The Hardest Goodbye
September 2014
Scully sat in her car sobbing. This hurt. This hurt so fucking much, she thought she might die from the pain.
This decision to leave him, even though she knew it was right, was killing her. Mulder was presumed dead for months and she thought that pain was unlivable. Then he was gone from her life for a year and that was unbearable. But this, Jesus ... she could hardly catch her breath as the pain threatened to choke her.
Her heart was shattered in pieces all over the car. She knew she would never be able to find them and put them back together properly. They would be in the places no one could ever reach. Once she opened the door and got out, she felt the pieces were going to float away on the breeze.
Maybe they would go back to the house and find a corner and wait. Lick their wounds, biding their time, and repairing. But she felt none of that now. Only sadness and emptiness. Hollow, she felt so fucking hollow. If she tapped her chest, she was sure there would be an echo, like the Tin Man.
She took a deep breath and sobbed anew, thinking of the warning signs and how they could have fixed things. Before her heart had broken his and left them both former shells of themselves.
His face. His eyes. The way he looked at her as she told him she was leaving. Why she was leaving. The eyes that always saw the joy and lit up with excitement were dull and sad. He was different, and it killed her.
Things were better for a while after they helped on the case with the FBI. When she came home after Christian's surgery, she collapsed and wept in his arms. She cried until she was empty. The days and worry leading to her breaking down when it was finally done.
He held her, and then they made love. Slowly, as though they had all the time in the world. They whispered their love to one another with words, touches, and kisses. They stayed in bed for two days. Sleeping, loving, and coming back to one another.
He listened to her. He heard how the darkness was weighing on her, and she felt it was coming after them and how she did not want it. She wanted to never feel that again. He kissed her and told her again that it was an impossible task, but he would try.
He looked into and purchased tickets for a trip. The first trip they had taken in a long time. Some place warm, away from the darkness and the worry that hung around them.
It was wonderful and relaxing. Days of sun and sandy beaches. One day was spent on a small island, so private they were the only people around. The sex they had there ... she rinsed sand from her body for what seemed like days.
"The darkness would have a hell of a time finding us here," he whispered, as they lay on a blanket, in the warm setting sun of that private island, naked and sated.
Smiling, she wrapped her limbs tighter around him, listening to his heartbeat, his fingers threading through her hair. She was content and felt better than she had in a long time.
When they came home, he seemed better, more like his old self. Happy, laughing and ready to let the darkness go. He was simply cooped up in the house too long. No longer being a marked man, he felt free to be. He met her for lunch or coffee. Called her more, was more engaged.
He tried learning to cook, and it had been disastrous. He attempted a simple meal, but he still messed up and they had to buy a new skillet. Standing in line to pay for the new skillet, she giggled. He looked over at her, and she laughed again.
"You keep laughing, and I won't cook for you again," he said, his voice low and sexy. She shivered, knowing he knew what he was doing.
"Please make sure you don't," she said with a laugh. "Our house reeks of burnt metal. I can live just fine without that stench again, thank you very much." He laughed and pulled her close, his arm around her shoulders.
They visited her mom and had dinners there more often. Mulder was even more like his old self when he was there. Trying to get her mom to laugh with his goofy jokes. It really did not take much effort, as she adored him. Her mother came to their place more often too, and Scully watched them as they interacted. She saw the way her mother looked at him, her eyes shining, as she laughed at his jokes. Scully was thankful for the relationship they shared. Mulder deserved a mother like hers who loved him unconditionally.
Soon though, Mulder began slipping into his old ways. She came home to him in his office more and more. Days when he had obviously only left to eat and use the bathroom. Dishes from the morning, in the sink, coffee cups piling up on the counter, forcing her to wash them, not wanting messes to keep stacking up.
When the predetermined date came and went, he disappeared from her. He did not leave, but he may as well have been gone. He was gone physically and emotionally. She spent nights alone at the table, on the couch, and in bed. He was up at odd hours, sometimes not sleeping at all, but spending his days on the computer in his office. He devoured any information he could find, waking her or interrupting her, when he seemed to remember she was there.
Mulder was quiet and withdrawn some days, then there were days when he was antsy, wired, like he had too many espressos. He would ramble, hands flying everywhere as he paced around, his words tumbling out quickly.
"Scully, there is a man in Dubai who said he heard from a group in New Mexico, that there was a man in Iceland who knew a woman who heard some information in Boston. I am waiting to hear if the person in Boston would be willing to give me any information so I can share it with others. No one has had any luck with it, but maybe …"
At first she wanted to hear him, to follow along, but after a while, she just wanted it to stop. She did not want to figure out why the world did not come to end in 2012. Why did he care, if it meant they were alive? Alive, together, and happy.
But that darkness continued to call to him, and he answered, welcoming it with little hesitancy. He was eager to find answers that were rarely forthcoming, but kept him from her and their life together.
She tried. Tried to get him to hear her, to understand, to see what she was seeing. He was in his office whether she was home or not. He grew his beard back, thicker and more unkempt than it had been in the past.
She hated it. Where before it was scratchy and a mild nuisance, now it hid his face from her, making him look haggard and old. More than that, she hated the way it felt against her lips when she kissed him, not to mention the rest of her body.
Not that he was kissing her much. They became strangers who shared a bed, when he actually came to bed. His hours were erratic, and she still had to be up early to get to the hospital. Most mornings she woke up and his side of the bed had not been slept in, the covers undisturbed.
He fell asleep in the overstuffed chair in his office, at his desk, and then once, on the couch. When that happened, she woke him up, tears in her eyes, pleading for him to talk to her, to please hear her, see what was happening to them.
"Mulder, please," she had sobbed as she climbed into his lap, clinging to him. "Please talk to me." Hearing her tears sparked his own, and he cried with her. Pulling her close, as if trying to absorb her pain.
"Scully, I'm sorry," he whispered, crying into her neck, his arms holding her tight. He began to kiss her neck and she did not pull away. She missed him so much. She would suffer the insufferable beard to feel him close to her. To feel anything after so long.
It was quick, but wonderful. It always was. Even when they were at odds or had been angry, the sex was always amazing. When they could not find the words, their bodies seemed to know what to say, and they did the talking.
After they finished, they lay together on the couch, entwined around the other. It was a tight fit, but it felt wonderful to hold and be held. Their breathing synchronized and they were still.
She looked at him, and they both knew nothing had been solved. This had been a band aid trying to cover a broken bone. He looked back at her, and his eyes seemed miles away. She kept their eye contact, saying nothing, relying on their unspoken communication. She saw when he was back with her, when he poked his head out of that darkness. She smiled, tears in her eyes. She stroked his cheek as he smiled back.
It was such a small step, but she felt hopeful. He untangled himself from her and silently went upstairs, leaving her on the couch, watching him walk away. She heard the shower turn on, and she sighed. She got up and put her clothes back on, then went to start the coffee. There was not much in the fridge, but she found enough to make them scrambled eggs with some veggies thrown in too. There was bread for toast, so she added some slices to the toaster.
She was ready to add the eggs to the vegetable medley she cut up. when she heard the creak of the stairs. She turned and gave a gasping sob. He had on an old pair of jeans, and a dark grey shirt. He was barefoot and his hair was still damp. Her gasp was not for that, although he looked better than he had in weeks. No, she gasped because he shaved.
She set the eggs on the counter and walked to him. She stared at him, almost unrecognizable after living with that beard for so long. She touched his smooth cheeks, running her fingers slowly over his face. She pulled him in for a kiss, soft and sweet, reveling in the feel of her Mulder. Then she kissed his cheeks, his neck, his jawline. All the places she missed seeing and touching under that hair.
She looped her arms around his neck, and he held her by her waist. "Thank you," she whispered into his ear, and she felt him nod, as he took a deep breath.
"Something smells good," he said, and she laughed. She pulled back and looked in his eyes again. He smiled at her, the slow one, his lips staying closed.
They walked to the counter together and finished the breakfast preparations before eating the simple meal. They spent the day talking, sitting on the porch, walking around their home, laying on a blanket in the afternoon sunshine. She laughed at something he said and then he was kissing her and all thoughts, except how wonderful he felt, left her mind.
They lay there sweaty, hearts racing, the wind cooling off their hot bodies. She felt so happy, so much like her old self. The one who woke him in the middle of the night to make love to him, to feel him under or over her, as she cried out in pleasure. Her old self who laughed at some crazy theory or an idea he shouted from the other room. She would shake her head knowing he would appear in the doorway, lean against the door jamb, and try to persuade her to his way of thinking.
He was very persuasive, as he always had been. But, differently than her life as Agent Scully, most of the time their doorway discussions led to sex wherever they happened to be. It almost always involved them laughing as they achieved completion together. She loved all aspects of their sex life but those fun, silly, and often bruised the next day in odd places sexcapades, made her feel alive. Made her feel young and so desirable, he had to have her right then. She loved him so much in those moments.
He continued to fall into the darkness, however, the good days coming less and less. She recognized the signs of depression, and approached him carefully about it. He refused to listen to her at first, to believe he was depressed.
"I'm getting out of bed every day, Scully. Still working on things, getting dressed, and functioning. I don't feel depressed. So, what exactly do you want?" he had said, shaking his head at her.
"Mulder, please at least try," she said, standing her ground, holding the bottle in her hand. "This will help you even out, and not live in peaks and valleys. Please, Mulder. I need you better. For both of us. Please."
He stared her down, defiant and shaking his head. She kept her hand out, the bottle within his grasp. He finally grabbed it, and still angry, he walked into his office, and slammed the door. She stood staring after him for a minute longer and turned to leave the living room. It was all she could do.
The office door flew open and he came out, reaching for her and holding her tight. "I'm sorry. I'm such a fucking asshole," he said, his hands in her hair, his mouth by her ear. "If you want me to take the medication, I will."
"Mulder, it's not what I want, but what you need," she said, her eyes closed as she clung to him. He nodded and they stood holding one another close.
He started to take the medication, and it seemed to make things better. He was happier, more involved, making an effort again. He would come out of his office or leave the door open, no longer closed off from her. But, again, things could not stay as they were, and try as he might to avoid it, he heard the call of the piper.
She tried. She felt like she was drowning, like his problems were slowly burying her alive. Her work began to suffer, she was no longer sleeping or eating properly, and he had no idea she was hurting. He did not seem to see her anymore. His eyes looking through her again, and her heart breaking when they did.
She tried once more, one last time for him to hear her. Opening the office door, she found him sitting on the floor- papers, photos, articles, dishes, and cups surrounding him. His clothes were ones he wore for a couple of days, his hair a mess, and that fucking beard was back. His face haggard, and his eyes bloodshot when he looked up at her. When was the last time he slept?
She knelt down, opening her mouth to bring up what she came to discuss, when he sighed in exasperation.
"Scully, come on. Move. You're on the paper I need," he said, annoyance in his tone.
The calm she attempted to maintain when she walked into his office, flew out the window. She grabbed the paper from under her knee and ripped it in half, then half again.
"What the hell are you doing?!" he yelled, reaching for the papers. Her anger was past the point of caring if she hurt him, and she threw the papers at him as she stood to her feet. She walked out of the office and he followed her
"The fuck are you doing, Scully?! Those were important papers and you just ripped them up? That was so goddamn rude, you had no right to do that," he yelled at her, and she saw red.
"You are such a selfish asshole, you know that? You care more about those pieces of paper than what I have to say? Why I came in your office?" she yelled back, disbelief on her face. He stared at her and she at him, words beginning to bubble up and spill out, no stopping them.
They yelled, their words becoming more hurtful as their voices escalated. Not one word was uttered to attempt to reach any kind of compromise. She felt like they were on separate sides of a canyon, screaming to the other, but unable to hear over the echoes of their own voices.
He stared at her, his anger evident, before he turned and went in the office, slamming the door. She waited. Five minutes, then ten, then fifteen. He did not emerge and then she heard the printer coming to life.
Her tears came fast and hot, as she fell to the floor, folding in on herself. She cried harder than she had in years, the hole in her heart that appeared the day William was taken from her, begin to fissure. How long she cried there, she did not know, but the door to the office remained shut with Mulder inside.
She stood up on shaky legs and stared at the door as she wiped her eyes, her mind made up. She had to go, to leave for her own sake as well as his. Thinking and doing were two different things and she suddenly could not make her feet move, the decision to leave seeming to convince her to stay. She lifted a heavy foot and then another, going to the stairs.
She took a suitcase out of their closet, an item she had not used in a long time. She shook her head, tears falling again as she began to clean out her drawers and fill her bag. Every item she packed felt heavy like lead. She took another suitcase out and filled it. She carried them both down the stairs and to her car, the printer whirring away as she walked past the office.
She took her hanging clothes and carried them by the armfuls, taking them to the car. One more bag was filled with shoes, her toiletries, and a picture of them that sat on the dresser. She put it in the car, coming back inside the house, and standing in front of his office door. Over two hours had passed and he made no effort to come out, no attempt to apologize or explain his actions. She felt again that suffocating sense of being unable to breathe, as if the walls themselves were closing in on her.
She grasped at her heart, feeling the fissures pushing and threatening to break within her chest. She had to do this, not because she hated him, but because she loved him. She loved him so much it would hurt her more to stay than to go, she knew that without question. Standing there was killing her, the decision had been made, but the motion halted.
She closed her eyes, moved her hand, and took a deep breath. She opened her eyes and turned the door knob. He was standing in front of the printer, his back to her, his shoulders slumped. The door creaked and he turned toward her, glancing at her, and then turning back to the printer.
"Look, Scully," he said, shaking his head. "I know what you're going to say. I don't need to hear it again, okay?"
She looked around the room at the items on his wall. So much clutter, things were overlapping. He had papers on the floor still, stacked on the desk, even in his desk chair. How very ironic that it once again was papers and files that would be the wall between them. So fragile and easily destroyed and yet it might as well be made of steel. Her eyes filled with tears as she took another deep breath.
"Mulder," she said quietly, her tears spilling over. "Mulder, I'm … I'm leaving."
"Okay, I'll see you later," he said, not turning around.
"No, Mulder," she said, her voice a little stronger. "I'm leaving. I … Mulder, I can't ..."
He finally turned around and his expression was annoyed. As he looked at her, he seemed to understand what she was saying. He shook his head and frowned, opening and closing his mouth.
"What do mean, you're leaving? What?" he asked her, confusion on his face.
Strangely, as soon as she saw him look at her, she felt calm and knew this was the right choice. If they stayed where they were, they would never move forward, but continue to stay on either side of that canyon, eventually unable to hear even themselves any longer. They would move further and further away until they could no longer find their way back. This was the only way to move forward, as much as it broke her inside to do so.
"Mulder, I can't do this anymore. It's ... Mulder, I'm suffocating with the weight of this, this constant fight with you. I've tried. I've tried to get you to hear me, to see me, but I can't. I don't know what else to do," she said, her voice not much more than a whisper. "I'm ... Mulder ..."
"So … we have a fight and you're going to leave? Is that how this works now?" he said, crossing his arms and shaking his head.
"A fight, Mulder?" she said softly, shaking her head. "It's not just a fight, and you are well aware of that, so don't say that to me. This is not easy or what I want, but I don't know what else to do. I have tried, and I feel ..."
"Scully, what do you want from me? You knew that date was important, that we had been preparing for it," he said, pacing the room as best he was able with so much shit piled up around him. "It didn't happen and I want to know why. What if, what if there is a different one and we're not ready? I need to know. I don't think it's too much to ask for a little time to figure it out." He stared at her, his eyes hard.
"Mulder," she said softly, tears threatening to stop her from speaking. "It's been almost two years. That's more than a little time."
He looked at her blankly, as if he could not believe it had been that long. She held his gaze, and he had the decency to look away.
"Two years, Mulder. We've been trudging through this and it never gets better, not for long anyway," she said, shaking her head again. "I have tried what I could, and I can't anymore. You don't talk to me. You're in here and I'm out there, we aren't together anymore. This ... this obsession ..."
"Obsession," he scoffed.
"Yes, obsession. I feel like I'm back in that jail cell asking you again if all of this is worth more than me, than us. Is it Mulder? Are these papers, this information you've found, is it more important than us? Than me, Mulder?" she asked, the tears finally falling down her face. She knew the answer, but hoped she would be wrong.
He stared at her, his jaw clenching, his hands on his hips. "How can you ask me that? I'm doing this for you! For us! All of this Scully, it's for you and your protection! If the day comes when a new date is revealed, I want us to be ready. How can I do that if I don't look every place available to me?" he asked her, anger flowing off him like waves.
"It's not what I want, Mulder," she whispered. "I would rather not know and be with you than worry about the date and lose you while you sit in the next room. But, that's not enough for you. I'm not enough for you."
"Scully," he cut across her, disbelief on his face.
"Mulder, could you stop this today and be happy? Could you be happy living with me, and never looking into the darkness again? Would being with me, finding a job, doing something besides this, be enough for you?" she asked him, again knowing the answer but hoping she was wrong.
He stared at her again, giving her a slight shake of his head. "It's not that simple, Scully," he said, his anger dissipating and sadness settling over his face. "Scully, I can't ... it's not …"
"I know, Mulder," she said softly, wanting to hold him, to make it better with a kiss. "But I also know that I can't watch this anymore. I can't be the one holding the lifeline while you drift out to sea, the fog so thick, I don't know if you're even there anymore. I can't be the one waiting while you chase monsters in the dark. I want to be enough for you. I want this life, our life, to be enough for you. Right now, it's not and I can't change it." She stepped into the room and this time he did not complain about the papers she stepped on as she touched his face.
He looked in her eyes, and for a second she saw him there, the Mulder she met and followed for so long. Always chasing, running, going toward the answers he sought. His eyes had always been her safety, her place to go when she needed answers, needed calm. Today, in the moment, only empty sadness sat within his hazel irises.
"Mulder," she whispered. "Every flight we ever took, they told us what to do in case of loss of cabin pressure, to apply our own oxygen masks before helping others. It always sounded so selfish, but it made sense. How could you help others if you were unable to breathe? Right now, Mulder, I can't breathe. I feel as if the cabin is losing pressure and I'm fighting with you to put on your mask, but you need to finish looking for something first. I keep pushing you to put it on, but I'm losing the ability to breathe." She put her head against his chest and took a breath. When she raised her head, she saw he had tears in his eyes.
"Mulder," she said, her own eyes filling with tears. "We're both going to die on that plane because I can't help you if you won't help yourself. That's how I feel every day. The oxygen is being pulled from me and I know I won't survive for much longer."
He bowed his head and she heard him breathe out a sob. He pulled her to him, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. He cried into her neck, and she into his, neither of them saying anything. She stepped back, knowing she had to go now, before he convinced her to stay.
She touched his face again and kissed him lightly on the lips. "I love you," she whispered. "I love you so much." She stepped out of his arms, over the papers, and out the door. She did not look back, but kept moving, grabbing her keys off the side table and walking out the front door.
She felt a sob welling up inside her. She needed to get in the car before she abandoned this plan and ran back to him. Down the steps and into the car, not looking back, her resolve firm. She backed up and then headed out, only then looking in the rear view mirror. He was on his knees on the porch, his head down as his body shook with sobs.
She almost turned around, but knew this was right and how they would get back to where they needed to be. She did not look back again, determined to keep going.
It was not until she was a couple of miles down the road, when she had to quickly pull over as she realized he did not tell her he loved her, and the fissures threatening to crack, finally imploded.
