In my field of paper flowers

By

AllyinthekeyofX

Summery – Mulder and Scully discover that John Doggett had a secret of his own. A secret that will change everything. Mulder POV

Author's notes –

This story is set in season 10. Post 'Home again' but pre 'My Struggle II'

I didn't know whether to write it. But it won't leave me alone so I thought it best to try to get it down on paper. The title comes from the song 'Imaginary' by the wonderful Evanscence, whose music speaks to me of Mulder & Scully more than I can ever quite put in to words and makes my muse rejoice.

Disclaimer – The X-Files aren't mine. If they were I would have never closed them in the first place. No infringement intended.

ONE

Today has been a good day. I hesitate to use a term as trite as like old times because I generally try not to dwell too much on the past. It can be difficult to reconcile just how far we fell. How two people who had once meant everything to each other managed to disintegrate so completely. It was a time of terrible consequences for the both of us. For guilt and recriminations and accusations. For blame and words spoken - not with love and hope and understanding - but rather designed to emotionally maim in the worst way. And even worse somehow, when those angry words dried up, we found that, after everything we'd been through together - everything we'd shared, lost, fought for, sacrificed – that we were left with nothing at all.

The stark understanding that finally, we were forced to acknowledge that as much as we wanted to be together, that very togetherness was tearing us apart. Piece by painful piece we were disintegrating.

It had been Scully who had recognised it first. Always the pragmatist that partner of mine. She placed her hands either side of my face and forced me to look at her. Really look at her for the first time in months. And I can say now that I didn't recognise the woman who looked back at me.

Somewhere, sometime, in between fighting and falling, I had lost her. I refused to acknowledge her words that day. Instead I pulled her against me, holding her tight lest she might fly away, whispering her name, a thousand promises on my lips that it would be different. That we would be different. That we needed each other. Melded in to one by all we had shared. And I thought I had won. I had kissed the tears from that beautiful alabaster skin and had done the only thing left to do – I took her to our bed.

Our union that night was exquisite. As we reached an intensity that blinded me to the truth of what it meant for us. When I rolled over the next morning, reaching for her, I think some part of me knew that she had already gone.

I found her ring on the kitchen worktop. A ring I gave her so many years ago when we were fugitives, running scared, terrified that every night as we held each other close, trying desperately to keep the demons at bay, that we might not wake to see the new dawn .

We couldn't have known that, in fact, we were already safe. Playing right in to their hands as we disappeared in to the ether of our own desperate fear. A fear that had been skilfully manipulated from the very first. No one ever came after us. No one cared. We were just gone. That was enough for them.

The ring was to signify a new life for both of us. I should have known that our old life would never quite release us, allow us to move on.

Nightmares plagued us both. Scully screaming for the son she still yearned to hold in her arms, while I was transported nightly back to the time of my abduction. Our physical scars were the easy part. The emotional ones were far more insidious. I think if we had managed to hold on to our son, that we might have managed to survive. But without him, everything just started to unravel. And as we both tried to find ourselves again, we just wound up moving farther and farther away.

A yellow post-it note beneath the ring.

' I can't believe any more'

And my heart had constricted painfully. I couldn't breathe, couldn't speak as the weight of those words settled upon my soul. The final knelling of a bell that we hadn't noticed until it was too late. I wish I could say that I called her, or drove to find her, to beg her to come back. Or maybe to drag her back I don't know. Do anything to try to make it right again. But – and it shames me still - I did none of those things. Instead I calmly walked over to the porch door and smashed my fist through the glass panel. It was the only thing I could think of to dull the pain. I bear the scars across my knuckles to this day.

We didn't speak at all for over a year. I'm always slightly surprised that I managed to make it through and out the other side. I think she was too.

But like I say, today has been a good day. A day full of laughter and of sunshine. Of warmth and easy familiarity. A familiarity borne of a new awakening for the both of us. Time has passed, wounds have healed. We are almost ready to believe again.

It's been a gradual process. Both of us tip-toeing around each other. terrified that what we are feeling is merely an illusion. An echo of our past. But slowly, as each week passes, we are finding each other again. Stepping in to the light where once there had been only darkness.

I hadn't been expecting her to arrive on my doorstep this morning. On this glorious summer Saturday with the sunlight bouncing off her hair and reflecting in those sparkling blue eyes that had plagued my every conscious thought in the years since she had left, she had smiled uncertainly up at me.

'It's not a bad time is it?...'

Bad time? Are you crazy Scully?

'Ummm no, not a bad time. What's up?'

She glanced down and for the first time I noticed the strip of red leather looped around her hand.

'He wanted to come chase rabbits Mulder. He's sick of DC'

I had smiled back at her and I had a sneaking suspicion that my expression at that moment mirrored exactly that of the goofy, tongue lolling terrier that sat obediently at her feet.

I'd been more than a little surprised when she had announced that she was keeping the dog. Especially since she hadn't exactly had much luck with dogs in the past and our work on the X-Files could almost guarantee that we would spend at least a portion of each week out in the field. But Scully was determined. Her neighbour had pooches of her own. And had told Scully in the past that she should get a companion. If she was out of town...well one more to feed and walk wouldn't make a difference.

And so Apollo came home with her.

Apollo

I had laughed when she told me the name she had chosen. Knowing it was a nod back to a different moment in time. A moment of pure, unadulterated joy that had briefly chased the shadows from her eyes and the frown from her brow. For a scant few moments that night, when her cancer was tightening its vice on her, weakening both her body and her resolve, she had been happy. I had made her happy. It's a memory I treasure. And I hadn't realised until then that she treasures it too.

And so, we spent this weekend day together. Apollo chased his rabbits and Scully and I chased each other. In a manner of speaking of course. We chased each other with our words, with playful touches and feather light kisses. The years had rolled back and we began to find a way to breathe together again. If I believed in magic then to me, this would be the greatest magic of all.

Even when the heat outside thickened as thunderclouds began to move in from the west and the first fat drops of rain began to fall, my wonderment that she was here with me didn't wane.

We sought refuge inside the house we once shared. I had changed little. I had no flair for decorating. And truly, didn't know where to start. Turning that house in to a home had always been Scully's department. I wish I had noticed more at the time.

I managed to dig out a bottle of wine from a dusty cupboard where it had lain ignored and unwanted in the years since I had stopped drinking. And while I searched with mounting futility for a corkscrew, Scully rummaged around the meagre contents of my fridge and managed to put together a passable meal for us both.

I try not to watch her too closely as she eats. Recently, Scully's relationship with food has given me cause for concern. She has lost a lot of weight over the last few weeks. She has never eaten well but since her Mom died she has found all and every excuse not to eat properly. I know she is hurting still. And when she is hurting, she stops eating. But tonight, maybe because she is full of fresh air and sunshine, she attacks the pasta with gratifying enthusiasm.

She suddenly realises I am watching her and her fork stops in mid air, halfway to her mouth. Scully hates to be watched when she is on one of her non-eating jags.

'What?'

I think quickly, reaching across and gently wipe my thumb against the tip of her nose where, only a minute before, she had brought her napkin up to wipe a tiny smattering of sauce that escaped from the end of a strand of spaghetti.'

'You missed a bit'

She smiles then. That smile she does that is reserved just for me and one which causes my stomach to flip lazily over on itself every time I see it. A smile I haven't seen for a very long time. I have missed that smile.

'Thanks Mulder. For today.'

She reaches over the table, taking my hand in hers and entwining her fingers tightly. As if against my will, my fingers mirror hers. Despite the obvious size difference our hands have always fit together perfectly.

'You're welcome'

My voice sounds hoarse and unfamiliar to me. Barely above a whisper in response to those piercing eyes which have locked on to mine, even as her thumb begins to trace slow circles on the back of my hand. And even though I have waited so long for this, the intensity of her gaze scares me a little.

I have a suspicion that I know where we are heading. And as much as I want to do a caveman on her and drag her back to my bed, our bed, I know that it's too soon. That this isn't the right time.

'Scully...'

But I never get to say what I wanted at that moment. The words die on my lips as a sudden light illuminates the wall behind her. A car? No one ever came here. And even though we were safe - had been safe for years - the hairs on the back of my neck prickle with unease. From the sudden darkening of Scully's eyes, I know she feels it too. It's all too easy even now to forget that we are ok. That the darkness is no longer following us. Old habits die hard.

The sharp rap on the door coincides exactly with Apollo jumping up from his curled position on the rug and letting out a series of high pitched barks that make Scully almost jump out of her skin.

Our quiet moment is lost and I sigh as I rise to my feet, gently touching Scully's neck as I pause briefly behind her. An unspoken reassurance that everything is different now.

It's ok

But when I reach the door, I realise that my reassurance may have been misplaced. Because I can't think of a single good reason for the familiar figure I see outside to be standing there. That a Saturday night visit from my long time friend and superior agent can't be for anything good.

I have a sudden urge to tell him to go away. That now isn't a good time. I don't of course. Instead I open the door.

Skinner's face is sombre.

'Agent Mulder. I apologise for disturbing you at this late hour. But I received some news today that I felt you would want to hear firsthand...'

I hold up my hand.

'Scully's here.'

I say it almost as a warning to him, wanting to protect her as always. From what, I'm not yet quite sure.

He nods. He knows our history. God knows, he was there throughout most of it. He saved us in many ways, putting himself in grave danger to ensure our safety. I owe this man such a debt of gratitude that if I lived to be a thousand I could never pay him back.

I feel rather than see Scully, who has come to stand behind me.

'Sir?'

Skinner sighs then. The sound piercing the silence like a knife and I suddenly realise that I am holding my breath. I reach behind me, searching for Scully and I am rewarded when she brushes her fingertips against mine. But seconds later, as she hears the words that Skinner has travelled here to deliver, those same fingertips dig in to my palm, her nails cutting in to my flesh painfully. Her sharp intake of breath.

'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry to have to be the one to tell you both...but John Doggett was killed today.'

And then Scully begins to cry.

'Oh God no.'

And even as i turn away from Skinner, reaching to cradle Scully against my chest, I realise that I am crying too.

Continued in chapter 2