Authors Note: This is a long, extensive piece I have been working on. It takes place like...in the middle of/after Memento Mori. Though I have tried to do research as to make this as accurate to the show and the true meaning of the characters, please forgive any and all mistakes that I make, and remember that I have changed things to suit my story. I hope you all enjoy! Please R&R!
Another note: Though I have dreamed, obsessed and maybe even hurt myself over it, I do not own the X-files, Mulder, Scully, CSM, or anything else in this story. In fact...I may not even be the one writing this...who knows? It's probably Chris Carter using mind control to use my talent to write what he thought really should have happened...or it's just the chocolate talking...
"Fox..."
Suddenly the emotion in her eyes changed. A look of complete terror flickered across her pale face and she cried out as she began to fall...
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"Scully!"
Fox Mulder jerked awake, sitting straight up in his bed. Breathing heavily, he wiped away tears mingles with sweat. It was a warm summer's night and his curtains fluttered in a lavender-kissed breeze. Letting the silence of his lonely apartment envelope him, Mulder tried to calm his racing heart and spinning head. He glanced over at his alarm clock. 6:58 AM. There was no way he could get back to sleep now.
After a quick shower and breakfast set for one, Mulder sat in his car. It was still too early to go into work, and Mulder had no errands to run. Sighing, he started the car and pulled away from the curb.
Mulder didn't really know where he was going to go. He just figured his heart would take him somewhere to settle his raging emotions. So he was pretty surprised when he found himself pulling into St. Mark's Medical Center parking lot.
Turning into a 3-hour stall, Mulder shut off the engine and leaned his forehead against the cool leather of the steering wheel. He knew that he shouldn't be there, that Scully had asked him no to visit. But Mulder knew his sub-consciousness had lead him here for a reason, so he figured he'd better go in and find out.
Footsteps echoing in the sterile, white hallways, Mulder wandered the familiar path towards Scully's hospital room. As he neared it, his heart began to beat a little faster, afraid that he would find Scully had not made it through the night. A blonde nurse in purple scrubs walked out of her room and he stopped her, hoping that she would know something.
"Excuse me; do you know anything about Dana Scully's condition?"
The nurse shuffled through the stack of clipboards she was carrying. Glancing at several charts, she smiled gently, "She's doing great."
Mulder let out a sigh of relief and nodded, "Is it okay if I go in to see her?" he asked softly.
"I'm afraid Ms. Scully is in early morning therapy right now. But if you come back at about 9:30, she should be done."
"Oh. Hm. Ok, thank you." Mulder turned and moped back towards his car.
The drive to the J. Edgar Hoover building seemed to pass in no time and Mulder found himself sitting alone in his office, in the basement. He sat in his chair, feet on the desk and staring at the ceiling. Never before had Mulder not had something to work on. The first few nights Scully had been in the hospital, Mulder didn't leave her bedside. Instead he had files brought there to finish. Since he couldn't seem to sleep while Scully was suffering, he managed to finish all the cases they had been working on in 2 nights. So now he passed the long hours in the quiet office playing mind-numbing games and sleeping. Luckily no one often visited him, so he hadn't been loaded down by other agents, eager to have their work be done by a less busy co-worker.
Sighing, Mulder sat upright and opened his desk drawer. Pulling out a box of unsharpened pencils, he carefully sharpened them one by one and lined them up on the edge of his desk. When the last pencil was sharp, he held them in his fist and tipped back as far as his rickety chair would allow him. Aiming carefully, Mulder flipped a sharpened pencil into the dusty, pegboard ceiling with a 'thunk'. Soon there was an intricate design formed from pencils on the low ceiling of Mulder's office.
The long hours passed slowly and Mulder gratefully dragged himself out of his office at 4:30 pm. As he crossed the lobby, he was stopped, much against his liking, by Assistant Director Skinner.
"Yes, Sir?" Mulder asked, rather impatiently. Skinner looked at Mulder disappointedly.
"You can't let Scully's sickness drag you down, Mulder." He examined Mulder's face, "Have you even slept for the past two weeks? You look like hell."
Mulder sighed, openly irritated.
"I need you to do something for me. Hopefully it will keep your mind off Scully." Skinner handed Mulder a thick stack of folders, "I need you to read these and write me a profile on the suspect. I will need it by 8:00 pm." Skinner gave Mulder one last sympathetic look and walked away.
Rolling his eyes and mumbling curses to everyone from J. Edgar Hoover to the girl at the receptionist's desk, Mulder made his way back down to the gloomy basement.
Throwing the files down on his desk in disgust, Mulder slumped dejectedly back into his chair. After several seconds of angered silence, he finally flipped open the first file and began to read.
Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes turned into hours. The tiny basement office was filled with the sound of turning pages and pen scratching on paper. Mulder had to admit, it was relaxing to be working again. For the first time in the past 2 weeks, he wasn't worrying about Scully. His mind was filled with ideas and theories about the murder suspect these files talked about. He became entirely engulfed in trying to figure out a profile that would fit this man and his signature killings.
Skinner stood in the doorway of Mulder's office several hours later, watching him work. He felt bad for the young agent. Skinner knew Mulder was being torn apart inside by Scully's disease and wished he could give him some comfort. But no one really knew what would happen with Scully. Sighing inaudibly, Skinner entered Mulder's office.
Mulder glanced up quickly, startled by Skinner's quiet entrance. He looked back to the paper he had been working on and continued to scribble down writing.
"I'm almost done, sir," he said, finishing up his thoughts. Sighing, Mulder threw his pen down and leaned back in his chair, looking at Skinner. Skinner nodded and sat down in the chair Scully usually vacated. A few seconds of silence passed as Skinner examined Mulder's tired face.
"So how are you really holding up, Mulder? You doing okay?" he asked, sincerely concerned.
"I'm fine..." Mulder mumbled, avoiding Skinner's light brown eyes.
"I know that Scully's sickness is really worrying you, but you have to have faith in her. She wouldn't want you to be so torn up about it."
"Don't..." Mulder started, bringing his intense gaze to rest on Skinner's startled face.
"Don't...what? Agent Mulder?'
"Don't...act like you know Scully. Don't sit there in her chair and pretend you care about how I or she feels. Don't try to convince me of ...your lies." Mulder stood up and flung the profile he had just written at Skinner, "Don't make me believe in a hope that isn't there." Grabbing his coat, Mulder stormed out of the office, leaving a very puzzled Skinner in his wake.