Chapter 3: How Do I Live?

He dreamt of her.

He had stumbled into her bedroom in a booze-soaked stupor sometime during the early morning hours. He brought the bottle of Wild Turkey with him but abandoned it on the dresser before collapsing onto the bed. His first few hours of sleep were spent in a murky dreamless abyss, but this faded away and turned into memory after memory of her. That first case, so many years ago now, in Bellefleur. Talking in the hotel room with the electricity out. How she had listened, really listened to him talk about Samantha. How she hadn't thought he was just insane, completely insane anyway, and how she had actually seemed to care. How she had ended up in his room that night, spooked by mosquito bites on her back because of the case. That had been the first time he had seen her partially undressed, though thankfully far from the last. Other cases, other places, other times, they continued to flow through his soul.

The dreams were crystal clear, more like reliving than remembering or dreaming. As they went on, he began to realize they were dreams. Some part of him remembered the awful, inevitable truth, could not escape it even in sleep...

He looked up at her and a deep ache thundered in his chest. She was laying on her bed, baby name books and pregnancy books and other assorted baby-themed book paraphernalia surrounding her. In her hand was a spiral notebook, uncapped black and red ballpoint pens abandoned next to her. Her hair was longer now, paler, and she was positively glowing with happiness. It had been a good night, one of the better between them since she had found out she was pregnant, and she was utterly basking in the enjoyment of it all. Her baby bump was showing. It had only been maybe a month ago, six weeks at most.

"What do you think of Shelly for a girl?" she asked him.

"Eh, I don't know… I'm not a fan of derivatives as a first name." He had responded absently.

"Well, what about Karen, then?" she asked. "Or Madison?"

"Madison is too founding-father for me. Karen's alright." Something began to feel wrong, off. He could hear his responses doubling back to him as he became lucid. Knowing what she was going to say before it came out, and remembering what his responses had been before he spoke them. She was quiet for a moment, thoughtful.

"Mulder, what do you think of Sarah?" she asked him, not looking up.

He didn't provide the answer he had given, couldn't, because by now he knew that he was only dreaming, and he couldn't bring himself to speak. His throat was too tight as he watched her, heard her… He could even smell her. He drank in everything he could about her as he realized he never would again.

She repeated the question, and he still couldn't answer. She looked up with a slight frown to see what was distracting him, and her eye's widened in surprise.

"Mulder, what's wrong?" she asked him as tears slid down his cheeks.

"You're gone." he whispered. "You're gone, and I don't know what to do. I don't know how I'm supposed to live without you."

She smiled, and it was pure radiance. If he could have lived in that moment of time forever, he gladly would have. "Mulder. I'm right here."

He could feel himself shaking his head as the tears ran more quickly. "But you're not, you're not..."

She sat up on her knees and grabbed his hand, and he felt her, felt her touch against his skin and knew it was her. Her scent engulfed him when she leaned close, holding his eyes with her own.

"I am here. I will always be here." She kissed him, and he could taste her kiss on his lips, so familiar, and he knew than that he would ache for it for the rest of his life.

She sat back and smiled at him, a little more sadly now. "Take care of our princess. I love you, Mulder."

He jerked awake, the taste of her kiss still on his lips. He could smell her all around him, like she had just been in the room not a minute earlier. His pillow and his cheeks were soaked with tears. Breathing was painful, his chest tight and burning as he gasped air into his constricted lungs. He sat up quickly and had to put his head down to keep the room from tilting and spinning. He shut his eyes tightly and willed the whiskey in his stomach to stay there. The dream had been bittersweet, and the pain of it was almost unendurable. But somehow his gasping sobs slowed and he caught his breath and the feeling of vertigo left him. Opening his eyes, he could see sun shining brightly behind the heavy blinds in her bedroom and a glance at the alarm clock told him it was almost noon.

He sat on the edge of the bed, her bed, and a loneliness like he had never felt engulfed him. It was similar to the way he had felt after Samantha had been taken, when he would enter their bedroom to see her too-neat bed sitting there and Samantha nowhere to be found. All of her toys still in the exact same places she had left them, collecting dust while they waited for her. They had become almost a strange melancholy memorial shrine for her as the years passed, but this feeling was somehow much worse than all of that. Perhaps it was the definitive finality of it all this time. He had spent most of his life expecting Samantha to come home someday. He knew that Scully never would.

The nausea returned as sudden as it was intense, and he nearly didn't make it to the bathroom to lose everything in his stomach in one burning spasm. There was nothing but alcohol in there anyway; he hadn't eaten in more than two days. He reached for the handle to flush the mess, than paused and left the room. He returned a moment later with the rest of the whiskey as well as the bottle of vodka. They were the only two really hard liquors in the house. He poured them into the toilet slowly, one at a time, watching the stream with almost hypnotized interest. When both bottles were empty he threw them into the bathroom garbage before finally flushing the unpleasant mixture in the toilet. It wasn't much, but it felt like something, at least. Some sense of resolve came back to him with the action.

The shower he took was icy cold, and it chased some of the mud from his mind from the hangover, but he still felt like he was in a haze when he stepped out to dry off. He shaved the stubble that had accumulated the last couple of days and brushed his teeth twice, trying to get rid of the sour tang of bile and alcohol that was left behind. He chased the toothpaste with a heavy dose of mouthwash. He dressed in the work clothes he kept at her house, a steel gray suit with a dark striped blue tie. Looking at himself in the mirror, he looked incredibly normal, unless you payed close attention to his dark and sunken eyes.

He went into the living room where her desktop computer was set up and typed up a letter. It was terse and to the point. While it printed he went and retrieved his service piece from the kitchen table where he had left it the night before and made sure he had his FBI identification card on him in his wallet.

Waiting for the letter to print, he thought about how easy it would be to end everything, all of his pain and grief, right here. Right now. His hand twitched around the gun he was holding and he stared into empty space with his now empty eyes…

If the baby hadn't lived, he might have done it. Even still, there was that moment of hesitation before he put the gun into its holster at his waist and folded the letter up and placed it in a plain envelop which then went into his inner jacket pocket. He started to head out her front door, than backtracked into the kitchen. He had thought of something from the dream.

He dug through the drawers in the kitchen, disheveling several before he located the palm-sized spiral notebook she had been keeping baby name ideas in. He flipped it back to the last page with writing on it as he recalled what he had actually told her when she suggested Sarah. He had told her it was cute, and she had said she thought so too. I told her I liked it...

Kellie

Erin

Shelly

Madison

Karen

Sarah

There it was, underlined in red ink, the only name they had both managed to agree on. He remembered her picking up the red ballpoint now, remembered seeing her circle it. She had mentioned that it even went well with Samuel if they happened to have another child. Staring down at her handwriting, he knew that it was right, that it was the name the baby was meant to have. His daughter. Their daughter. Sarah. It was only than that he recalled her wording to him in the dream. She had told him to take care of their princess. His eyes welled with tears and he couldn't help questioning if it really was just a dream when he remembered that Sarah was a Hebrew name that meant 'princess'.

He chewed Excedrin while he drove to the Hoover Building, the pills turning into a bitter powder that coated his tongue and throat. His hangover had settled into a miserable migraine-like ache, and the dark glasses he wore as he entered the building were for more than hiding his tear-reddened eyes. For once, Skinner didn't keep him waiting for an obscene length of time. This was a merciful gesture on his part, because it was immediately clear to Mulder that word was making its way around. A few agents offered tentative condolences on the loss of his partner, but most just averted their eyes. They were not an item as far as their employer was concerned, but rumors of that had gotten around too. He found the genuinely pitying gaze of Skinner's secretary when she thought he wasn't looking at her to be the most galling to him.

Skinner called him into the office without looking him in the eyes. Though Skinner's mannerism suggested he was rushed at first, he realized that the man just didn't know what to do or say when Skinner finally made eye contact with him, and he saw tears there. Neither man moved to be seated, and the silence grew thick enough to choke.

"Mulder…". Skinner tried to begin but trailed off. He cleared his throat to try again. "Mulder, I'm sorry. I know it isn't good enough, but what else is there? She was a good agent, a damn good agent, but more than that she was a good person." Skinner's voice cracked and the man looked away as Mulder gave him a slight nod. "If there is anything we can do for you, anything I can do, don't hesitate to ask."

He nodded again. He knew he should say thank you, but he couldn't bring the words out of his mouth. Just being here at all was harder than he had thought it would be, and it drove home to him that he was making the right decision. To his amazement, he had no regrets about it, no lingering feelings that he was making the wrong decision. He thought perhaps it was her, guiding his actions from whatever place she was in now. The only regret he was feeling was that he hadn't made the decision sooner. Maybe it could have made a difference for her than.

Skinner had made his way over to his desk and seated himself. Mulder moved closer to the desk but made no motion to seat himself. Despite his self-assurance, he was having difficulty making the last motion and removing the letter from his inner jacket pocket. Skinner looked up as he stood awkwardly in front of the desk. "How is the baby doing, Mulder? I know she's a bit premature but Mrs. Scully told me she was healthy otherwise?"

The mention of his daughter made him smile, and also got him moving. "She is, she's beautiful, she'll be able to come home in a few weeks. Her name is Sarah, you'll have to meet her someday." As he spoke he handed the typed letter to his boss.

"What's this?" Skinner asked, but his tone suggested he already had a good idea of what it was before he opened it.

"My letter of resignation." he answered. "My last day is two weeks from today, technically, but I'm planning to call in the personal time I have saved up, so it's effective immediately." His voice was even, almost jovial.

"Mulder, I'm not sure this is the best time to be making major life decisions-" Skinner began carefully, but Mulder interrupted him.

"You're probably right, but the decision is mine and has already been made. It should have been made the day I found out I was going to be a Father."

Skinner was quiet for a moment before looking back up at him. "You do understand that this will be the end of the X-Files, don't you? Without you pushing them, they will shut them down and lock them up so tightly someone finding them again will be a miracle."

And there was the pain he had been expecting. So much time and effort, his entire life's work, everything that had mattered to him before. Not just that, but the chance of getting justice. Justice for Samantha and her abduction. Justice for Scully and her abduction. Justice for anyone out there like them. Justice, and simple understanding and belief, for anyone out there being terrorized by the supernatural. It would all be gone.

He swallowed and nodded. "I do. I understand. I really hope someone else comes along, soon, to push them again, someone unattached. But I can't do this anymore. My Father got in over his head and it cost him his daughter. I won't risk mine, not for anything in this world or any other." He hoped it wasn't already too late, and that the syndicate would not come after them in the future because of anything he already knew.

Skinner couldn't argue with that particular point, it was too true. But that didn't mean he was giving up on it so easily. "I'm going to hang onto this for a month. After that we'll talk again. You have the time saved up to take a month off with pay, and it isn't unreasonable considering the circumstances. After you've had some time to clear your head we'll see if you change your mind."

"You do what you have to, but I won't be changing my mind. Even if I wanted to, I can't. It's too dangerous. Remaining in the FBI at all is too dangerous. The only thing Sarah has is me now. I won't put her in danger, and I won't put myself in danger either."

Skinner nodded and put the letter in the top drawer of his desk. "What are you planning to do now, if not the FBI?"

He shrugged slightly and found himself chewing his bottom lip. "I really don't know. I guess I'll take a little time off for now, learn how to do this Dad-thing. Maybe I'll go back and get my Masters or Doctorate. I haven't really thought about it too much yet." The question had multitudes of implications that sent chills through him. He'd never considered another career, and it reminded him deeply of how much uncertainty lay before him. It was like his entire life had turned into a deep abyss and Sarah was the only light, the only buoy of hope he had left to keep from drowning.

He held his hand out to Skinner. "I better get going. I haven't been to the hospital to see the baby yet." He paused a second, than added an addendum. "Stop by sometime if you get a chance."

Skinner shook his hand and nodded, saying that he would, but there was a peculiar look in his eyes. It wasn't until Mulder was in the elevator going down to the parking garage that it occurred to him what it was. He was leaving the FBI, trying to distance himself, and yet here he was trying to maintain contact with someone still in the middle of everything. Skinner might want to visit, but he would never do it.

He was surprised by how sad it made him feel. They hadn't been terribly close, but he had been an ally to them over the years, and one of the closest things to a friend Mulder had had. Though he had never been particularly bothered by his lack of social camaraderie, it was weighing very heavily on his soul just now.

He spent the rest of the day at the hospital with baby Sarah. Mrs. Scully was there before him and had already left, but she came back briefly after dinner. She was delighted by the name, and told him that Dana's first baby doll had been named Sarah. She promised to see if she could find it for him. She also informed him that Bill was going to be stopping by sometime that week with her, and that she would keep him on his best behavior.

His Mother didn't come to visit again, but she did call him back eventually. She wasn't particularly pleased that he didn't intend to name his daughter after his sister, but acknowledged that Sarah was a pretty name, and at least it started with an 'S'. He thought that using Ann as a middle name subdued her annoyance a bit, too.

He made it back to his own apartment without stopping at the liquor store, and immediately poured what he had laying around down the sink. Looking around the apartment, he was suddenly pleased that he was on a month-to-month lease now. There was no way he would have enough room to raise even an infant in a single-bedroom apartment. He fed the fish, who were very grateful after not seeing him, or eating, for most of a week, but still didn't bother to feed himself. He tried to chat with the fish a bit, but they weren't very talkative. Sitting down on his couch and turning the TV on, he wondered if it was time to consider getting a dog now that he wouldn't be traveling for work constantly. Or maybe a cat at least. Something, anything, as long as it was friendly.

The shows were mindless, but they kept his mind from drifting too much. The emptiness was getting to him, and by midnight he was resolved to get both a dog and a cat, preferably the very next day. By about three he was considering two of each might be a better idea. Sometime around five in the morning he managed to nod off between reruns of The Golden Girls, and cried in his sleep.

He dreamt of her.

Songs Used:

Title: How do I Live? - Trisha Yearwood