesn't think she can do that. She doesn't want to.