Title: Hickory
Author: SexyPhile
Email: sexyphile@hotmail.com
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Sein Und Zeit, Orison
Keywords: Implied MSR, Scully POV, ScullyAngst
Distribution: Ask me first (I usually say yes g)
Disclaimer: "The X-Files", Dana Scully, Fox Mulder and any other
character you recognize belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions,
and Fox Television.
Summary: post-Sein Und Zeit. Scully thinks while watching Mulder
sleep.
You know you love someone when you can spend the night just watching
them sleep.
I don't know where I heard that phrase, but after tonight I know it
speaks the truth. As the dawn creeps in his window, I realize it --
I've been sitting at his desk all night, watching him sleep. He
looks peaceful, with one arm hanging toward the floor and the other
laying across his stomach, but I know this serene scene will be over
soon and he will wake up. He will begin his life again, this time as
a man whose mother has committed suicide. Every day for the rest of
his life, he will have to come to terms with that fact -- a so-called
preventable death that he had not been able to prevent.
The guilt. I can't even begin to imagine the guilt that must be
coursing through his body. I, of course, am not without guilt.
Being raised a Catholic, guilt was taught right along with the Ten
Commandments. I've had my bouts with it as much as the next guy,
most recently about the death of Donnie Pfaster. But this guilt that
Mulder must feel? It's unfathomable to me. This could be the thing
that throws him over the edge that he's been so precariously perched
on all his life. I hope I can catch him before he falls.
His eyes twitch now, although I'm on sure if it's from REM sleep or
if he's waking up. I hope it's not the latter -- he needs just a
little more solace before facing reality. I'm not sure what to say
to him when he does awaken. No greeting seems appropriate. 'Good
morning' sounds hollow. 'How are you doing?' is ridiculous -- what's
he going to say? 'I'm doing just peachy, thanks for asking.'
The sofa creaks as his body changes position, turning his head to
face me. His eyes are still closed and his lips are slightly open.
I can hear the air move in and out of his mouth keeping time with
his arm, rising and falling on his stomach. I hear a siren in the
distance -- it cuts right to soul. My stomach twists in knots as my
mind recalls his sobs. I try to stop the images and sounds from
coming, but they flood my mind's eye, unrelenting in their power. I
had been helpless. The only solace I could offer him was in my arms
and my words, trying to ease his mind. While he gratefully accepted
that, I wanted to do more. I wanted to go back to Skinner's office
and be able to wait when Skinner told me to because the news I had
wasn't vital. It wouldn't be earth-shattering. I wouldn't have to
tell him that his mom was dead. I wouldn't have to come to his
apartment and to confirm what he had wanted to deny -- his mom had
indeed killed herself. That was the worst thing I have ever done and
I just wanted to undo it.
That scene plays over and over again in my mind, taunting me and
pushing me closer and closer to the edge myself. Listening to him
rationalize what he had believed to have happened to his mother broke
my heart. I didn't want to be the one to tell him the truth. I
desperately wanted to buy into the lie, to protect him from the
reality. But I couldn't -- I couldn't lie to him, not even about
this. As the words of his mother's illness tumbled out of my mouth,
I didn't hear them. I only saw the pain and anguish that they caused
and his face twisted from hopefulness to absolute despair. When the
words sunk in, I wanted so badly to take them back, to fix the hole
in his heart that I had just caused. But it was done. The only
thing I could do was hold him while he cried. So I did. After much
coaxing, he finally fell asleep on his couch, with me standing
guard, hoping to keep the demons away, if only for an hour or so.
The apartment is still again except for the sound of the heater
cutting on. Its gentle hum comforts me the way his breathing does.
I scold myself for that thought. I'm not the one in need of comfort
-- he is. That's why I can sit here all night, watching over him. I
pray that God will give him the strength to keep living.
"Scully?"
My gaze is drawn away from the window and down to his hazel eyes,
dull with sleep and grief. "Yes?"
"What are you doing?"
I rack my brain for something intelligent to say, a rational
explanation for why I am sitting in his deak chair in the middle of
the night, but none came. "Watching you sleep."
He nodds slightly, as if he expected that response. "My mom used to
do that sometimes too. After Samantha disappeared, I used to wake in
the middle of the night to see her standing in my doorway, just
watching." His voice is gravelly from sleep and the emotion that
memory brought forth. He pauses and turns his head toward the
ceiling. "You know, Scully, you're all I've got left. I have no
family anymore. All I have is you."
"I love you."
"I know." His eyes close again, hoping to return to the slumber
from whence he came.
I lean back in his chair, content to watch his sleep.
The End.
Author's Notes: I know there will be many, many post-SUZ pieces
dealing with this lost scene, but I felt compelled to write this one.
I have experience with Mulder's newest trauma and I needed to write
about it. I'm sure that I have not done justice to this ep, that
scene or the emotions that SUZ brought to the surface, but I tried.
The quote at the beginning comes from a recent episode of "Dawson's
Creek". Grams says that the smell of hickory reminds her of her late
husband and that every night he would fall asleep while he read to
her. She spent many nights sitting by the fire, watching him sleep,
a true test of love. It's a beautiful scene and I hope I did it
justice. Let me know what you think: sexyphile@hotmail.com
http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Lofts/4856/X-Files/mystories.html
Author: SexyPhile
Email: sexyphile@hotmail.com
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Sein Und Zeit, Orison
Keywords: Implied MSR, Scully POV, ScullyAngst
Distribution: Ask me first (I usually say yes g)
Disclaimer: "The X-Files", Dana Scully, Fox Mulder and any other
character you recognize belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions,
and Fox Television.
Summary: post-Sein Und Zeit. Scully thinks while watching Mulder
sleep.
You know you love someone when you can spend the night just watching
them sleep.
I don't know where I heard that phrase, but after tonight I know it
speaks the truth. As the dawn creeps in his window, I realize it --
I've been sitting at his desk all night, watching him sleep. He
looks peaceful, with one arm hanging toward the floor and the other
laying across his stomach, but I know this serene scene will be over
soon and he will wake up. He will begin his life again, this time as
a man whose mother has committed suicide. Every day for the rest of
his life, he will have to come to terms with that fact -- a so-called
preventable death that he had not been able to prevent.
The guilt. I can't even begin to imagine the guilt that must be
coursing through his body. I, of course, am not without guilt.
Being raised a Catholic, guilt was taught right along with the Ten
Commandments. I've had my bouts with it as much as the next guy,
most recently about the death of Donnie Pfaster. But this guilt that
Mulder must feel? It's unfathomable to me. This could be the thing
that throws him over the edge that he's been so precariously perched
on all his life. I hope I can catch him before he falls.
His eyes twitch now, although I'm on sure if it's from REM sleep or
if he's waking up. I hope it's not the latter -- he needs just a
little more solace before facing reality. I'm not sure what to say
to him when he does awaken. No greeting seems appropriate. 'Good
morning' sounds hollow. 'How are you doing?' is ridiculous -- what's
he going to say? 'I'm doing just peachy, thanks for asking.'
The sofa creaks as his body changes position, turning his head to
face me. His eyes are still closed and his lips are slightly open.
I can hear the air move in and out of his mouth keeping time with
his arm, rising and falling on his stomach. I hear a siren in the
distance -- it cuts right to soul. My stomach twists in knots as my
mind recalls his sobs. I try to stop the images and sounds from
coming, but they flood my mind's eye, unrelenting in their power. I
had been helpless. The only solace I could offer him was in my arms
and my words, trying to ease his mind. While he gratefully accepted
that, I wanted to do more. I wanted to go back to Skinner's office
and be able to wait when Skinner told me to because the news I had
wasn't vital. It wouldn't be earth-shattering. I wouldn't have to
tell him that his mom was dead. I wouldn't have to come to his
apartment and to confirm what he had wanted to deny -- his mom had
indeed killed herself. That was the worst thing I have ever done and
I just wanted to undo it.
That scene plays over and over again in my mind, taunting me and
pushing me closer and closer to the edge myself. Listening to him
rationalize what he had believed to have happened to his mother broke
my heart. I didn't want to be the one to tell him the truth. I
desperately wanted to buy into the lie, to protect him from the
reality. But I couldn't -- I couldn't lie to him, not even about
this. As the words of his mother's illness tumbled out of my mouth,
I didn't hear them. I only saw the pain and anguish that they caused
and his face twisted from hopefulness to absolute despair. When the
words sunk in, I wanted so badly to take them back, to fix the hole
in his heart that I had just caused. But it was done. The only
thing I could do was hold him while he cried. So I did. After much
coaxing, he finally fell asleep on his couch, with me standing
guard, hoping to keep the demons away, if only for an hour or so.
The apartment is still again except for the sound of the heater
cutting on. Its gentle hum comforts me the way his breathing does.
I scold myself for that thought. I'm not the one in need of comfort
-- he is. That's why I can sit here all night, watching over him. I
pray that God will give him the strength to keep living.
"Scully?"
My gaze is drawn away from the window and down to his hazel eyes,
dull with sleep and grief. "Yes?"
"What are you doing?"
I rack my brain for something intelligent to say, a rational
explanation for why I am sitting in his deak chair in the middle of
the night, but none came. "Watching you sleep."
He nodds slightly, as if he expected that response. "My mom used to
do that sometimes too. After Samantha disappeared, I used to wake in
the middle of the night to see her standing in my doorway, just
watching." His voice is gravelly from sleep and the emotion that
memory brought forth. He pauses and turns his head toward the
ceiling. "You know, Scully, you're all I've got left. I have no
family anymore. All I have is you."
"I love you."
"I know." His eyes close again, hoping to return to the slumber
from whence he came.
I lean back in his chair, content to watch his sleep.
The End.
Author's Notes: I know there will be many, many post-SUZ pieces
dealing with this lost scene, but I felt compelled to write this one.
I have experience with Mulder's newest trauma and I needed to write
about it. I'm sure that I have not done justice to this ep, that
scene or the emotions that SUZ brought to the surface, but I tried.
The quote at the beginning comes from a recent episode of "Dawson's
Creek". Grams says that the smell of hickory reminds her of her late
husband and that every night he would fall asleep while he read to
her. She spent many nights sitting by the fire, watching him sleep,
a true test of love. It's a beautiful scene and I hope I did it
justice. Let me know what you think: sexyphile@hotmail.com
http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Lofts/4856/X-Files/mystories.html