This is a hopelessly melodramatic fic. It's got angst, it's got MSR and DRR, it's got everything that a self-respecting shipper could want. I think. Why don't you review and tell me?
The song is "What Hurts the Most" by Rascal Flatts, and where verses of it show up, it means the POV is switching from Monica to Scully. The fic starts with Monica, but you probably could have figured that out, you little Einsteins, you.
Disclaimer: I got nothin'.
He was so close. So...fucking...close. It was all Monica could do to restrain herself from banging her clenched fist onto the desk and screaming at the injustice of it all.Agent Scully had left work early to "take care of William," although both of her companions know that she was going to mope over Mulder in the privacy of her own home. Monica's heart went out to her, it really did. It was just so difficult to concentrate on simple emotions like pity when he was sitting just on the other side of the office, innocently doing paperwork. Taunting her.
I can take the rain on the roof of this empty house That don't bother me I can take a few tears now and then and just let them out I'm not afraid to cry every once in a while Even though going on with you gone still upsets me There are days every now and again I pretend I'm ok But that's not what gets meShe remembered just in time not to slam the door as she came in. William had been around for months, but she still hadn't fully gotten used to having a baby in the house. Her baby. His baby.
She'd buzzed up to the nanny before coming in, telling her that it was all right to leave. She didn't really want to deal with anyone else at the moment– her every thought was on being alone. People had started to upset her just by existing. She'd seen the way that A.D. Skinner tiptoed around her, trying not to bring up That Subject, or Him in general. She'd spotted the looks that Agents Doggett and Reyes sent her when they thought she wasn't looking. People, the way they treated her, made her feel weak and vulnerable.
She stuck her head into William's nursery to check in on him. Sound asleep. She could feel her lips curling upwards as her son's hand crept toward his mouth and he began to suck his thumb.
Oral fixation, she thought, fighting back sudden tears.
What hurts the most Was being so close And having so much to say And watching you walk away And never knowing What could have been And not seeing that loving you Is what I was tryin' to do
Come on, Reyes! She shouted at herself. He's only on the other side of the room! Do something! Bigger things than distance have never stopped you before!
But there was so much more than distance standing between them. There were rules, there was History. There was Luke. There were so many bad memories.
I've saved his ass more times than I can count, she thought to herself. And he's saved mine an equal number of times. But yet, despite all this, I can't work up the courage to tell him how I feel.
Pathetic.
It's hard to deal with the pain of losing you everywhere I go But I'm doin' It It's hard to force that smile when I see our old friends and I'm alone Still Harder Getting up, getting dressed, livin' with this regret But I know if I could do it over I would trade give away all the words that I saved in my heart That I left unspoken
She climbed up onto a chair and reached for the top bookcase shelf. Dislodging what seemed like an entire country's worth of dust, she pulled down a large red-leather-covered binder. Etched across the cover in slightly faded gold letters was the word "MEMORIES".
So many bad ones, she thought, opening the book to its first page. But so many good ones as well.
There on the page before her, preserved by a thin sheet of plastic, was a face that she often doubted she'd ever see in person again. Laughing hazel eyes stared up at her, partially obscured by a lock of brown hair that flopped down over one of them. His lips were parted in a grin that she remembered well, a grin that sometimes haunted her while she slept.
Next to him was someone she barely recognized. It was her– but she was smiling. Her blue eyes still held the weight of all she'd seen, but they lacked the pain of ultimate loss. The woman in the photograph looked happy, overjoyed, contented.
In love.
Oh God.
With shaking hands, she turned the page.
What hurts the most Is being so close And having so much to say And watching you walk away And never knowing What could have been And not seeing that loving you Is what I was trying to do
Monica's partner met her eyes across the room and jolted her back to reality. His bright blue eyes felt like acid, burning away at her until her thoughts and emotions stood bare for him to see.
She shook her head and chanced down at the neglected paperwork before her. Her teeth clenched in anger and she mused angrily that she'd quite like to throw herself across the room– though she wasn't sure whether she'd kiss him or strangle him once she got there.
She wondered how Dana and Mulder had stood seven years of this eternal uncertainty. I think I'd explode from waiting, she thought to herself. There is no way I'd wait seven years for some guy. There are plenty of other fish in the sea.
But Monica could now feel her partner's eyes on her, and a pleasurable shiver ran down her spine. Suddenly, a seven-year-wait didn't seem that bad, provided that she was waiting for just the right person.
She realized that she'd looked up again and was staring at him once more. He met her gaze with an inquisative one of his own, and she blushed an brilliant red. "Damndamndamndamndamn," she muttered to herself, not nearly as under-the-breath as she'd intended. Wincing, she picked up her pen and finally began attending to her work.
What hurts the most
Is being so close
And having so much to say
And watching you walk away
And never knowing
What could have been
And not seeing that loving you
Is what I was trying to do We remind me of John and Monica, she thought to herself, smiling wryly as she contemplated the pictures. Never certain, always searching for the smallest clue, the slightest hint as to what the other was thinking or feeling. I just hope that they can figure it out in less time than it took us. Oh God. If we'd figured it out sooner, how much more time could we have had together? The tears came again, and this time she was powerless to stop them. Huddled in her chair, she wept herself out as the gold letters on the photo album filled her vision, her mind, and her heart. Memories... That's why they put the "I" in FBI. She sniffled and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. She could hear William waking, and she didn't much want to be alone anymore. As she went to fetch him, she wondered whether her son would ever know how hard and how often his mother had wept for a man he might never know– but who had affected his life in more ways than anyone could believe. Not seeing that loving you
That's what I was trying to do Oh lordie! The melodrama! It's everywhere! Run for the hills! And when you get there (or perhaps, before you go), how about reviewing this fic? Pleeeeeeeease?
Come on, Scully! Get those little legs movin!
It's a nice piece of ash.
I can't believe you don't want butter on your popcorn. It's un-American.
You were my constant...my touchstone.
The world didn't end.
Hey, Scully? I love you.
I love you...