It is raining.
How oddly appropriate, I think. Almost as if God knows and cares what's going on in our miserable little lives, almost as if He cares that Mulder and I watched as our life's work went up in flames until there was nothing left but smolder ashes, almost as if the rain was sent to cool off the fire and settle our souls.
Because our souls were destroyed then too. As was our hearts, our hopes, our dreams and all that we were. And as I clung to Mulder's stiff and shell shocked body, I could almost feel him dying, I could almost feel that past in him; the countless cases that were now just scattered ashes on the floor, all the lost little pieces which we believed would one day create the most beautiful and complete puzzle ever, all the sheets of stark white paper with harsh, black ink and all the numbing photographs of countless victims, countless dead bodies, countless alien abductees, countless conspirators, countless little girls with brown hair and hazel eyes, all these objects that Mulder had devoted himself to and loved more that anything else in the world.
And I could feel the future; Mulder arriving at my doorstep, eyes red and empty, mouth crying out in silent pain and anguish, Mulder watching me in a busy airport, washing me being swallowed up in the crowd, watching me leave his life and board a plane, watching with his beautiful cat-like green eyes, now so lifeless and empty. Or Mulder lying dead in his apartment, his bright red blood still on his forehead, looking so very red in comparison with his paleness, the paleness of death, his full lips twisted into a half grin, half grimace, his eyes staring lifelessly straight up, his hand clutching both his gun and a short note, the words burning deep into my mind, a short note saying goodbye, nothing more, nothing to read into, nothing to suggest he even thought of me as he raised the gun to his head, no words of comfort or remembrance or apology. Or even worse, no note at all.
And though it seems all the futures I felt in Mulder mean suffering for him, I didn't care. Those five short seconds when I tried to hold him as he stared at his beloved X-Files, caring about nothing else, summed up our relationship in the past five years. He has been selfish for five long years. It's my turn to be selfish now.
So I hope this rain is God's way of putting out the fire of my old life so I can start another one somewhere else. Without Mulder. For God's sake, because of him, because I let him into my life in the blind faith that one day he would open his damn eyes and for once would notice me, not his skeptic partner, not an alien abductee, not a surrogate sister, not a nurse whose always there to patch him up, just me. Just the person I really am. And I have given up so much just so that his eyes would be cleared, so his blindness would be healed.
There are so many things I can blame him for, but one thing stands out the most, hurts me the deepest. My dream, my dream to have little angels of my own, to teach the right and wrong, to watch them grow up and maybe give them all the things that I had missed in life.
And, because of my connection with Mulder, they made me barren, then gave me Emily for an agonizing short time so they could taunt me with what could have been and then took her away just as sudden.
And that is why two months ago I left the X-files, that is why seven weeks ago, I sold my apartment and moved into a house of my very own, that is why a month ago I started teaching again in Quantico and that is why, just a week ago, I requested to adopt a girl, a young 3 year old girl with cat-like green eyes, white- blonde hair and a hesitant but beautiful smile named Elizabeth.
And that is also why I haven't spoken to him. The last time I heard his voice was the night before I left my apartment. I had quickly picked the phone up, assuming it was my mother. Mulder hadn't said a word to me since the day we watched his office burn, not even when Skinner informed him I was leaving. I assumed that Skinner had finally told him that I was moving.
"Hello?" I had said. "Mom?"
Silence. Nothing except raspy breaths.
"Hello?" I had asked again. Finally, he answered.
"Scully, don't. Don't leave me." I could barely hear him, but I realized it was Mulder. A feeling of both anger and happiness to hear his voice surged over me.
"Mulder? What do you want?" I asked, a bit impatient.
"Help me." He was still thinking about only himself, and a wave of anger washed over me. I slammed down the phone and pulled the line from the wall. No one would ever call that number again.
I figure if he really wants me back, he'll hunt me down and follow the little pieces of evidence as determined as he had once tried to locate people who are nothing to him but scarps of evidence. He hasn't found me, so I guess he doesn't want me back.
I guess he doesn't think of me anymore, probably just about how he's going to continue his precious work. And I would like to say I don't think about him. But it's not true. And the one thing I learned from Mulder is that the truth is the most important thing in the world.
I didn't go looking for Elizabeth, she came to me. A week after I moved in, exactly seven days since Mulder called, I heard a sharp knock at my door. I hurried to it and peeked out. I saw no one. Curiously, I cracked the door open and looked out. And down. Curled up on my doorstep lay Elizabeth, a thin sliver of a girl, her pale face smeared with dirt, her light, silver- colored hair full of leaves and thorns. She raised her eyes, Mulder's soulful eyes and her tiny mouth uttered two words, two simple words: "Help me."
I remember all this as I watch the rain from my window, phone sitting close at hand. Ms. Camus from the adoption agency said that she would call me with the results of my request in a maximum of three days. The third day is today. I am so engrossed with the rain and waxing philosophical of its meaning that I don't remember that I left the door unlocked and I don't hear it slowly creak open and the soft footsteps of someone entering my house. But I do hear the voice softly call my name.
"Scully?" I whirl around, startled and knock over a small coffee table in the process. I lookup and see Mulder, his eyes red, his hair unruly and oily, his face unshaven. He stands in the middle of my house. _My_ house. I feel angry that he has found me when I finally realize that I can live without him. I don't know what to say. From the look on Mulder's face, I don't think he knows what to say either.
"Scully, I.." he starts, his voice shaking. He is promptly interrupted by the shrill ringing of the phone, breaking the stillness and the tension that hangs heavy in the air. My heart stops. I look at Mulder with both fear and excitement in my eyes, and I think he understands the importance of this call.
"Hello?" I say picking up the phone, trying to keep both my voice and emotion under control.
"Ms. Scully? This is Patricia Camus from the adoption agency. I'm calling with the results of your request to adopt Elizabeth Cullagh..." I listen carefully, clinging to every word. I can feel my life changing, my path turning. Towards a much better future.
"I'll be there in ten minutes," I say and this time I can't control my voice and I'm sure it's shaking. I hang the phone up slowly, my hands are shaking. I turn back towards Mulder, and I wonder whether I should ask him to leave or not. I know this is a much bigger decision that it appears to be. I'm choosing whether I want to have Mulder in my life again or I want to really start over alone. He looks at me and he sees the happiness and turmoil in my eyes and for once in his life, he sees me. He can see I'm about to make a choice, a very important choice and he correctly realizes that it has something to do with the phone call. He correctly determines that I might change, I might be different soon and he spits out what he has to say while he stills knows me.
"I love you Scully." The words come out fast but the implication of them weighs heavy on me, on my soul. This is it. The moment I both feared and dreamed about for what seems life forever. But I always imagined sun streaming in through clean glass windows, with the smell of roses heavy in the air. Never with rain pouring outside and Mulder standing awkwardly in my living room. But it suddenly dawns on me. I am being given a second chance, a chance to finally live the life I've always wanted too. I feel free.
I push past Mulder and run out of the door and out into the rain. I don't know why, but I just have to do this. I finally realize what the rain is for. It's here to wash away my sins so I will be the perfect mother for Elizabeth. And the perfect woman for Mulder. I run out to the middle of the empty suburban street, raising my arms to the sky, twirling around in the glorious rain, letting it wash all over me, my face, my hands, my arms, my chest, my back, my begs, my bare feet. I let it soak my hair, I let it soak my clothes, feeling it slowly penetrate my white shirt and jeans and touch my skin. I let it fall all over me, devouring me. And I remember another time I stood out in the rain. I was with Mulder, on our first case. We were in a cemetery, surrounded by dead bodies and we were soaked and trembling.
And I was laughing.
The memory starts me laughing now and I tilt my head back to the sky, watching the never-ending water pour all over me. Mulder watches me from the porch for a while, and now he walks carefully towards me. He stands behind me, unsure of what to say and do. I stop and face him, watching the droplets of water run down his face. His forehead is creased, and he looks down at me with concern. I smile up to him. "I'm a mother, " I reply simply, explaining my pure joy and bliss. He smiles wide and, even though I can tell he does not completely understand what I mean, pulls me into his arms. It's that night in the office all over again, except this time it's water instead of fire, it's happiness instead of sorrow, it's a ocean of possibilities instead of a flame of destruction and it's him instead of me that's expressing love. My head rests on his shoulder. I speak the words my mouth has always longed to say.
"I love you too, Mulder." He steps back to look at me and for once I can see that he's truly happy. "I can't do this alone," I admit, looking into his eyes, deep pools of green. "Help me."
How oddly appropriate, I think. Almost as if God knows and cares what's going on in our miserable little lives, almost as if He cares that Mulder and I watched as our life's work went up in flames until there was nothing left but smolder ashes, almost as if the rain was sent to cool off the fire and settle our souls.
Because our souls were destroyed then too. As was our hearts, our hopes, our dreams and all that we were. And as I clung to Mulder's stiff and shell shocked body, I could almost feel him dying, I could almost feel that past in him; the countless cases that were now just scattered ashes on the floor, all the lost little pieces which we believed would one day create the most beautiful and complete puzzle ever, all the sheets of stark white paper with harsh, black ink and all the numbing photographs of countless victims, countless dead bodies, countless alien abductees, countless conspirators, countless little girls with brown hair and hazel eyes, all these objects that Mulder had devoted himself to and loved more that anything else in the world.
And I could feel the future; Mulder arriving at my doorstep, eyes red and empty, mouth crying out in silent pain and anguish, Mulder watching me in a busy airport, washing me being swallowed up in the crowd, watching me leave his life and board a plane, watching with his beautiful cat-like green eyes, now so lifeless and empty. Or Mulder lying dead in his apartment, his bright red blood still on his forehead, looking so very red in comparison with his paleness, the paleness of death, his full lips twisted into a half grin, half grimace, his eyes staring lifelessly straight up, his hand clutching both his gun and a short note, the words burning deep into my mind, a short note saying goodbye, nothing more, nothing to read into, nothing to suggest he even thought of me as he raised the gun to his head, no words of comfort or remembrance or apology. Or even worse, no note at all.
And though it seems all the futures I felt in Mulder mean suffering for him, I didn't care. Those five short seconds when I tried to hold him as he stared at his beloved X-Files, caring about nothing else, summed up our relationship in the past five years. He has been selfish for five long years. It's my turn to be selfish now.
So I hope this rain is God's way of putting out the fire of my old life so I can start another one somewhere else. Without Mulder. For God's sake, because of him, because I let him into my life in the blind faith that one day he would open his damn eyes and for once would notice me, not his skeptic partner, not an alien abductee, not a surrogate sister, not a nurse whose always there to patch him up, just me. Just the person I really am. And I have given up so much just so that his eyes would be cleared, so his blindness would be healed.
There are so many things I can blame him for, but one thing stands out the most, hurts me the deepest. My dream, my dream to have little angels of my own, to teach the right and wrong, to watch them grow up and maybe give them all the things that I had missed in life.
And, because of my connection with Mulder, they made me barren, then gave me Emily for an agonizing short time so they could taunt me with what could have been and then took her away just as sudden.
And that is why two months ago I left the X-files, that is why seven weeks ago, I sold my apartment and moved into a house of my very own, that is why a month ago I started teaching again in Quantico and that is why, just a week ago, I requested to adopt a girl, a young 3 year old girl with cat-like green eyes, white- blonde hair and a hesitant but beautiful smile named Elizabeth.
And that is also why I haven't spoken to him. The last time I heard his voice was the night before I left my apartment. I had quickly picked the phone up, assuming it was my mother. Mulder hadn't said a word to me since the day we watched his office burn, not even when Skinner informed him I was leaving. I assumed that Skinner had finally told him that I was moving.
"Hello?" I had said. "Mom?"
Silence. Nothing except raspy breaths.
"Hello?" I had asked again. Finally, he answered.
"Scully, don't. Don't leave me." I could barely hear him, but I realized it was Mulder. A feeling of both anger and happiness to hear his voice surged over me.
"Mulder? What do you want?" I asked, a bit impatient.
"Help me." He was still thinking about only himself, and a wave of anger washed over me. I slammed down the phone and pulled the line from the wall. No one would ever call that number again.
I figure if he really wants me back, he'll hunt me down and follow the little pieces of evidence as determined as he had once tried to locate people who are nothing to him but scarps of evidence. He hasn't found me, so I guess he doesn't want me back.
I guess he doesn't think of me anymore, probably just about how he's going to continue his precious work. And I would like to say I don't think about him. But it's not true. And the one thing I learned from Mulder is that the truth is the most important thing in the world.
I didn't go looking for Elizabeth, she came to me. A week after I moved in, exactly seven days since Mulder called, I heard a sharp knock at my door. I hurried to it and peeked out. I saw no one. Curiously, I cracked the door open and looked out. And down. Curled up on my doorstep lay Elizabeth, a thin sliver of a girl, her pale face smeared with dirt, her light, silver- colored hair full of leaves and thorns. She raised her eyes, Mulder's soulful eyes and her tiny mouth uttered two words, two simple words: "Help me."
I remember all this as I watch the rain from my window, phone sitting close at hand. Ms. Camus from the adoption agency said that she would call me with the results of my request in a maximum of three days. The third day is today. I am so engrossed with the rain and waxing philosophical of its meaning that I don't remember that I left the door unlocked and I don't hear it slowly creak open and the soft footsteps of someone entering my house. But I do hear the voice softly call my name.
"Scully?" I whirl around, startled and knock over a small coffee table in the process. I lookup and see Mulder, his eyes red, his hair unruly and oily, his face unshaven. He stands in the middle of my house. _My_ house. I feel angry that he has found me when I finally realize that I can live without him. I don't know what to say. From the look on Mulder's face, I don't think he knows what to say either.
"Scully, I.." he starts, his voice shaking. He is promptly interrupted by the shrill ringing of the phone, breaking the stillness and the tension that hangs heavy in the air. My heart stops. I look at Mulder with both fear and excitement in my eyes, and I think he understands the importance of this call.
"Hello?" I say picking up the phone, trying to keep both my voice and emotion under control.
"Ms. Scully? This is Patricia Camus from the adoption agency. I'm calling with the results of your request to adopt Elizabeth Cullagh..." I listen carefully, clinging to every word. I can feel my life changing, my path turning. Towards a much better future.
"I'll be there in ten minutes," I say and this time I can't control my voice and I'm sure it's shaking. I hang the phone up slowly, my hands are shaking. I turn back towards Mulder, and I wonder whether I should ask him to leave or not. I know this is a much bigger decision that it appears to be. I'm choosing whether I want to have Mulder in my life again or I want to really start over alone. He looks at me and he sees the happiness and turmoil in my eyes and for once in his life, he sees me. He can see I'm about to make a choice, a very important choice and he correctly realizes that it has something to do with the phone call. He correctly determines that I might change, I might be different soon and he spits out what he has to say while he stills knows me.
"I love you Scully." The words come out fast but the implication of them weighs heavy on me, on my soul. This is it. The moment I both feared and dreamed about for what seems life forever. But I always imagined sun streaming in through clean glass windows, with the smell of roses heavy in the air. Never with rain pouring outside and Mulder standing awkwardly in my living room. But it suddenly dawns on me. I am being given a second chance, a chance to finally live the life I've always wanted too. I feel free.
I push past Mulder and run out of the door and out into the rain. I don't know why, but I just have to do this. I finally realize what the rain is for. It's here to wash away my sins so I will be the perfect mother for Elizabeth. And the perfect woman for Mulder. I run out to the middle of the empty suburban street, raising my arms to the sky, twirling around in the glorious rain, letting it wash all over me, my face, my hands, my arms, my chest, my back, my begs, my bare feet. I let it soak my hair, I let it soak my clothes, feeling it slowly penetrate my white shirt and jeans and touch my skin. I let it fall all over me, devouring me. And I remember another time I stood out in the rain. I was with Mulder, on our first case. We were in a cemetery, surrounded by dead bodies and we were soaked and trembling.
And I was laughing.
The memory starts me laughing now and I tilt my head back to the sky, watching the never-ending water pour all over me. Mulder watches me from the porch for a while, and now he walks carefully towards me. He stands behind me, unsure of what to say and do. I stop and face him, watching the droplets of water run down his face. His forehead is creased, and he looks down at me with concern. I smile up to him. "I'm a mother, " I reply simply, explaining my pure joy and bliss. He smiles wide and, even though I can tell he does not completely understand what I mean, pulls me into his arms. It's that night in the office all over again, except this time it's water instead of fire, it's happiness instead of sorrow, it's a ocean of possibilities instead of a flame of destruction and it's him instead of me that's expressing love. My head rests on his shoulder. I speak the words my mouth has always longed to say.
"I love you too, Mulder." He steps back to look at me and for once I can see that he's truly happy. "I can't do this alone," I admit, looking into his eyes, deep pools of green. "Help me."