Sleepless, a x-files fanfic

Title: Sleepless
Series: X-Files
Author: Singing Violin (Pearl on Gossamer)
Category: VA, UST
Summary: In "3," Mulder says he doesn't sleep anymore. This is why.
Feedback: Honest and thoughtful feedback is welcome, as long as you've read the story first.
Disclaimer: The X-Files characters and universe are not mine.

In a daze, Mulder scopes out the car, then finally remembers to pull the lever to pop the trunk. Fear descends upon him as he touches it, paralyzing him. Momentarily, he recovers, and rushes to the back of the car to discover what he has unlocked.

She is still there, in the position he saw in the video, but unlike in the video, her eyes are closed. "Scully," he murmurs softly as he reaches out to touch her...

He snaps his hand back as if it has been burned, but it is cold that has startled him: the ice-cold of her skin.

He shakes his head. "No." For the first time in his life, he does not want to believe. Carefully, he inches his hands underneath her and lifts her gently out of the trunk, then lays her meticulously on the earth.

With one hand, he holds her nose as he blows breaths into her mouth, then takes a break to compress her chest. "Come on, Scully. Come back to me."

...and then Krycek is there, standing over him, staring sadly at him.

Damnit, he doesn't want pity.

"She's gone," comes the voice of reason in Alex's timbre.

"No," Mulder repeats, more forcefully, and by that he means, "Go away."

He returns to his previous actions, attempting futilely to force the life back into his erstwhile partner, ignoring his current one.

And then they are there, pulling him away from her, wrenching her from his arms.

Belatedly, he becomes aware of the tears streaking down his cheeks, leaving them cold — like her skin — as they evaporate.

He feels himself freezing: first his fingers and toes are numb, and then his limbs, and finally his chest tightens and he can't breathe.

Fox Mulder awakens in his bed, sweating and gasping. He knows only one thing for sure: it is going to be another long day. A long day without the only person he knows that could make tedium fun. He still remembers her comforting hand on his before she left his office the last time she was there. He used to be comfortable alone in that office, but now just his presence there is enough to invoke a painful hole in his chest, the absence of what has grown to be the most important thing in his life.

He spends the rest of the day in that office, looking through files and trying to forget enough so he can live, but not enough so that he stops searching for clues.

Stumbling into bed, he forgets what likely awaits as his drooping eyes are closed before he hits the pillow.

She is still there, in the position he saw in the video. The stench overwhelms him momentarily, and he steps back slightly, reflexively.

She moves.

He breathes.

She moans.

Carefully, he snakes an arm under her knees and another around her shoulders and lifts her gingerly out of the trunk. She rests her head on his shoulder and sobs.

He sinks to the ground, moving her into his lap. He rubs her back as her tears soak into his shirt.

And suddenly she feels lighter, less substantial, like she is losing mass by the second.

She fades away in his arms, disappearing literally into thin air.

He screams.

Fox Mulder awakens in his bed, sweating and gasping. He knows only one thing for sure: it is going to be another long day.

She is gone.

Only her necklace remains, and it is covered in blood. He knows he should not touch it lest he contaminate evidence, but he doesn't care. He grabs it and claps it in his hand, wishing only that he could somehow magically transform the object into the woman who wore it not so long ago.

And then they are there, snatching it away. His last memory of her, grabbed from his hand.

He sinks to the ground, face in his hands, sobbing.

Fox Mulder awakens in his bed, sweating and gasping. He knows only one thing for sure: he will not be sleeping again. He throws on some clothes and heads out into the crisp night to find a cup of coffee. He drinks it black, the bitterness of the liquid matching that in his heart.

He wants to find her. But he doesn't even know where to start.

Two decades ago, another person dear to him was taken, and there was nothing he could do. And now again. Did he do this? Should he avoid getting close to anyone ever again, lest they disappear too?

He sips the liquid.

He pictures her face, smiling at him. Once, that smile would have spread warmth throughout his insides, but now, despite the hot coffee, his core remains ice cold.

Hope is for suckers.

He is a sucker.

I will find you, he vows to the apparition. I promise. I won't sleep until you're back.