Author: Adrienne davephile@yahoo.com>
Classification: SRA
Rating: R
Keywords: MSR, Angst, Major Character Death
Summary: Mulder dies, and Scully is lost in memories and new complications.
Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner and any other tangentially mentioned characters created by Chris Carter remain his copyrighted property, the property of 1013 Productions, and the property of Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. No infringement of any copyright is intended.
Author's Notes: This story deals with serious subject matter--this is not for the weak hearted philes. It is loosely based on Alanis Morissette's Your House, the song at the end of the hidden track (#13) of Jagged Little Pill. It helps to listen while you read. This is dedicated to Jolene, who let me do this with a promise that I would never do it again. I would like to thank Amber for continued support of this story and Aurora Fox for her encouragement and tedious editing.
http://petpede.tripod.com
"I went to your house
Walked up the stairs
Opened your door without ringing the bell."
Cold. Very cold.
Shivering.
Scully reached the apartment building in Arlington at a quarter till nine on Thursday evening. She hadn't known how long she had walked, or how far; her mind and body couldn't tell. Everything ached with a dull throb. Somehow she had ended up where the day had all begun.
Mulder's apartment building.
The lighted windows speckling the dark facade were few and far between; Mulder's light was not among them.
She found herself hesitant in her clouded state of mind, eyes dry, mouth parched. A shallow breath caught in her throat. But she needed to go upstairs to find comfort in what she knew was still there.
She moved up the walkway, opening the front door and passing the elevator up for the staircase. She just wanted to walk. She couldn't stay still. Not now.
Scully had to pull herself up the last few steep stairs, hand on the banister. Exhaustion was starting to overcome her body now, each and every limb. She closed her eyelids and felt them stick to her dry, burning eyes. She pressed the icy cold pads of her fingers against them to cool them down.
She didn't want to move. In fact, she didn't think her legs would let her.
It took some coaxing to make them lift off of the ground, taking small steps toward his apartment door. It wasn't far. She glanced down the hallway, remembering the light touch of his mouth, the first time they had felt the electricity between them so closely. The image of Mulder's face leaning into hers was forever emblazoned in her mind.
She fumbled with her keys, cursing them under her breath, trying to find the little one that opened his door. She tried several in the keyhole before opening it. As she pushed the door open tentatively, a faint stream of light entered the darkened room.
Scully slowly peeked around the corner, halfway expecting to see his silhouette on the couch or standing by the window. She entered cautiously, pushing the door closed behind her. The thud of the wood against the frame made her jump.
Where was he…
She felt herself getting lightheaded, sick to her stomach. Not again. Not again…
She threw up on Mulder's carpet, falling to her knees.
She had faced the most sickening autopsies, the most decayed bodies, and hadn't even felt nauseated. Now, she couldn't keep herself from vomiting.
Arms cradling her stomach, her body rocked back and forth, the comforting motion doing nothing for her nerves. A shaking hand dragged fingers across her lips to wipe the remnants of spit and bile from her mouth. With her eyes closed, her breathing built up, getting heavier, catching, feeling as if she were drowning in air.
She pressed her face into her hands and released a sob that echoed throughout the empty room, shattering the silence. She trembled as she held her sobs inside. They wracked her chest powerfully, trying to fight their way out. The sound of her ragged breath against her hands was raspy, hollow--intermittent with small chokes. There were no tears. She'd run out of them long ago.
"Walked down the hall
Into your room where I could smell you…
And I shouldn't be here
Without permission
Shouldn't be here..."
Scully pushed herself up slowly, her calmer sobs subsiding. The stench of her vomit had risen and she gagged on it. She made her way down the living room wall, her hand holding her up. Check his room, she thought, a desperate glimmer of hope filtering through her body.
She pushed the bedroom door open, finding his clothes scattered across the floor. She flicked on the light and bent down, picking up a blue dress shirt, and pressed it to her face. She could smell the faint scent of him mixed with her favorite cologne. Closing her eyes, she remembered how the shirt had gotten on the floor early last night…how she had loosened his tie, kissing the front of his neck as he ran his hands under her short black cocktail dress.
He had joked softly, telling her she had just enough ass to work with. She had in response rubbed herself against him, just to tease, to make him hot. And to hear his soft, low moan that she was addicted to the moment that she heard it.
She could still hear it.
The echoes of the night before rang through her head as she gently sat on the bed, shirt still against her face. She lifted her chin and looked at the mirror above her, lying down and feeling the soft blankets envelop her body, comforting her for a moment.
"Would you forgive me love if I dance in your shower?
Would you forgive me love if I laid in your bed?
Would you forgive me love if I stay all afternoon?"
Scully stared up at the mirror, watching her body bob gently on the little waves she had made through the waterbed as she fell backward. Mulder had loved the mirror, just because it allowed for a different view when they were making love.
Mulder…
The memory of the day's events hit her like a brick to the head, a hard pulse of energy right to the front of her brain. She closed her eyes again, slowly running a hand down her silky white blouse, from her breast down her side. Pretending it was him made her skin prickle. She breathed in deep, moving her hand across her hip and up against her stomach. The small tears, willing themselves to surface, stuck in the creases of her eyelids.
Another sob reached her throat. Hold it back…hold it…hold it.
Her body wasn't listening to her.
Scully curled up into a tight ball, her fists against her ears. She tried to close off the images, the sounds, the sensations. Her face crumpled as she gave into her sobs for the first time since…
"Scully, tell me again why we're stuck on this detail."
She smiled at him. "Simple, Mulder…backup."
The FBI had been called in for an unfortunately routine disgruntled-post-office-employees call. Things had been going to hell lately.
"Well, at least I get to spend some quality time with you," Mulder responded, nonchalantly putting his arm around her waist.
"Whoa, loverboy," she whispered, edging away from him. "It's all about protocol."
"Screw protocol," he said, stretching his arm out behind her and letting it drop to his waist. He watched the agents gathering around the large wooden doors of the building, as they crouched behind a police car.
"Scully, I'm tired of crouching," he muttered, lifting himself up and stretching his limbs. She observed him from the ground, watching his white t-shirt lift up just enough to see his tanned side.
"Mulder…get down here."
He sighed, looking around. "There's nothing going on here, baby."
"Scully."
"Yeah. Scullllyyy." He looked down as she rolled her eyes, which made him smile.
"I mean it, Mulder."
He loved it when she got pouty. "Mmhmm, I know you mean it, Sculllyyy."
Suddenly, there was a shout and gunfire. Mulder was down as quickly as he had sprung up. Scully's senses perked to a new level—the level that she had so quickly learned in her first encounter with a shooting and that hadn't ebbed over time. She could feel the first twinge of adrenaline as it shot through her veins, laced with a small dose of fear.
Mulder lifted himself so that his eyes were over the hood of the car as he heard more gunfire. "Oh my god, Scully."
She lifted her head, peeking over with him. Her gun was in her hand and ready. She saw three agents on the ground, bleeding profusely.
"I have to get out there."
"Scully…" Mulder started, grabbing her arm.
"Mulder, there are dying people out there." She looked at his slightly panicked hazel eyes.
"Yeah, but all we need is one crazy fuck with a gun to ruin our day. Stay here. There's nothing we can do."
She bit her lip, looking over the edge of the car again. The down agents had stopped moving totally. She radioed Skinner, who was positioned fifty feet away.
"What the hell is going on?" she hissed into the radio.
"…three agents down. Subjects are armed and considered dangerous."
"No shit," Mulder muttered, leaning against the car.
"What's the plan?" Scully demanded.
"We're going in…we need you."
Mulder's eyes locked with Scully's.
"Both of us?" Scully managed to remain calm. Mulder put his hand on the back of her neck.
"Yes. We're going in, all out, shoot to kill."
"This is fucking insane," Mulder growled, grabbing the radio. "There are hostages in there!"
"Hostages are dead…"
"Oh shit," Scully breathed. "Who the hell are these people?"
"Going in, T-minus 30 seconds."
With that, Skinner was gone. Mulder looked at Scully, a mixture of fear and worry spreading across his face.
She put her hand against his cheek. "We've done this before."
He put his fingers under her chin and tilted her head up, kissing her lightly. "I don't care if people are around," he whispered against her lips. "I love you."
She gulped, kissing him quickly. "I love you too."
They looked into each other's eyes until they heard the yell to go. They stood up, arms drawn, Mulder staring at Scully. He was afraid and she refused to acknowledge it.
"Mulder stop it, just do it, just run!" Scully said between gritted teeth. They took off together, in the middle of about fifteen FBI agents taking the entrance of the building.
Scully felt Mulder beside her, heard the guns as they began to fire again. The agents in front had shot guns, and they had their Glocks. Who knows what the employees had, Scully thought, but they sure as hell have something powerful.
Mulder watched in horror as agents in front of them dropped. He grabbed Scully's shoulder and pulled her in front of him to show her where he was running—behind a wooden counter. "Go, go, go Scully!!"
Scully began to run, hearing more gunshots as fire ricocheted off of the marble walls and floor. She couldn't feel a thing. She couldn't see a thing except for that god damned wooden counter. It was hers. Theirs. Hide.
She was almost there when she heard him. Words that would stick in her head forever.
"Oh god Scully."
Urgent. Pained. Choked.
She felt him push her behind the counter and he fell on top of her. Now hidden, they were completely sheltered from the gunfire.
"What…what…Mulder," she whispered, feeling his weight on her back. With a grunt, she wiggled out from under him and he fell to the floor on his stomach.
"Mulder." She glanced down his body. And saw it.
The gunshot wound in the middle of his back.
"Oh my god," she said, voice cracking. "Mulder, Mulder, can you hear me?"
"Scully," he whispered, trying to turn himself over.
"Mulder…don't…you could hurt yourself more." She ripped off her FBI jacket and pressing it against the wound. She could feel the blood pouring out against her hand, slickening the jacket. They must have hit some organs, she thought, oh shit, oh shit.
"I don't care…Scully…" He turned over slowly, wincing in pain. She bit her lip and watched him, trying not to let the tears she felt in the back of her eyes spring forth.
She held the jacket against the wound until he laid on it, groaning with the pain. There was no exit wound. She pressed her palm against his neck and his face, feeling the cold sweat of shock. "Mulder, talk to me…Mulder."
"Scully…" He looked up at her, his lips parted. The fear on his face was unmistakable now. Fear and pain. He blinked. "Scully. Scully."
"That's right, Mulder…keep saying my name," she whispered, lying down next to him, pressing her lips against his damp forehead. She snuggled against his side, desperately trying to keep him warm.
She pulled out her radio. "Man down…man down," she whispered frantically.
"Scully…no one…" Mulder murmured.
"We've got men down everywhere…"
"God damn it!!!" Scully hissed, slamming the radio down against the ground. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, feeling his tendons straining with the throbbing pain. The blood had begun to spread onto the cold floor, soaking into her pants, staining the tile dark red.
"Scully."
"God no…no." Her tears began to fall. They slid down onto his neck, leaving shiny wet trails. "No, Mulder. Stay with me. Stay with me."
Mulder's body arched up slightly, and she put her arm over his chest, hugging his shoulders. "Scully…I'm so cold."
"It's okay. It's going to be okay…"
"I want to stay with you for—" he gasped softly. "Forever."
She tried to speak, but her voice was gone. She squeaked as she began to sob quietly, holding him. She felt his own hot tears landing on the top of her head. He moved his head slightly, kissing her hair and holding his lips there.
"No…no…please…oh god," Scully whimpered softly, feeling his chest heave and shake. "Mulder…"
She lifted her head and pressed her lips against his. It wasn't lust. It was love. It was need and desperation.
His lips moved slightly. "I just want to feel you," he whispered against her lips. Scully began to shake, pressing her lips harder against his with a whimper.
Their lips parted and Scully stared into his eyes. They were clouded with tears, red, pained. Heartbreak.
"Scully…I'm not."
That was all he could say. His eyelids fluttered.
"No, listen to me. No, Mulder." She patted his cheek, and then slapped it gently. "Honey, please. Look at me. I love you. Look at me."
"I want to marry you," Mulder sobbed, choking and groaning. "Scully, I'm sorry."
"Yes…yes…if I say yes…will you stay with me?"
"Scully…I want…"
"Yes, please Mulder, please. Please." Her pleas were soft and urgent, interrupted by her flow of tears and choking breaths. He breathed in and out. Slowly. More slowly.
"Mulder…Mulder...Mulder…" she whispered urgently, brushing his hair off of his forehead, trying to collect her thoughts. "Mulder I've lived my life for you, you're my soul…you complete me…I want you to know I've never loved anyone else in my life…" Her speech was broken by sobs. She watched his face strain.
"I love you Scully," he breathed. "I love you."
He closed his eyes slowly, seemingly fighting it.
"No! It's not time yet. No. Mulder…" her voice dwindled. She was silenced by her chest swelling and aching. She felt his neck, her fingers tight against his jugular. Nothing.
"Fuck!" she cried, not caring about making a sound. She tilted his head back and listened for breathing before covering his mouth with hers, pinching his nose. Breathing into him. Again. Come on, damn it.
She put her hands together and pumped at his breastbone. Her tears were falling on his t-shirt, leaving coins of saline on his chest like an offering to God to let him stay. "Come…on…come…on…"
Scully wouldn't stop. She was crying harder, sobs shaking her tiny body, trying to revive his heart and breathing her life's breath into him. Her throat felt thick and sore and full.
"Take me…Take me…Mulder, take me with you, please take me."
She stared at his face with her lips parted, waiting. No movement. She put her lips on his and kissed him hard.
Why wasn't he responding. Why wasn't he rubbing her back, whispering sweet nothings in her ear…
She lay her upper body upon him, her chest on his, her head under his chin.
And cried. Silently.
She didn't move until they found her, her knees soaked in his blood, speechless for what seemed like hours. She didn't want to be found. She wanted to be left with him; she wanted to go with him. Be with him.
She began sobbing as they pulled her away from his limp body.
"Noooo…." she wailed, into the ceiling, echoing through the post office. The thick smell of death permeated the air.
And then they took him away. She begged to go with him to the morgue. She didn't want to leave his side. But Skinner held her, telling her it was best she that not go with them. She frantically tried to explain to him that she didn't want to go with them…she wanted to go with him. He couldn't understand her through her sobs. No one could.
In an hour, she had calmed herself physically, separating herself from what had happened. She convinced Skinner that she could make it home in a cab and he gave her the fare and a light kiss on the forehead. She was numb. He told her that he would check on her that night.
Scully made the cabbie drive to Arlington and drop her off in front of what she said was her apartment. In reality, it was a couple miles from Mulder's apartment building.
The sound of a squad car rushing down the street brought her back from her all-too-real nightmare. She snapped back to consciousness, finding a little drool down her cheek and her eyes crusty from tears.
She was no longer in a little ball. She was stretched out like she was still hugging his body; she could feel him warm next to her.
But she was cold and alone, and she didn't want to open her eyes to realize it.
"I took off my clothes,
Put on your robe…
Went through your drawers
And I found your cologne."
Scully stood up, struggling a little against the waterbed. She couldn't lay there. She had to be moving. She saw his dark blue robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door, the one that always looked so good with his hair and his skin. It was about the only thing he ever bothered to hang up. It was big, soft; she could lose herself in it.
Scully unbuttoned her bloodstained blouse, fingers fumbling with it. She imagined that he was doing it, smiling softly as she heard him in her mind, cursing the little buttons.
She could feel him push the blouse off of her shoulders, its feathery fabric brushing against the back of her calves. His hot, soft lips would feather her collarbone with kisses as he unbuttoned her pants and unzipped them, letting them fall as well.
He always left her in her underwear—he blamed it on the years of looking at Victoria's Secret magazines as a boy.
Scully wrapped her arm around her head, running her free hand down her torso. Her fingers traced the edge of her black silk panties. She felt her flesh break out in goosebumps, tingling.
She ran her hands around her waist, up her spine, to her bra snap and unfastened it. Shrugging it off, it fell down her arms to the floor.
Turning around, she stared at herself in the mirror over the dresser. Her face was puffy, her eyes red and swollen. Her knees had bloodstains on them; she found herself bending over, licking her finger, rubbing it against her left knee and standing up to taste it. She watched her other hand as she traced a light line with her fingers down between her breasts and over her stomach.
Imagining it was him took her away from this god-forsaken place.
She walked over to the robe, pulling it down and wrapping it around her body. It was still damp and smelled of his shampoo and soap. She then went over to his dresser and opened up the top drawer—his underwear drawer, but also where he kept his special cologne.
She sorted through the grey cotton jockeys and his black silk boxers, past a leopard-skin thong that was her gift to him last year to match his sheets. She picked up the little bottle and sprayed it on her neck, engulfed in the scent immediately. Oh god…there will never be another man who makes this smell as good…
"Went down to the den,
Found your CDs,
And I played your Joni."
Moving out of the bedroom, she walked into his living room, to his stereo. Mulder had only a few CDs, and they had purchased some together. Mozart. Nick Cave. The dynamics of his taste were outstanding. Scully looked through them for her favorite: an old Joni Mitchell album.
Shit, she realized, it's in my apartment. It figures.
She found one CD they had bought together and put it in the player. Sarah McLachlan had initiated several nights of good sex between them. Now, she just wanted to listen and remember.
"And I shouldn't stay long
You might be home soon
Shouldn't stay long... "
The music was playing very softly in the room, and Scully laid down on the couch, her hand over her eyes. It was still pitch black in the room, and her aching eyes were hot against her cold hand.
A slam from the apartment across the hallway made Scully jump and look over at the door, as if it were Mulder coming home.
"Hey, what've you got on under that robe?"
"Why don't you come over here and find out."
The exchange of words was merely an echo in her head. She felt an involuntary shudder throughout her body as she was sent into another nervous shivering fit. Her teeth chattered as she stared up into the ceiling.
"Mulder…" she whispered, closing her eyes and opening them slowly.
"Mulder…I have to admit…I've lost my relationship with God over the years." She swallowed dryly. "You know that as much as I do…and now He's…you're gone. He's taken you away."
She lay in the darkness, as if awaiting a response from the calm air, some sign to continue. She received none but spoke anyway.
"But I just want to talk…I just want to talk to you," she managed to whisper, tears flowing again. "Because today I, I died with you. I've done it all for you. I don't want this anymore. Not anymore."
Her sobs kept her from continuing. She shook her head, her stomach sore from the overstraining of muscles.
"I can still feel you beside me. Because Mulder, it's been eight years that I've had you here with me. It's like losing a part of me. Lost…I'm lost. I'm lost without it."
Scully struggled for words as emotions spun through her mind.
"God…come back. I can see you coming through the doorway, with roses, 'I'm sorry, Scully, it was all a big mistake, I love you…marry me…'"
She slammed her fist against the back of the couch, whimpering with her sobs.
"You know I would…you fucking knew I would…"
"Would you forgive me love if I danced in your shower?
Would you forgive me love if I laid in your bed?
Would you forgive me love if I stay all afternoon?
I burned your incense
I ran a bath…"
Scully, her anger subsiding, found it hard to breathe. Her chest was tight. She needed to forget, forget everything and everyone. Again she managed to pull her tired body upright, reaching for a book of matches on the table. There were a few sticks on incense laying on the tabletop. Strawberry. Mulder's favorite, though he didn't like to admit it.
She lit them, watching them burn. Then she sat back, her head against the top of the couch as she breathed in slowly, deeply, letting the scent reach her nostrils calm her. Everything was a memory. This was of a night last week—Monday—when Mulder had read his poetry to her, followed by a full body massage and nothing more except for sweet whispers.
Time was at a complete loss to her as she rested her body, relaxing for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.
She needed a bath; she needed to wash the remnants of his blood from her body, no matter how much she hated the idea of losing what seemed like the only physical connection they had at this point.
She walked through the bedroom into the tiny bathroom, her strength semi-regained through relaxation. She began running the water, testing it with her red-painted-by-Mulder toes until it was just right. Throwing some bath beads into the water, she returned to Mulder's bedroom. Her eyes wandered, collecting her thoughts.
"I noticed a letter that sat on your desk."
She looked down at the dresser, noticing a white envelope on the edge of the far end. Walking slowly over to it, she picked it up. It was unmarked, but opened in the distinctive Mulder way—ripped to shreds. She plucked out a small note, scripted on rose stationery. And she began reading.
"It said:
'Hello love.
I love you so, love.
Meet me at midnight.'
And no, it wasn't my writing…"
It was Diana's.
Memories of the night before rushed back to her like a speeding freight train. She stumbled back, her mouth slightly agape, falling into the endpost of the bed.
The clock boasting 11:21 p.m. in bright red numbers…
She heard Mulder rustling in the covers, sitting on the side of the bed.
Turning over, she slid her hand across the taut skin of his shoulder.
"Where are you going, sweetie?"
Mulder jumped, one leg in a rugged pair of jeans.
"Baby, you scared me…"
Scully lifted herself up, pressing her naked upper body against his bare back. "I'm sorry, Mulder. Where are you going? It's late."
"I'm going to make some coffee. I can't sleep." He turned, putting his arm around her bare waist and kissing her full on the mouth. "Why don't you go back to sleep."
She had. She had gone back to sleep. Right to sleep.
She hadn't even paid attention as she heard the faint shutting of a nearby door. It wasn't Mulder leaving. It wasn't.
Her heart felt sick. Full. Vomit rose yet again in her throat and she swallowed it back down.
When she had awakened at 3 a.m., she wandered to the living room, through the kitchen. He was nowhere to be found. He probably went for a walk. A walk to clear his head. A walk…
So she went back to sleep.
And kissed him in the morning, when she woke up beside him, his hair damp from a shower.
"No," Scully whimpered, a knife of pain stabbing through her forehead. She clutched the endpost behind her and crumpled down to the floor.
"No…no…" Her voice wavered, getting louder with each plea. Why wasn't he here to explain? Why wasn't he alive? Why couldn't he comfort her and tell her it was all a lie…
"NO!!!!" A piercing scream emerged from deep inside of her. She hugged herself, sobbing, moaning, rocking back and forth.
"What did I do? What haven't I done for you?" she cried, her body shaking. "Why did you go to her? After you fucked me, you fucked her! You left me and fucked her!! Wasn't I enough!" Her laments were getting softer.
"Didn't you want me?" she moaned softly, her cries broken with hiccups. "Jesus, oh Jesus, Mulder…why…"
The silence bore down upon her.
"Answer me you son of a bitch!"
The only sound was the echo of her frenzied threat. Her uncontrollable sobs sent cascading pain through her abdomen. She lay on the floor, one hand clutching her stomach tightly. The other hand rested under her head. Scully squeezed her eyes shut.
"I'd better go soon
It wasn't my writing."
"That bitch…" she whispered, trying to get the image of Mulder and Diana together out of her head. She couldn't shake it. That whore, that bitch, that ugly whore bitch. Diana deserved to be the one to die.
But no, Scully thought, no, I'm the one who suffers. I'm the one who gets cheated. I'm the one who loses all of the love in her life and then has it recoil in her face.
She heard the light splash of the bathwater, remembering it. She had to get up and shut it off.
It took her several minutes. Sobbing, she picked herself up, finding her arms weak as they gave out on her again and again. Finally she pulled herself up the endpost. She stumbled into the bathroom, slamming her hand down across the faucet to stop the water.
Scully looked down into the tub, feeling the steam rise off of it. Sitting down, she ran her fingers through it, making small waves. She leaned her cheek against the white porcelain, finding it cold despite the hot water.
Cupping her palm, she lifted a bit of liquid up to her lips and drinking it thirstily. Her forearm fell lazily into the water. She let it soak, then moved to face the tub, putting both arms under the water. It felt comforting; it relaxed the muscles in her fshoulders, her legs.
It was as close to home as she'd felt since he last kissed her.
She lay her head on the cool side of the tub. Thoughts and reality drifted away.
Scully, dozing off, felt as if she had been dreaming, as if the day had been nothing but a horrible nightmare. It was upon opening her swollen eyes that she realized she was far from sleep.
She needed to call her mother.
Scully shuffled on hands and knees across the tile onto the carpet of his bedroom. She couldn't get up. Moving to the phone by the side of the bed, she pulled on the cord. It fell to the floor with a clang, narrowly missing her. She picked up the receiver, cradling it against her neck as she laid on her side. Then she dialed the number slowly with her pointer finger.
It rang sharply into her ear. Once. Twice. Three times. Four…
"Come on, please, please…"
Five.
"Mommy…" Scully whispered, choking.
"Hello, you have reached the Margaret Scully residence… I can't come to the phone right now, so if you leave a message, I will get back to you as soon as possible."
Scully heard the beep of the machine and slammed down the phone, burying her head in her hands over top of it, crying quietly. How a person could cry so much was beyond her comprehension. She just wanted to talk to her, tell her what happened, ask her if what she was feeling was all right because she'd never felt it before. Such heartbreak, such desperation, such sickness.
But she wasn't there.
Scully soon felt lightheaded as she lapsed out of consciousness, drifting far from herself. She was floating on air. She could see herself rising above her body and looking down to the carpet where she lay. She watched herself go to the kitchen and come back, holding her hand in the pocket of Mulder's blue robe. And then she was conscious again, jerking awake, clamoring up against the night table. She drew her knees to her chin and stared blankly into the living room.
The digital clock in her line of view read 12:00.
This time yesterday, she had been sleeping peacefully after fantastic sex with him.
And Mulder…Mulder had been out.
She shook her head violently, trying to clear her head. Nothing. Think of nothing.
It was time for her bath.
"So forgive me love if I cry in your shower
So forgive me love for the salt in your bed
So forgive me love if I cry all afternoon."
Scully gazed down at the bath water, now lukewarm, the bubbles dissipating. She undid the strap of the robe, dropping it to the floor. It gaped open slightly as she turned to face the medicine cabinet mirror.
If Hell were personified, she would be it.
She slid her hands over her smooth shoulders, the robe tumbling down into a bulky pile. She ran her hands over her neck to her chest, cupping her breasts. She sighed, her tired eyelids fluttering closed. Smoothing her hands down her stomach to her hips, her hands helped her shimmy out of her panties. She looked at the pile on the floor and picked them up, folding them and placing them on the side of the sink.
She then grabbed the robe and belt, walking over and hanging them on the hook of the bathroom door. They settled gently, naturally. She felt the terry cloth slowly, letting it slip between both hands. She slipped her hand into the pocket, grasping the object in a fist.
Then she walked back to the mirror, facing her reflection.
Am I still beautiful, Mulder? she thought dully, staring at her face. Eyes swollen, lips chapped, face streaked with tears.
Her Daddy would still think so.
Scully opened her fist, revealing a small surface cut from the sharpened razor she held so tightly inside.
A small sob escaped her lips as she played with the metal, pressing it against palms and her wrists and feeling the cool steel against the hot flow of her blood under her skin.
To think it would end like this was almost implausible to her. But it was the way.
The way it had to be.
Scully bit her lip, lightly pressing the right edge of the blade against her fragile skin. It soon punctured, a drop of blood building and leaning to slip down the side of her wrist.
It didn't hurt. She had been hurt to the point of not acknowledging the pain.
Slowly, with a medical doctor's precision, she slid the razor up her forearm, following the light bluish trail of the veins. The blood began to flow freely.
Free. Like she was destined to be.
Scully watched as it splattered the tile. She turned to the bath and watched it drip into the water, first slowly, then accelerating. When she felt dizzy, it was time to lay down.
She slipped her slender legs into the bath, twiddling her painted toes under the tinted water. She sat down, her body sliding the length of the tub. And then she submerged her bleeding arm, feeling the pressure of the water ebb the increased throbbing.
Her other arm was perfect, milky white. She lifted it into the air stared at it, turning her wrist, her hand, and her forearm to examine the light hairs that feathered over the top of it.
It was hard to lift the razor with her bleeding arm. She managed to lift it enough to cut a straight line up half of her other forearm. She then dropped both arms into the water with a splash.
The reddish water splattered onto the white tile floor, the wall. Her lips.
She licked them. Salt. Blood. Her life.
She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the pain start to increase. And then she was sobbing. Over and over, apologizing outloud to Mulder, to her mother, to her father. Even to Bill Jr, who had been such an asshole and would blame Mulder for this the rest of his life.
"Please…God…take me…take me…"
She was weakened as she whispered her prayers.
"Our father…who art in heaven…hallowed be thy name…"
She was stumbling over her words, speaking as quickly as she could, feeling her blood leaving her body and opening her yes to watch it cloud the water.
"Ha…Hail Mary…HailMaryFullofGrace…"
She choked, looking down at her arms. She had to see it to realize it was happening. She tried to speak, but couldn't. The words wouldn't come out.
So she thought.
Mom, why weren't you home? I hope you never realize it was me calling, never blame yourself, never hurt yourself like this.
She blinked hard, her vision blurring. The last stroke of fear dissipated, that which was keeping her from closing her eyes. With a whimper, she let her eyes flutter shut.
She could still see the light reflecting against the ceramic tile walls; her last glimpse of light.
God, please forgive me, for I have sinned, I beg for your forgiveness…
She gasped, breath catching in her throat. Her body slowly slumped down into the water. Her chin and lips were submerged.
Mulder, I love you, I love you so much. Mulder, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for cursing you. I'm sorry for not loving you enough.
If there's a Heaven, God knows it's where we belong.
Scully slipped under the water.
Mulder's apartment was silent, the only light in the living room coming from the digital clock. 2:07.
The note on the kitchen table teetered and fluttered to the ground under the light breeze of the ceiling fan.
"I've loved. Lost. Everything. I'm sorry, Mom. I'm so sorry… but Dad and I will meet you when you get here.
Love Always, Dana."
end.