Forging A New Path
I don't own The X Files or its characters. The X Files is the property of Chris Carter, and is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.
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Chapter 2 by AnarchyX-Phile
Mulder collapsed on his couch and ran his hands down his face; he was tired but too damn restless to sit still. He had spent more time at the gym in three days than he had in six months. He had tried calling Scully a few times on Friday evening but she never answered. She had left a message late that night saying she had a stomach bug and told him not to come around. He got her hidden message though, it was clear in her tone despite her words. She didn't want to see him.
He wanted to explain to her why he'd made the decisions he did, why it seemed like he was favoring Diana over her. Scully was a fighter; to her, there were clear sides and absolutely no middle ground. But to him, Diana was that middle ground. She knew the enemy's secrets, she'd worked alongside them and knew answers to questions he hadn't even thought to ask yet. Scully was threatened by Diana—women tended to be territorial, even without a concrete romantic connection, and both Scully and Diana were strong willed women.
Scully should know she has nothing to worry about—he would never trust or love Diana like he did her. She was his past, but Scully was his present and future. Surely she knew that. Of course there was no way he couldtellher that, they never spoke of things like that, but there was no way she didn't feel hiscommitment to her. Was there?
He still dreamed about her face though, the way her expression fell when he told her that there was nothing she could say to make him distrust Diana. He wished he had said it a different way; his harshness had obviously upset her and now that he had had time to sit back and replay it a thousand times in his head, he didn't blame her for being so angry. So disappointed.
He couldn't imagine what he would do if she threw him aside to go to another man—a man she had a history with, a man she seemingly had more faith in. It infuriated him just to think about it. He knew it would never happen though, she would never betray him like that... and that was the moment he realized how royally he had fucked up.
He looked over at his clock and sighed. It was a little after 11:00, he should probably shower, head to bed, and just talk to Scully at work tomorrow, but he needed to hear her voice first. He knew it would help him sleep better. He picked up his phone, hit her speed-dial and counted the rings until the call was answered. "Hello?"
"Uh... Is Scul—is Dana in?" He said, his brows furrowed in confusion at why someone else answered her phone.
"Fox? It's Maggie. Dana isn't well. I'll be staying with her for a while, but I'll let her know you called." Without waiting for a response, she ended the call. Mulder slumped back against the couch again and began to worry. Scully didn't get sick often and he worried that he was the cause of it. Had he upset her so much that it had made her sick? Sick enough to need her mother?
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The next morning, Mulder paced the office for two hours waiting for Scully to arrive, but she never did. He called up to Skinner's office but was told he was in a meeting and couldn't take a phone call. Another hour passed and he finally decided to call her apartment again. His heart dropped to the floor when, instead of her voice—or even Maggie's voice, he got a 'no longer in service' message. He called her cell phone and got the same error message.
No.
No. No. No. No. No.
This wasn't happening. Where the fuck was she? He ran up the stairs and rushed into Skinner's office, his eyes narrowing when he saw that Kersh was also in the office. "What the fuck is going on? Where is Scully?"
"Agent Mulder, why don't you sit down? We were actually just discussing this." Skinner said, giving him a hard, warning stare as he pointed towards the empty chair next to Kersh. That was Scully's chair, he couldn't sit there. He walked over to the chair but stood behind it, gripping the back rest with all his strength.
"Agent Scully has left the Bureau. As of right now, we have decided not to assign you a new partner. Agent Mulder, she won't be coming back and it's quite impossible, at this point, for her to do so."
"Where is she?"
"We're not at liberty to say."
"Is she safe? Is she okay?"
"She's safe and is in no danger."
Mulder could feel his throat tightening, he couldn't breathe and he bent forward and closed his eyes to keep from getting sick. How could she leave the Bureau without talking to him first? Why would she disconnect her numbers? His vision began to darken and he knew he was on the verge of passing out. He took in a deep breath and it felt like there was a pound of crushed glass in his lungs. Every bone in his body ached and his hands were shaking uncontrollably. He stumbled out of the office, not even hearing Skinner or Kersh calling his name.
Scully.
He drunkenly made his way to his car, his fingers were uncooperative as he struggled to fit the key in the door to unlock it; his ankles were rubbery and bent at odd angles that looked painful but he didn't notice. He got into the car and slammed his head hard against the steering wheel. He looked into the rear view mirror and saw his pale face staring back at him. No blood. He slammed his head into the steering wheel again and again until he finally saw a puffy bruise rise up on his skin.
Scully.
He cranked the car and ripped out of the parking garage as though he was racing for his life. Well... he kind of was. He needed to see Scully, he needed to talk to her, to fix whatever was wrong, to convince her not to leave the X Files... not to leave him.
Please, Scully.
When he got to her apartment building, there were no street parking slots open so he pulled halfway onto the sidewalk, just enough for passing cars to still use both lanes, and he ran into the building, taking the stairs two-at-a-time until he got to her floor. When her door was in sight, he leaned over and threw up. He knew what was going to be on the other side of that door—or more aptly put, what was not going to be on the other side of the door: Scully.
He forced his feet to move his body forward while his hands searched blindly in his pocket for his key ring. During the full minute he struggled to unlock and open her front door, he prayed to a God he didn't believe in for a woman he had put all his faith in.
When the door swung open, he felt some relief dampen his fears. The furniture was still there, blankets were thrown on the couch, her television was still in the full entertainment system he'd helped her assemble a few years ago. He walked deeper into the apartment and arched his neck to look into the kitchen; it was spotless but there were still bottles in the wine rack, a dish towel was laid out to dry on the oven handle. Maybe she'd just stepped out for a couple hours, perhaps to the pharmacy to get some medicine.
He stuck his head into the bathroom and fear punched through his stomach again as he noticed all her toilettes were missing. He went through her medicine cabinet and vanity drawers and found no makeup, no perfume, no lotion; there was no soap or shampoo in the shower.
His vision began darkening again and he stumbled into her bedroom. The bed was perfectly made, and all of her books were still arranged neatly on her bookshelf. He went to her closet and eased the door open and then dropped to his knees. Everything was gone: all her suitcases were gone (even the one with the squeaky wheels that he knew she hated), dresses, clothes, pajamas, shoes. She had left him nothing.
He crawled over to her bed and pushed himself onto it, lying cross-ways on his stomach with his head buried in her pillows. He began crying, and with each intake of air, he smelled her on the pillows and he cried harder. "Come back... Scully, come back to me," but there was nothing left in the apartment to hear him.
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Two Months Later
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He fell out of the car and staggered up to the large metal building, not even caring enough to shut his car door so the interior lights would go off. It would probably drain the battery and he'd be stuck here. It didn't matter though. He was always stuck somewhere; he didn't live anymore, he just stuck around, day after day.
When he finally got to the door, he banged sluggishly on it until it swung open to reveal Frohike with a Chinese takeout box in his hand. "Eating your heart out 'cause she left ya?" he slurred.
Frohike gave him a dirty look. "She left you, Agent Mulder. And you should try eating your next meal instead of drinking it. You might live longer." Without saying anything else, he turned and walked away, leaving Mulder to either follow him or pour himself back into his car and drive away.
"Yeah, well life's not really worth living anymore. Not without her." Mulder mumbled under his breath as he followed him into their office. Byers wasn't there but Langley was seated in his desk chair wearing large earphones and writing profusely in a notebook.
"Look, I'll cut the crap." Mulder said and he ran his hands down his face to wake himself up. "I know you know where she is. I know you do. And I know you won't tell me, but will send this to her?" He asked, reaching into his suit jacket and pulling out a thick envelope; before he handed it over, it pressed the letter to his heart for a few seconds and then gave it to him.
Frohike ran his hands over the letter, feeling for anything other than the letter itself in case Mulder had tried to slip in a GPS tracker. He then tossed it into a microwave and started typing in a heating time.
"Be careful!" Mulder said, taking a step towards him and looking at the microwave as though it was a bomb. "It took me a long time to write that..." He wanted the letter to be clean and perfect for her; while he had wrote it, if he had to scratch out a word or two, he'd get out a clean sheet of paper and completely start over. Scully was well worth the extra effort. He'd spent over three days writing the letter; writing down all his thoughts and getting everything they had left unsaid said. He had lost count of how many times he wrote that he loved her. He needed her to know that, above all else. She needed to know that she was loved and very, very sorely missed.
He didn't write about what his life had turned into, he couldn't burden her with that. He never mentioned how many times he had tasted the barrel of his gun, it wasn't her fault that he was so weak. He also didn't mention how he had taken over the rent for her apartment, and would continue to pay it until either she returned or he died. He didn't think she would like knowing how often he went to her apartment, unlocked the door with the key she had entrusted to him so many years ago, and laid in her bed and cried. How it broke his heart that after two months of doing that, her pillows smelled like him now instead of her. She was slowly disappearing from his memory and it was tearing his heart apart.
He didn't have many photographs of her, just some he had stolen from Mrs. Scully through the years; sometimes he would say phrases she used to say and pretend it was her saying them. He would play out old conversation they had had or he'd reread her college dissertation. After a month and a half, he'd driven himself to the edge of insanity. He could no longer imagine her voice correctly, the voice in his head was higher than her voice was. It was maddening.
In a fit of utter despair, he had gone to the office and dug through closed case files until he found one with an autopsy tape included. It didn't matter that she was calculating organ weights and describing strange physical anomalies, all Mulder could hear was her beautiful, soul-soothing voice. The calm and gentle lilt flowed through his body like a drug and he fell asleep on the office floor, clutching that damn tape recorder like it was Scully herself.
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One Month Later
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After three months, he had reach the bottom and he knew he couldn't continue living without her. The smallest task now required all his strength and he slept most of the day; he no longer showered regularly or bothered to keep up his appearance. His beard was a mess and, as a whole, it wouldn't have been a stretch of the imagine to think he was homeless.
There truly was no point to his life anymore. He hadn't cared about an X File in so long that he marveled at the fact that he was still getting a paycheck. His apartment had become one massive case file dedicated to figuring out where Scully had gone, and he was no closer now than he had been the day she left him.
The Gunmen were no help—he'd tried bribing them, blackmailing, and threatening them but nothing worked. In his heart, he couldn't hate them for it—they were doing what they thought was right, but goddamnit he hatedv them for it. Skinner had threatened to fire him if he asked for her location one more time and Bill Scully had hung up on him the five times he'd called him.
So, with no other option, he picked up his phone and called the one person he knew that could put him on the right track. It would be the last time he ever spoke to her, and while that may have saddened him at one point, he was only angry that he had to call her now. "Diana, it's Mulder," he said once she answered. He started squeezing the phone tightly as all the anger within him rose up and bubbled over his depression. "I need to talk to him. Smoking Man, CGB, or whatever his goddamned name is. I need to see him tonight. Now. As soon as possible." He didn't even wait for her to say something. He didn't want to hear her voice. Out of everyone he hated right now, he hated that woman the most.
Well. That wasn't true. He hated himself the most.
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Two hours later, there were three strong knocks on his apartment door. He had been pacing in the kitchen and tripped over a dining room chair as he ran to the door. He attempted to make his face look less desperate even though a quick glance around his apartment would quickly reveal just how desperate he was.
"You know how to find her, so don't bother lying to me. I don't have time for it." He said the moment he opened his apartment door and smoke drifted into his face.
Smoking Man stared at him a moment, a sickly yellow smile on his face. "I have no idea who you're talking about, Mr. Mulder." He said while grey whisps of smoke seeped out the corners of his mouth and drifted upwards with each word.
"Agent Scully. You know how to find her and I need that information. So what's it going to cost me?"
Smoking Man took in a deep breath and stepped into the apartment, dropping his cigarette on the hardwood and stomping out the lit end with the heel of his shoe. "Agent Scully has left you? I hadn't heard." He walked into the living room and looked at all the photos, maps, and red string that littered the wall. He smiled in the midst of all the chaos. He walked up to the most recent photo of Scully that Mulder had been able to find and he ran a single finger down the side of her face, almost reverently.
"Don't touch that!" Mulder growled and reached around him and pulled the picture off the wall, pressing it face down against his chest. "What do you want in exchange?" He asked again; whatever Cigarette Man asked for, Mulder had already decided he was going to agree to anything.
Smoking Man gave him a polite smile that held an air of pity and he wiped his hands together. "She didn't tell me where she was going either. Good luck finding her, it would be a shame to lose her."
"Drop the act. You can't tell me that that chip in her neck is untraceable! That's not your style. So where is she?!" He squeezed his eyes shut and fought the desire to punch the wall or squeeze the man's neck until his eyes bulged out. "I'll close the X Files—hell, I'll fucking leave the Bureau if that's what you want—but you will tell me where she is or I am going to fucking kill you because I am a man with nothing to lose."
Smoking Man considered his words calmly and then smiled at him and nodded his head. "Fox Mulder owing me a favor... that could be very interesting." He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, dialed a number and turned away from Mulder. "I need a location for Case Study 100684DKS. The most recent 5 scans." There was a few seconds of silence as he waited for the information before hanging up and sliding the phone back into his coat pocket. "She went through a metal detector two days ago in Indianapolis. That's where all her other scans have been as well for the last 3 months." He walked to the front door and opened it, "do let me know how it turns out, Agent Mulder. You know how invested I am in your life."
