Agent Mulder's alive and resting in the hospital. I still don't really understand how it's possible, or even what happened; all I know is he was dead and buried, and now he's sitting up and putting on a fairly good show of joking with the pretty nurses.
We haven't spoken much yet, and we haven't spoken alone together at all. Agent Scully has haunted his hospital room since he was first brought in, and there are things I'd like to say to him that I'd just as soon she didn't hear. But, even more than that, perhaps, is the fact that every time I've visited there's been an awkward tension between them that I can't put my finger on; one that makes it kind of difficult to talk much at all.
I can only imagine what they're both feeling. She had accepted his death, and, while she hadn't ever learned to "move on" like well-meaning people always say, she had finally begun to listen to those of us who urged her to think of her unborn child, slowly climbing her way back to the world of the living, one dark day at a time.
And Agent Mulder...I don't know what he remembers of his experiences either before or during his absence, but I'm pretty sure he wasn't counting on a seven months-pregnant partner to meet him on the other side. He makes halfhearted little jokes for her benefit, she smiles placidly, and they both desperately pretend that nothing has changed. But they haven't *talked*, not really, and it's slowly pulling them apart.
I have a secret.
I couldn't bring myself to tell Agent Scully about Agent Mulder's journal, even after he was found dead. Especially after he was found dead, actually, since I had managed to take care of one piece of business that had been bugging me in the weeks leading up to his discovery.
It's amazing what flashing an FBI badge will accomplish. In my case, it allowed me to pick up a prepaid package at the Tiffany's boutique in Tyson's Corner; a small one in a little pale blue bag. I don't really know what prompted me to retrieve it from the store, but I took it home and there it sat on my living room table until the night I returned from Montana.
I hadn't ever intended to open it.
The night I got back, I opened the door to my dark apartment and, without even turning on the lights, walked in and sat down on the sofa. I didn't even remove my overcoat and tie; I just sat there, my face in my hands, exhaustion flooding my body. Behind closed eyes I saw her...leaning like a broken rag doll against the frame of Jeremiah Smith's room, her eyes empty and still. When AD Skinner helped me to lift her to her feet, she didn't even seem to know us.
As I sat there in the dark, I felt hot tears sting my eyes. I wiped them and looked into the darkness; the small blue bag greeted my gaze, taunting me with its empty promise. I picked it up and slowly reached inside, my fingers met by a small, velvety box. Lifting it out of the bag, I held it in my hands for long moments, my breath coming faster as slow tears streamed down my face.
I opened it. Glistening in the lamplight that peeked through my shuttered windows was the most delicate of diamonds, perched high on a band of white gold. My hands trembled slightly as I lifted the small ring out of its box. Bringing it closer to my eyes, I turned it slightly in the light and found a wispy inscription adorning the inside of the thin band.
Four words, and I felt my own heart break.
I ask AD Skinner to tell Agent Scully to go home. He makes it sound fatherly; God knows he's been taking care of her ever since the funeral, and it was well within character for him to demand that she sleep in her own bed for one night, in order to get a good night's rest "for the baby's sake." I wait in my car until she leaves, watching as AD Skinner helps her into his car and drives off into the late night darkness.
Grabbing my briefcase, and looking, I'm sure, completely like a clockwork G-Man, I go up to Agent Mulder's room. All the lights are off save one: a small reading lamp illuminating one half of his face. Looking at him, I recognize the hungry, lost look in his eyes. I'd seen it often enough in the eyes of his partner during the long months since his disappearance.
I knock softly on the door, peering inside. He turns to face me, his eyes widening slightly, and nods almost imperceptibly as I open the door.
"Agent Mulder."
He smiles crookedly and begins, "You just missed her, Agent Doggett. Skinner just dragged her home for the night."
I look at the floor for a moment and swallow hard before responding.
"I didn't come to see Agent Scully. I came to talk to you."
Agent Mulder sits up then, pointing to the chair near his bed as he replies, "Well, have a seat then, Agent Doggett. What can I do for you this evening?"
He grins, but his eyes are wary.
I sit down, and the brief silence between us is deafening. Gathering my courage, I break the quiet with my confession.
"Agent Mulder...I found your journal."
His eyes shoot up to meet mine, but he remains silent. I continue.
"I...I *read* it, Agent Mulder. I thought it might be pertinent to the investigation, and so I read it."
I pause and glance at him. He has looked away, out the window, his eyes growing distant in the moonlight.
"I'm sorry."
He turns back to me, his voice tight as he asks, "Did you turn it in as evidence?"
I shake my head slowly, reaching down for my briefcase. I open it, the small *click* of the clasps echoing in the silence. Reaching inside, I pull out the battered book and hand it to Agent Mulder. Taking it in his hands, he lays it down on his lap and stares at the brown leather cover.
Closing his eyes tightly, he brings his hand to his face and pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. When he speaks again, his voice is muffled, hoarse, and barely-controlled.
"Did..." A deep breath here, and then he looks up at me with bloodshot eyes. "Did you show this to Scully?"
I shake my head as I insist, "No. No, Agent Mulder. I couldn't..."
Softly, he whispers, "Thank you."
We sit in the quiet again, but I will not let this be the end.
"Agent Mulder, let me tell you a story. When I met Agent Scully, she was angry; at me, at the FBI...I don't know who all she blamed. You, maybe. She was like the wrath of God."
I chuckle softly, and Agent Mulder looks up. My sheepish eyes meet his.
"Did she tell you that the first time we met, she threw a cup of water in my face?"
He smiles, the first real smile I've seen on his face. Laughing gently, he sympathizes, "That's Scully, alright."
I pause before continuing.
"She showed me the ropes. She made me realize that being assigned to the X-Files wasn't some kind of bum rap, but a place where I could do meaningful work. She was my boss, and she made sure I did my job."
I look down at my hands then, not wanting to meet his increasingly penetrating gaze.
"But as the months went by, the fire in her began to go out. I don't know any other way to describe it; it's like she wasn't there anymore. She was disappearing into herself."
I sneak a glance at Agent Mulder, and I find him nodding slightly.
"When we found you, she died."
I stare him in the eyes, his registering shock at my pronouncement.
"What you wrote about her abduction? It was like that, only without the resolution you got. She came back to you, but when we found you, you were dead. And so was she."
My words come faster now.
"No one could comfort her, Agent Mulder. No one. Not her mother, not AD Skinner...not the Gunmen...certainly not me. No one. She came to work, but sat still in your office for days on end, not writing, not reading, not moving."
I fix him with my eyes, and I know the tears rising in his are matched by my own.
"The day we buried you, she disappeared altogether."
Agent Mulder's forehead wrinkles as he hears my words, and I know his pain is for her, not for himself. I pause again, as much to get control of my own voice as to give him some respite from these revelations.
"Agent Mulder," I resume. "The only reason she was here, on this earth, when you were rescued was because of that baby she's carrying. Your baby, Agent Mulder."
His eyes grow wide, and I feel my heart jump a little. Hasn't she told him? How couldn't he know? But his eyes say that this is news to him; welcome news, but news nonetheless. I feel my own eyes widening in response, perhaps in alarm, and I dam my words. Perhaps I've said too much.
But I can't help myself, and I nod slowly in response to his unspoken question.
Leaning down, I pick up my briefcase. I stand up and place it on the foot of his bed, opening it once more and removing the small blue bag. When my eyes meet Agent Mulder's again, his are smiling. For the first time. I feel my own eyes soften in response, and I hand the bag to him.
"Agent Mulder," I say. "Make an honest woman of her."
A flash of strong-willed fire fills his eyes; a certain territoriality that I would never presume to ignore. When he speaks, his voice is steady.
"Agent Doggett, she's never been anything else."
I nod, then turn and leave him to his thoughts.
When I see that ring again, it's on her left hand.
~finis~