I was listening to Kristin Chenoweth's album "The Art of Elegance" and a few songs kept reminding me of MSR. Here's a quick, 3-part story about their lives sometime after IWTB (let's just ignore season 10). Each chapter title corresponds to a song on the album. This first chapter is Mulder's POV.

This house hasn't felt like a home since Scully left. With no one to kiss goodnight or snuggle with on the couch when it's gloomy and rainy outside like today. Even the motel rooms we shared felt more like a home, because we were together.

My old apartment was nothing more than two rooms. It wasn't a house, and it sure as hell wasn't a home.

I could never have a home without Scully. She is the only home I've ever known. We're far apart now, and one of us has a broken heart. Well, maybe two of us. When she left, it seemed like she had started to heal already. She had a sense of peace about her, like she was ready to accept a new life, a less complicated one. A life without me.

I stopped taking my medication briefly when she left, even though she made me promise to stay on it. I started to hallucinate; I'd sit on the bed and yell her name, letting it echo off all the empty walls of the house. I'd see her face for a split second in the hall and go running through the house looking for her.

It was a stupid, crazy game to play. Every time I did it, I regretted it. It ended in tears and I swore to never do it again. But like an addict, I longed for the high of seeing her smile for even two seconds. There were pictures of us, though very few, in frames that I had moved to the attic. I purposefully got very drunk and hid them so I wouldn't know where to find them.

She changed me; I'm no longer meant to live alone. On the rare occasion that I leave the house, when I return, I hope to God that when I turn the key in the lock and open the front door, she'll be sitting on the couch, reading like she used to be. She loved reading on that old leather couch, the only relic from my former apartment. My old bed, technically. I haven't sat on it since she left.

The couch is still a goddamn couch, even when no one is sitting in it, but it always felt like it was only a couch when Scully sat there. Without her, it was just a cruel reminder of how lonely I used to be. So I cover it with a blanket most days and try to pretend all that's under the flannel mass are boxes.

I want to call her every day and say, "Please, Scully. Don't let this mistake keep us apart."

I used to wake up every morning and pray she would be beside me in bed, still in love with me. Then I would open my eyes and I would be alone. I used to think I meant for the lone wolf lifestyle, that I was meant to be solitary. But not after all she and I went through.