Summary: A one shot based of spoilers/speculation for 11x05, Ghouli. Angst ahead. Originally posted on Tumblr.
Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Files.
A/N: Please don't read this if you don't want possible spoilers for this week's episode! Saying that, I may have it completely wrong, but just in case. I don't know about you guys, but I'm loving the new season, so I'm hoping they all get a good send off. Thanks for reading!
Dying Function, Living Key
'Does she have someone to hold her hand, to break her fall? I hope she's safe and cared for.
She shouldn't suffer more pain than I've endured myself. I want her to hear me, but I don't want her to hurt.'
- Rever, ghouli. net
She's on the floor. She's bleeding. And it's so quiet he can hear the air conditioner humming.
Where is everyone? Surely someone must have heard the gunshots…the gunshots. Who shot her? Where are they now?
There's no time to ask these questions.
He crouches next to her, swallowing hard against the wave of nausea that rushes up. There are four, maybe five, wounds. There's one in her upper chest, near her neck, and the blood that oozes from it coats her cross, covering its gold shine with dull dark red.
There's no sign of life. No breath, no pulse.
A venomous thought stains his consciousness- has he lost them both? His son, their son, is gone. And now Scully has gone to be with him.
"Scully?"
No response, but then what did he expect? He knows what he expected. He expected her to sit up, roll her eyes, tell him 'Mulder, I'm fine'. He expected to wake up from this nightmare, go back to a few weeks ago, making love to her in his bed (their bed), keeping the darkness at bay for even a few precious moments.
He feels his heart breaking itself in two.
"Scully, can you hear me? Can you respond?"
There's still nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
"Scully…" he moves her head into his lap, blinking away tears. "Scully, don't do this. I'm still here. I'm here, come back."
Stay, he pleads silently, desperately, selfishly. Stay here with me, I need you as much as he does.
But that's not the question, the bitter voice in his head reminds him. It's a question of whether she needs you more than she needs William. And we both know the answer to that question.
The thump of his heart in his ears and the whirring of thoughts in his mind are enough to block out any other sound. He doesn't hear the footsteps on the tile.
It's only when the figure kneels next to him that Mulder even notices his presence. And even then he can't muster up enough interest to care. Shoot him, too, why not? The rest of his family is dead, might as well finish the job.
"What's her name?"
He looks up and meets his son's eyes for the first time in fifteen years.
He was dead less than an hour ago, but Mulder's not even surprised. He himself was dead for three months, once, when William was still growing in his mother's womb. He's definitely my kid.
"What's her name?" There's a fierce energy in his voice, one that reminds him so acutely of Scully that he feels suddenly sick. This shouldn't be happening. They've only had three days together as a family, three days William can't even remember. Why does the universe always conspire against them?
"Her name's Scully. Dana Scully."
"Dana." William murmurs, kneeling next to her.
"Can you help her?"
He asks it on impulse, before remembering that this man in front of him isn't a man, he's a boy, a child, and it's too much to ask of him. Their child. But it's too much to ask him to go on without her. It's too much to ask a boy to spend the rest of his life with only this memory of his mother.
William bites his lip, tears in his eyes. He no longer sounds in control. "I've only broken things before."
The blog, those entries, one about a boy bursting balloons with his mind, using his anger like a weapon. Scully telling him in the dead of night about the mobile above the cot that wouldn't stop turning.
Fox Mulder has believed in aliens, in sasquatches, in parallel universes, in anything and everything that science fails to explain. He can believe in his son.
He has to.
"Try. Please."
William hesitates, then looks at Mulder- his eyes are the same colour as mine- and nods. He places one hand on Scully's chest, and extends the other to Mulder. He takes it and holds on. They're a circuit, with William as the battery, Scully as the light, and he, the wire joining them and pulling them all together. He can imagine William's energy coursing through him, and adds his own, pouring his love for both of them into the meld.
Something stirs against him.
"Scully?" his breath catches in his throat as her lips part and her eyes begin to flutter. Oh, God, thank you.
William is pale, shaking, his forehead creased in concentration. Mulder softly squeezes his hand.
"Stop. She's…"
He can't finish, but William must understand- his eyes open, like he's emerging from a trance. Mulder feels for Scully's pulse, and finds it strong and alive against his skin.
"You need to get a doctor." William gasps. "I can't do that any more."
"You did great. You… you brought her back." It feels wrong, but he feels the urge to break down in tears and thank this stranger for bringing her back. It's even worse because this stranger is his son. He manages two words. "Thank you."
"Get her to the ER."
"Come with us."
The Scully tone is back. "I can't. The people who shot her are after me- if I stay with you, you're in danger."
"But…" We left you once already, don't make us do it again. Whatever happens now, we face it together.
"I know what to do. I can look after myself."
It's those eyes again. That look. It says trust me.
"I'll find you," William says quietly, his eyes on Scully. "I'll come back, when it's safe."
Mulder knows there's no real choice. He can only hope that William can keep himself safe- and that they can do the same. They're both looking down at Scully, their silence speaking a thousand words, a million questions.
Mulder answers the only one that matters.
"She loves you. What she did, she did to keep you safe. But she's thought about you every day."
William's lips move in what could be a quick smile. Mulder feels the same expression on his own face, even through quickly welling tears.
His son stands up, steels himself, and taps his fingers against his thigh. Once again Mulder remembers that he's only fifteen.
"Look after yourself, okay?" It sounds unnatural on his tongue, too parental. He still hasn't quite earned that right.
"I will."
Mulder gently lifts Scully off the floor, holding her close. Her blood has began to dry into her blouse. But she breathes steadily and her heart is thumping in time with his.
He can't say goodbye; instead he just nods, and begins to carry her to the elevator.
"Dad."
He stops. He doesn't turn back- can't, because if he does he'll never be able to go.
"I thought of you guys, too."
Footsteps. A door opens and closes. Then back to that echoing silence.
But even as tears stream down his cheeks, Fox Mulder smiles.
Something inside him feels whole for the very first time.