For You to Be Here
Post-Elegy (MSR-RST)
Rating: Mature (R/NC-17-Depending on the reader)
Summary: Scully disappears for a few days after her conversation with Mulder. Takes place immediately following Elegy, with minor spoilers/references for seasons 1-4.
[Read like a script: M is Mulder, S is Scully, SK is A.D. Skinner, MS is Margaret Scully.]
Feedback: Of course, positive or negative, they all have a place in a writer's life. powerofxfanfiction .
Disclaimer: All characters/stories/references belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, Fox and a lot of other big players—I am merely having fun—don't waste your time chasing me down. I promise all you will get is student loan debt.
Just always be waiting for me…
-J.M. Barrie "Peter Pan"
Harold is in the back seat of my sedan. His mouth moves but nothing audible. I assume he is telling me what I already know. I am dying. This isn't a false alarm. My life has been reduced to hands on a clock, days on a calendar. I thought the right choice was to leave the corridor, get away from Mulder, who was trying to create parallels between our fears. But his fear will dissipate with my death; he will hurt, but he will heal. Now I sit alone in the presence of a ghost, shrouded in darkness.
Mulder broods in the corridor, debating whether to follow her, or let her go. She doesn't want to be seen as weak or ill. If she only knew that never once has he looked at her as a victim? She is not a helpless lost cause. She is Scully, his Scully, and come hell or high water, they will find a way to fight, a cure. He leans against the wall, looks down at his shoes, scuffs the linoleum floor with his heel. This is ridiculous, he thinks, and leaves the through exit, her perfume still lingering in the air.
I walk into my apartment, pass light switches and lamps, and head for the darkness of my bedroom. I collapse onto the bed, not bothering to remove my shoes or coat.
KOSSEFF: Do you feel that you owe it to him to continue working?
I think about my response to my therapist, about relying on Mulder's strength, on his passion. Is that why I keep showing up to that basement office? Or has Mulder become such a fixture of my life that his presence serves as my new normal, a distraction from the mundane? I also worry without his ability to stay safe; will he continue to make rash decisions, chasing aliens into the oblivion, until he meets his demise on a concrete floor of another abandoned warehouse. The guilt alone would kill me. Can I keep up this façade? I need him. I need him to put the conspiracy aside, I need him to take care of me. I want to know the only quest he has is seeing me through to the end of this, whatever the 'end' may be. I will never tell him this is what I need and his is so wrapped up in his own pursuit for the truth. I feel invisible next to his causes.
MULDER: I know what you are afraid of. I am afraid of the same thing.
I don't know where we are in this—friendship? Partnership?—what is it? What are we? Skinner told me days ago I could take some time-I should take some time. And maybe for once, A.D. Skinner is right. Space may be what Mulder and I need. The truth is out there. I need time to figure out what MY truth is.
Mulder plays darts with pencils. First firing the make-shift darts at a government procedure poster, then at the ceiling. 9:45 a.m. Scully hadn't called to let me know she was going to be late. Maybe she had a doctor's appointment. He picked up the phone and dialed her cell phone number and it went straight to her voicemail. He dialed her home phone; it rang over and over, the machine finally picking up, her voice asking him to please leave a name and number.
M-Scully, it's me. I was checking on you. I looked at the calendar and didn't see any appointments…I just want to know you are okay. So, call me back. If you need something, I can bring it over…just call me.
He hung up. Work would make the day go faster. He needed to type up his report on Harold, the nurse, the case. If he got that part done, Scully would only have to add her autopsy and medical reports. See, Scully, I can be helpful! He thought to himself. He started tapping away, flipping through his notes, trying to focus on the task at hand. But something pulled at the corners of his mind, unraveled the edges of his threadbare heart. Where was his partner? All he could see when he closed his eyes was Scully.
I sat on the deck of the beach rental, looking out over the waves. The cool breeze kissed my cheeks, the salty air serving as natural therapy. I hear my Mom inside, clanging saucers and tea cups, arranging everything we need on a tray, for tea and croissants. She was so excited when I called her this morning, told her to pack a bag, because we were taking a few days off. Me, the planner and workaholic, dropped everything. We arrived at the little beach bungalow a couple of hours later. We stopped, got all of our favorite foods, some white wine, and movies. And here we are, I am looking out across an endless expanse of sand and water. I need this, I tell myself, though I feel a pang of guilt, nagging me, deep in the pit of my stomach. I didn't call Mulder. I told Skinner I was taking the rest of the week off but left him no information on where I would go. I feel like I am punishing Mulder, though the reasons behind it elude my rational thought. I hate hurting him, worrying him, leaving him empty-handed. But he needs to know how it feels. Because let's face it, when I leave this planet for good, he will have no choice but to live, and live without me.
Mom emerges, tray in hand. She places the assortment of goodies between us on the rattan table.
S-Thanks, Mom. It looks great.
MS-Of course, honey. I am still so glad you called.
S-Of course. I hardly ever use my vacation days. In fact, I don't know how many I've used since…
I think about the last four years of my life.
MS-Since you started working with Fox.
S-I guess you're right. We've had case after case, conspiracy after conspiracy. He isn't one to say no.
I take a bite of my pastry, a chocolate croissant, and a sip of the herbal tea. It really is perfect.
MS-He isn't one to say no, but not just professionally. I've seen him fight the good fight so many times, especially when it comes to you, Dana. Fox is a good man…a lost soul…but a good man. Someone you can count on.
I smile, but I know it is a sad smile. Since my diagnosis, I am not sure what scares me more; the disease or Mulder having to live without me. I can't imagine someone taking my place. He was so guarded when we first met. It took so many sacrifices to prove to him I was the real deal, professionally and personally. To prove to him that I was his friend and that he could trust me. It seems like his trust in me was just taking shape and no this. Another beacon in his life, slowly being snuffed out. I know he thinks it his fault. But I walked willingly with him. I made myself a target. He didn't make that choice, I did.
S-I know, Mom. I just need some time to sort things out…to think about my future.
Mom reaches over and places her hand on mine.
MS-You deserve time. Take all the time you need. I am just happy to be a part of it.
5:34 p.m. Mulder puts his head down on his desk, defeated. She hadn't returned any of his calls. All thirteen of them, unanswered. He was irritated and worried the combination of the two morphing into a headache. He grabbed his blazer off the back of the chair, threw it over his shoulder and left the basement, headed upstairs, to see Assistant Director Skinner. He had to know something. Scully could be a lot of things, but irresponsible wasn't on that list.
He walked past the secretary's desk. She was gone for the day, like most normal people, that had a home and a life, possibly a husband or family. Mulder knocked on Skinner's door at the same time it was jerked open. Skinner and Mulder jumped at each other's presence.
SK-Jesus, Agent Mulder, I was just leaving to go home. Can I help you with something?
M-Seems to be what everyone on this floor is doing. Hey, I was wondering if you heard from Agent Scully today. She didn't come in and I tried to call her, but I am worried…
Skinner stopped him with his hand.
SK-She called this morning. She won't be in for the rest of the week. She is taking some time off. You didn't know?
M-Does this look like the face that knew? Did she say where she was going?
SK-She didn't. But I didn't ask. She seemed…I don't know…not herself.
M-I'm worried about her, too, sir. This last case we were on. We didn't end on the best terms.
SK-I think you should let her have the time, Mulder. Take it from me, I've pushed my share of women away. If Scully says she needs time, I think you should keep your distance.
Mulder nodded in agreement. But every part of his being knew that there was no way he could that.
M-Thanks, Skinner. Have a good night.
SK-You, too, Mulder. Calling it a day?
Mulder was halfway out of the office and making his way to the elevator. Skinner shook his head. He might as well been giving directions to a blind man.
I woke up, the television was on a shopping channel, and the movie was over. I looked around for my Mother, but she must have covered me with this blanker on her way to bed. She never wakes me when I sleep, convinced that my nights are ones of sleeplessness, a consequence of the job. She wasn't all wrong on that. I had been exhausted as of late, but I don't think it is the work chasing dreamland away.
I stand, stretch my arms above my head, and walk to the sliding door, still cracked, allowing the oceanic breezes to fill the house. I stepped outside into the night. The moon reflected on the water. The waves made the view look like a mirage, an oasis in the night.
Mulder: You weren't in your room. I was scared.
I spun around, my heart in my throat; to see nothing but the door I just passed through. I shiver, looking all around, searching the dark. He isn't here. Even when I run away, his presence surrounds me, haunts me. I pull the cardigan tighter around my shoulders and step back inside. I close and lock the glass door, taking one last look at the sea; wondering once I leave this life will I be able to see what's beyond it.
Mulder bounces a tennis ball against the wall. Back and forth. Back and forth it bounces. How long has he been doing this? He looks at the clock on his desk. 11:59 p.m. Two hours. Still no Scully. I have pushed play on my answering machine several times; hoping technology is the obstacle keeping us apart. That would be a lot less painful than her not wanting to talk to me. I close my eyes.
Scully: I'm afraid. I am afraid to believe.
Mulder sat up, his eyes wide, looking around his apartment, standing to inspect the front door. Had she come in? He jiggled the handle. Locked. He tried to slow his breathing. He felt her. She was all around him. And no matter how far away she was, he couldn't shake her. And he didn't want to.
I am tortured by him in my dreams. We are hand in hand, running through the woods, an invisible evil chasing us. I keep turning around to see how close it is, but all I see is a dense fog.
Mulder: Don't look back, Scully, you have to trust me.
Scully: Mulder the fog, it is taking shape. It is trying to grab me.
There is a cave ahead; something tells me we shouldn't enter.
Scully: Mulder, no, we have to find another place.
I pull at his hand, trying to lead us left, but when I look down, his hand is no longer in mine. The black fog has taken ahold of me. He is no longer with me.
I sit up in bed. 4:03 a.m. I can hardly breathe. I know I won't be able to go back to sleep. I pull on track pants and a sweatshirt, my tennis shoes. I quietly make my way from the house to the sand of the beach. I start walking. There isn't a soul out here. Maybe because of the early hour, maybe because it is off season.
Mulder: I've often felt that dreams are answers to questions we haven't yet figured out how to ask.
His words surround me, follow me in the dusk. Only the crash of the waves and cries of seagulls can rival his voice in my head. What answer was I looking for in my dream of him? What question was my subconscious trying to ask? Despite the turmoil raging beneath the surface, I missed him. His very presence in a room brought me peace. I know several nights in the hospital I would wake, the faint scent of his cologne lingering. He had been watching me sleep. Keeping me safe from the evil, keeping the wolves at bay.
Mulder sulked around the office. He opened filing cabinets, only to close them. He sharpened pencils, straightened stacks of paperwork. He finally gave up on the office and went to the supply room on the second floor, asked the attendant for more pencils and a catalog so he can look at the desks available for purchase. She wanted a desk, didn't she? Had he missed her hints about not feeling like the office was hers? It was selfish of him to not have made room for her. Had she felt like her place there was temporary? He hated himself for never taking the ten minutes to get the approval from purchasing for a desk. All he had to do was pick one out and point to it so the department knew which one to get. Was his crusade so fucking important? Was his schedule so jam packed, that making the most important person in his life feel like she was a part of something bigger, couldn't be squeezed in? He flipped through the pages, irritated with himself, overwhelmed by the choices. Should he let her pick? Should it be a production? Should he make a date of it? He could walk her up here, ask for the catalog, and listen to her list the pros and cons of each one, he could really listen and contribute. After twenty five minutes, he circled his choice, and asked if they could get it ordered and in before next week. They assured him they would try. He turned to leave, when Carla, the attendant, called after him.
C-Mr. Mulder? Would you like the chair that matches the desk?
M-Sure. Get the set. My partner deserves the whole shebang.
He walks back to his office, completely exhausted. Who knew if he even had a partner anymore? Maybe she finally saw the light and Monday would come and the desk would sit empty. And it was this very prospect that made Mulder vomit into his trashcan.
Mom and I spent the day, walking in and out of beach shops, eating lunch at a posh place near the pier. I hadn't turned on my phone since I left my apartment. I can only imagine the onslaught of voicemails I would have from Mulder. I felt sick, even if I was doing what was best for me, what was best for us. I glanced up from my book to see Mom examining my face, a look of concern on hers.
MS-Are you feeling okay, Dana?
S-I was thinking my phone has been off for 36 hours. I am sure Mulder is going through a withdrawal cycle.
I try to laugh about it, but my Mother knows. She always knows. And though I have never explicitly told her how I felt about Mulder, because I can't even voice it to myself; I know she sees how much he means to me. I don't know if I will ever be able to explain it to him or her. I could spend the rest of my days on this deck trying to sort through all the layers that exist between us. Even if I did figure it out, whether it be "he is the love of my life", or "I never want to see him again", could I tell him? Can I look him in those hazel eyes and tell him the truth?
MS-Oh, honey. What are you afraid of? You can't hide from him forever. I don't know what he's done, but give him a chance to explain. To apologize? He is probably worried sick. I've seen him worried sick over you. Just call him. Tell him you are safe.
S-He didn't do anything to hurt me, Mom. I just need some time to sort out how I feel. Especially now that my time is limited. I don't have the energy to put on an act anymore. I don't even know who I am trying to play. The strong one? The angry one? The one so desperately in love with him that I might die if he doesn't feel the same way? I just don't know. And seeing him day in and day out, seeing the fear in his eyes and the worry. What's it all for? He will be assigned another partner. I will be a ghost to him. A woman he used to know.
I can't say anything else because I have started to sob. My face falls into my hands and I cry so hard, I am unsure if I will ever be able to stop. I want him here with me so bad. I miss him so much. It has been 36 hours and I am already falling apart. Mom rubs my back softly, trying to soothe me, but I think she even knows her efforts are in vain. I am hurting and scared. Hurting for Mulder and scared of dying.
8:23 p.m.
8:24 p.m.
8:25 p.m.
Mulder literally watches time pass. Minute by minute. Hour by hour. He went for a run, but felt dizzy one mile in. He stopped and walked back to his apartment, heavy hearted and lost.
8:43 p.m.
He wondered if time was moving backwards. He wondered if people really died from broken hearts. He wondered if Scully was thinking about him as much as he was thinking about her. He promised if she walked back into his life, he would change. It wouldn't be about chasing monsters in the dark. It would be about finding a cure. It would be about holding her close while she fell asleep, or holding her hair if the treatments made her ill. He would tell her everyday how important she was to him, how she inspired him and humbled him. She wouldn't feel alone-not for a second. He would be beside her, fighting her fight, chasing the truth that would save her. Because the X-files, breathing, living…meant nothing if he didn't have her.
8:54 p.m.
He wanted to take his gun and shoot that demon clock.
9:03 p.m.
The phone rang. He fell off the couch scrambling to grab it from his desk.
M-Hello, Scully?
The voice on the other end of the line wasn't Scully. But it was the next best thing.
I turned to look at the alarm clock.
11:59 p.m.
I must have cried myself to sleep. I don't remember coming to bed. I hear the distant crash of waves and remember where I am and why I am here. I listen for my mother, but the house is completely silent. I push the blankets back and pad out of the bedroom. My nightgown, paper-thin, is damp with sweat. I don't remember having a nightmare, but clearly my body does. I move quietly through the hall and into the kitchen, reaching for a glass, so I can get water. My head aches, my eyes hurt. I turn to the sliding glass door and see a shape, a shadow, tall and lean. It is a man. I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. I drop the glass. The crash of it alerts the stranger to my presence, and he turns to look at me. I step back into the shadows, but my eyes are starting to adjust, and I can focus on the intruder. Where is my Mom? Is she safe? But the fear dissipates just as quickly as it arrived when I see it isn't a stranger.
It is Mulder. He's here.
Mulder slides open the door and rushes to me. He steps over the glass chards and takes me into his harms with such force, I gasp. I am still trembling, unable to process what is happening fast enough. But when I hear his uncontrollable sobs and feel his hot tears falling onto my shoulders, I react, wrapping my arms around his neck. I am on tiptoe, the strength of his arms lifting me off the floor, intentionally or unintentionally, I don't know.
S-Shhhh. I'm here, Mulder. I'm right here.
He pulls away from me, his hands squeeze my arms, so intensely, and it hurts.
M-Why did you just leave me like that? Do you have any idea how terrified—how sick with worry I've been?
S-You're hurting me, Mulder. Let me go.
M-No. I want answers. Tell me. What is wrong with you?
I try to pull away from him, but his fingers dig deeper into my flesh. I cry out.
S-Stop it, let me go.
As if a curse has been lifted, his hands drop to his side, and the loss of his grip causes me to stumble backwards. And with that, he drops to his knees before me.
M-Why are we doing this to each other? Why now? When we need each other more than ever?
His hang grabs mine, pulling me closer, so he can bury his face in my stomach, his fists full of white cotton nightgown. I drop my hands to his head, my fingers a tangle in his hair. He doesn't move. Just clings to me. I am afraid to move. What if this is just a dream? What if my subconscious needed him just as much as my conscious self does? Do I deny either state this primal need for his hands on me? I selfishly want to feel the fire of each tear he sheds. I want him to hurt for me. The way I have been hurting. He abruptly stands, his hands find my face, and he kisses my mouth with such passion, that when he pulls away, my lips feel bruised. He picks me up into his arms and carries me to the first couch he sees. He pushes me down, shrugging off his leather jacket, before settling his body on mine. I'm finding it hard to breathe, not from his weight, but from the anticipation. Four years. Four years of running blindly into the dark. Four years of small touches, forehead kisses, promises, and protection.
Mulder pulls off my nightgown and just like that, I am completely naked underneath him. I am afraid. Not of what is about to happen, but that he may stop. That reason will take hold and the dull aching between my legs will go ignored for another four years. What if I don't have that long? I want him to take me now. I want to use him, use his body, so I can forget, even if it is just for a night. I want him to use me. I pull his mouth down to mine, bite his bottom lip. He moans into my mouth, his fingers go to my neck, and he squeezes, until I can hardly catch my breath. I drag my nails down his back, find the hem of his shirt, and pull it off. Then I drag my nails up his back, wanting to hurt him with pleasure, like he is hurting me. He grabs my arms, pushes them down, holding my hands tight over my head. He then takes me nipple in my mouth, sucking hard. I cry out. My pussy is throbbing, I feel my juices pooling. My hips buck wildly, I want more. I want to pretend, for this one night, I am a woman with needs. Not his dying partner. He keeps one hand locked onto my wrists, uses the other one to unzip his jeans, freeing his cock. He pushes into me hard, and I hear what can only be described as a growl. I realize it is me making that sound. He slams into me again. There is no tenderness about what we are doing, just a raw passion and need. My inner thighs ache with each forceful thrust. My body is at war, the pain gives way to pleasure, and I know I am about to come, as his he. With a few more well targeted thrusts, I wrap my legs tight around him, and he cries out, filling me with his seed. He finally releases my wrists as he collapses on top of me. I can't tell if he is trying to catch his breath, or slow his breathing, because it also sounds like muffled crying. I hold him, waiting for the calm after this storm.
I must have dozed off. I wake in a panic to an empty bed. I frantically search for a sign that Mulder has here, had been here, and that I hadn't imagined him. That what we had done…it had to have been true. I sit up in bed; pull the sheet around my naked body. I am holding back tears. Why would he leave after that? I am about to get out of bed when the door opens. It is him, in only his boxers.
S-I thought you left me.
I say through happy tears, or maybe they are sad, I don't even know anymore.
M-No…I wouldn't have left you after…
He trails off. It doesn't matter to me, his reason for staying. I just need him with me. He pulls the sheet back and slips into bed beside me. I settle back down and he pulls the comforter over us. His fingers trace the lines of my face. He smooths my hair, wipes away each stray tear, and kisses my mouth and my shoulders. I move into his arms, the length of his body perfectly aligning with my own. I know there will be time for words, for comfort, for tenderness. It may not be a lot of time and it will never be enough time. Not for us. And before I feel sleep taking over, I place my hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat.
S-I was ready for you to be here. I need you to be here, Mulder. No matter what the outcome may be. I need for you to be here. Wherever here takes us.
M-I'm ready to be here, Scully. We'll fight this together. You and I.
That's all I need for now. No other promises, no other confessions, just him. His very presence lulls me to sleep. It is a dreamless sleep. The kind of sleep where I never lose sight of him.
I arrive to work early. Making my way to the basement office, I realize how much has changed since I first walked through the door. I push the door open after unlocking it, switch on the lights, and I stop.
There is a brand new desk and chair with a note in Mulder's script:
I'm ready for you to be here. –M