A/N: TRIGGER WARNINGS, please read with caution if you think you might be affected. If you would like to be aware of the content before you read, skip to the end of the chapter, where I have listed the triggers included. Also, the rest of my A/N is at the end, so that I can discuss the content more freely.
Spoilers for Seasons 7 & 8, although if you haven't seen them by now, I'm surprised you're not already spoiled...
ii. i hate what didn't kill me
4:08 am
choking sobs. tears streaking cheeks like rain on a windowpane. heaving breaths. hands running up and down arms for comfort (like he used to do). "everything's okay. you're safe." everything is not okay. he's not here. he's probably not safe. red and puffy eyes. tears stopped but still swimming in pools of blue. one more deep breath for strength. closed eyes. inhaling his fading scent from her unwashed pillowcase. falling back into oblivion with alarming ease with a palm pressed to her abdomen.
6:12 am
the first alarm went off at 6:00. the second alarm went off at 6:10. she never used to use the snooze feature on her alarm clocks, typically rising before the first alarm ever punctured the bubble of early-morning peace. that was before his disappearance. before waking up every two hours to nurse him and before waking up each hour in between by nightmares or by a sudden urge to review his file or both. she never used to need the snooze button because she was well rested, but she also used to be eager to face the upcoming day, to find out what new case or theory would be presented to her when she arrived at the office (or sometimes before she reached the office, if she was being honest). but that was before she lost him, before his case was put on the back burner, and before she was forced to work with a new partner. at 6:13, she finally silences the second alarm, and rolls over onto her side of the bed to wait for 6:20 to obstreperously announce its presence.
7:27 am
she finally reached the office nearly half an hour late, keeping her three-week tardy streak alive (points for consistency, at least). she never used to be tardy, even on days when the last thing she wanted to do was grace the office with her presence, she was not late. it was unprofessional, and she knew that, but somehow, lately she couldn't bring herself to care. when she did finally darken the doorway of the basement office, he barely even glanced up at her. after the first week of consistent tardiness, he had stopped asking her what was wrong, if she was okay, or any question, really. she never answered him anyway (if she did answer, she practically snapped his head off for butting into her life like he knew her, so really, it was better for the both of them this way).
she sat at her desk, heavily, already exhausted from her morning routine of dragging herself out of bed, retching from morning sickness, bathing, and making herself look like she hadn't been awake for most of the night.
"skinner called down this morning," doggett's gruff voice punctured the heavy silence. "said he needs you to perform an autopsy for another case after lunch today." she spared him a glance and a short nod to indicate she had understood his words, then busied herself staring unseeing at their most recent expense report that should have been filed yesterday.
12:26 pm
she looks down at the man on the table. his messy black hair reminded her of his, which made her mad at herself for seeing him in a dead man's face (it happens more and more often these days – he's the dark-haired dead man on the table, the quirky suspect they're interviewing, the tall, lanky man she sees rounding a corner on the sidewalk). she closes her eyes to regain her composure, then feels around the cart for the familiar weight of the scalpel. when she opens her eyes, she doesn't see him, but she feels guilty now for pushing the thought of him away, when she so desperately wants to cling to his memory.
deep sigh to steady shaking hands. blinking back tears threatening to breach their gates. "i'll begin with the y-incision." pushing the scalpel through the chest of a dead man (who is not not not him). catching a bone with the blade. shaking hands unable to compensate. cutting through latex, then skin, then a sharp sting of pain.
all of her attention turns to the gash she carved into her palm. feeling the pain, stopping the blood, keeping the cadaver uncontaminated. every thought is focused on herself and on not soiling her workspace or the body up until the moment she tied off the gauze that now encircled her hand with enough pressure to stop her blood flow almost entirely (not exactly the best first-aid job she's ever done, but whatever, she thinks). she looks at the scalpel and looks at her bandaged palm and realizes that she hasn't thought of him in almost a full two minutes. as far as records go, this one is her personal best.
5:45
doggett tells her that he is taking off early (wow, a whole fifteen minutes, she thinks bitterly). he closes the door and she is alone. again. she is always alone. except for the life growing inside her, which at this point, she doesn't really count as company. it doesn't even kick yet. she doesn't even know if it is a he or a she. he left her a precious gift, part him-part her, and she calls it "it." this is all i wanted for so many years, and now that i have it, i'm miserable. i'm a disgusting excuse for a mother. with me as a mom, and a non-existent dad, this baby is off to a great start. she swipes angrily at her eyes as more stray tears begin to fall.
she is always angry and always sad and she hasn't eaten anything since the half-cup of whipped yogurt she managed to keep down at lunch and she's tired of being angry and sad and she's going to be a horrible mother and he's not here he's gone she can't find him and when she sliced her skin open she didn't think and didn't feel anything other than concentrated pain and she has a letter opener in her drawer and she just wants to not feel everything all at once.
just once, just for a second, i want to not feel anything other than tangible, healable, physical pain.
eyes swimming in tears from sadness and guilt and shame. steady hands gripping the letter opener (not like her shaking hands in the morgue). a doctor's eye finding the place to cause pain but not to terminate life. pressure. searing pain. all thoughts turn to stopping pain. crimson liquid bathing a porcelain wrist. realization that her doctor's eye was blinded by sadness and guilt and shame streaming from her eyes. a door opening. cotton-stuffed ears hearing frantic yells. numbed nerves feeling hands catching her drained body before it hit the ground. (mulder? she maybe says). blackness, sweet nothing.
9:51
beeping. bright light. acute throbbing pain in her wrist. muted throbbing pain in her palm. shame and guilt forming in her mind. hospital, she muses. a place she knows so well, she falls into her waking-up routine: breathe, count to five, prepare eyes for blinding lights, listen to the machines, identify pain locations, count to five, open eyes, let eyes adjust to light, count to five, locate him. she choked back a sob when she was unable to complete the last step and instead found doggett in a plastic chair by the door, as if he was ready to leave as soon as she came to.
"dana," he sounds relieved but frustrated. she refuses to look at him, instead focusing on a water stain on a ceiling tile next to the window. she can tell he wants to ask "what were you thinking" but he decides not to allow himself to be ripped into by a suicidal pregnant woman. "i've never been so happy to have forgotten my keys." so that's why she's alive, she thinks.
"the baby?" she asks, suddenly flooded with another wave of guilt for not thinking of the question sooner.
"the doctors say your baby is perfectly fine," he says. but i'm not so sure with a mother like you, she adds sardonically.
doggett leaves soon thereafter, when it becomes obvious that she has exhausted her willingness to communicate.
she moves her hand to her abdomen and rubs it in soothing circles in an attempt to apologize to her little passenger. "i'm sorry, baby. i don't know what i was thinking. i'm sorry i put you through that. it was pretty scary, huh?" to herself she says, how dare you do something so irrational and reckless because of how you "feel?" it's not just you anymore, you know. he left a precious life inside of you and you almost threw it all away in a moment of selfishness. what would he think if he could see you like this?
she hated herself for what she did, for what she almost lost. the unconquerable dana scully – the ice queen – shattered. she let her emotions and grief and selfishness overthrow her logic and sensibilities. she can see the look of betrayal that he would wear if he were here. she almost took away the one thing he truly cared about in this whole world; the one person he trusts beyond a shadow of a doubt almost became a shadow of a memory.
10:13 pm
she promised herself that when (not if) he is found, he would not be coming home to nothing. she would once again be the scully that he fell in love with – alive, with a body full of life and a heart full of fight, and there would be a little scully-mulder for him to fall in love with as well. a pregnant lover (or a wiggly infant or a wobbling toddler) would be a much better "welcome home" than a dead lover and the memory of what could have been.
**The triggers included in this chapter are depression and attempted suicide.**
A/N: For those of you who do continue to read on and have experienced depression or thoughts of suicide or have actually attempted suicide or have been close to someone who has gone through this, please forgive my inadequacies. I myself have never been affected by the contents of this chapter, but I have attempted to handle it as delicately and honestly as possible. Please do not take offense if I have misrepresented the effects of depression or suicide. However, please feel free to let me know how I can improve my writing on these topics, or how I can better address them.
Also, I hope that I have stuck to the essence of Dana Scully in this chapter. I know that she desperately wants a child and would never do anything intentionally to jeopardize that child's health and well-being. (Although she does get knocked around quite a bit on cases in season 8). I also know that she does not need a man or a significant other to survive, but I also feel that after several months of no Mulder and no leads, that her emotional defenses would begin to falter. And as a doctor, she focuses on healing pain. Her emotional pain is not something that she can physically stitch up and watch it heal. However, when she is faced with a physical injury, she is able to narrow her focus and concentrate on something that she can control and heal.
I would love to hear your thoughts on what you think of this chapter!