Swallowed by the Realm of Stars
Scully groaned as she picked up yet another packet. She aimed at the bin - and missed; the left overs of Mulder's sunflower seeds scattered across the newly cleaned floor. Refraining from cursing, she approached the bin. The apartment was a mess, and now looked as though another bomb had hit it, that was, along with a nuclear missile, three army tanks and a Russian submarine, she thought, sardonically. As she stooped to collect the seeds she noticed Mulder's wallet lying open on the couch, *how careless can he be?* In good faith she had picked it up and moved it to the abyss of the bedroom, sliding the various plastic cards and paper money between the mattress. She observed her work, and hoped Mulder would appreciate it, not that he would notice... She opened the door, slowly passed through, and then shut it carefully behind her as she took a last look and sighed before she walked away. She would have sighed more if she'd realised that she'd left her cell phone behind, sealing their fate. Her diminishing form reflected in the brass numbers that hung on his door.
* * * * * *
The illuminated numbers stung his bloodshot eyes. He stumbled through the maze of corridors confused; his brain unused to being clear, free of the cannabis and other drugs that usually clouded it. The apartment door loomed up. He didn't care which one he broke into, he needed the money. Just a quick fix, he promised himself. He knocked, checking that no one was at home; there was no reply. He chuckled softly to himself with the thought of cash. He pulled the pick lock out of his pocket: its contence mistakenly with it and they clattered to the floor; the empty bag that once held fairy dust - as he liked to call it, along with numerous empty fag packets and his most prized possession, his gun. His fumbling hands gathered his possessions and he lovingly gazed at the gun, before he stuffed it into his coat pocket once again. He jangled the key around in the lock, trying to look as normal as possible to the empty corridor, which he swore was watching him. The familiar itch in his nose and his body crying out for drugs quickened him. He didn't know whether he could take the strain much longer - he needed money now; the door swung open with a reassuring click and he smiled to himself willing his mind to stay attached to his body for a few more minutes, while he stole and bought. He stepped into the dark room; the twilight highlighting the apartment, but not enough to pierce the gathering gloom of shadows. He searched the desk tearing the contence, which drifted to the floor. Nothing. He went through all the rooms, desperately looking, probing for the cash that would see him in high spirits again. Sweat dripped off his brow as the desire and longing seized him, the craving only creating crazed ideas as he hunted, shuffling through the accumulating rubble that he had thrown to the floor. The doorknob turned gently behind him, and the creaking of unoiled hinges awoke him to the 'intruder'. He turned, his fingers fastening around the pistol, and tracing its familiar and powerful shape he pointed it at the slowly opening
door. He felt his shaky fingers slipping against the sweaty metal as the beam of light fell across his face…
* * * * * *
Mulder ran, the pigeons disturbed at the sudden movement flew up around him, adding to the chaos. From far off, he could hear the bells tolling, chiming repeatedly. Nine, *I'm going to be late. Damn.* He rushed down the stairs and on to the platform, just catching the last glimpse of the train pulling out of the station. The grimy fumes engulfed him. Through the clearing smog he could see that the platform was empty and desolate - all the evening passengers had gone and most of the shops barred, shut down for the night. He laughed to himself and sat down on the cold flagstones, and waited. The abrupt ear-piercing squeal of brakes woke him from his musing. He got up and boarded the train. He looked at his watch, 9:20pm, for once the train was early. The interior welcomed him like a thunder storm, hostile and opposing. Its inhabitants were not much different, most of their faces mirroring the gargoyles that haunted graveyards, their faces eroded by tears of rain. The ancient and dirty walls were dull, freckled with stains that, to his weary mind, resembled gore and blood. He settled for the uneventful journey, lost once more in his own world, where the X-Files dominates his thoughts, along with tatters of suspicions and threads of unease.
A shiver clawed its way up his spine as his tired body jumped at seeing the double doors to his bock of flats. He pushed through them and into the domain of fluorescent lights that clung to the corridor ceilings like leeches. He walked up to the elevator, the doors overshadowed over him, their peeling paint like fallen leaves at their base. He proceeded in, undaunted. At his floor, they opened with a ping and his steps echoed hollowly as he strode across the badly carpeted floor. *Yep, this was it.* He groped around for his keys and producing them with a flourish, inserted them into the door. He was surprised to find it already unlocked and slowly, cautiously turned the handle, pushing the door open, mostly expecting to see Scully. To his dismay, he was greeted by
'Don't fucking try anything stupid, I know how to use this,' a stranger said jerking wildly with his pistol. Mulder stopped in his tracks and gingerly raised his hands.
'Shut the door', said the dark figure infront of him, Mulder hesitated,
'SHUT THE DOOR' he repeated his eyes rolling madly and his teeth grinding. Mulder backed up towards the door and pushed it so it was ajar mumbling sarcastically, 'Hi Scully, what a wonderful greeting'.
'Don't play games with me. Close it'. The stranger reinforced.
Mulder knew he was pushing his luck but replied 'Jeez, I'd love to just that I'm….'
'NOW' screamed the man
'-Afraid of the dark' Mulder trailed off. Immediately, the man pulled the trigger and a bullet whizzed inches from Mulder into the wall.
'Thought I was fucking joking didn't you.' He paused seeming to loose it for a few seconds and then carried on, 'now be a good boy and close the door'. Mulder pushed it to thinking that the man was crazy; with that shot the whole neighbourhood must have heard, and the police called - (knowing his neighbourhood).
* * * * * *
The man was giving him hassle, all he wanted was money, this man was making a mockery of him, this man, this man...fuck it, he was screwed; his vision was blurring and his whole body felt like it was on fire, the lack of dope was seriously making his head reel. Police would be here soon, and it would be back to four sterile dope-less walls.
'Where's your money,' he knew he was pleading, but he was desperate now.
'Soda?' Came the reply, the man was fucking with him;
'Money!' He screamed, 'Where is it?' The man spoke again continually repeating himself but his hearing muffled the words, so that only eventually, through the mesh of obscurity did he hear:
'Sofa, on the sofa'. He staggered over to the sofa, his insides felt like they had folded themselves up - it was not there. He turned, his unfocused eyes trying to hold on Mulder.
'It's not there' he whispered spitting out the words like venom, yet feeling tears prick his eyes, 'It's not there.' he repeated this time dejectedly. The seemingly harsh reality descended; the gun feeling a dead weight in his hand and his only friend, that he brought it up to point at Mulder. 'I'm going to fucking shoot you man, I am not a looser, I am not a looser'...
* * * * *
...Mulder almost felt sorry for the guy. Who had said anything about looser? He was obviously really screwed up inside, but even so, this guy was going to shoot him, and Mulder was desperate too.
'I swear it's there' his words tumbled quickly out his mouth. 'My money is there…', the thief just stood there, even his eyes didn't flinch to take another look at the sofa, his trigger finger seemed the only active part of him: It was hopeless. 'I want to help you... let me do that...that's all' he tried. The guy's hand drooped and he seemed to brush tears away from his face. 'Put the gun down, you don't need it, You and me are friends'...
* * * * * *
Friends? The man was patronising him, he saw him as a poor little druggie. I am just a text book case as far as he's concerned. The anger welled up inside him, his gun arm resumed its stance, he'd never shot a man before, yet his pride had been hurt and he felt vulnerable, yet the man's face was so honest and sincere... He back up against the wall and made his way towards the door, trailing the pistol on Mulder, but decided on letting him live, he was a buddy after all- wasn't he?
His hand fiddled for the doorknob, he could feel his mind lapsing again, it was being wrenched from his body, kicking and screaming. Fresh air, I need fresh air, just a little something to clear my head but the damn door needed effort. Repeatedly, his clumsy fingers yanked the handle in the wrong direction.
He felt like his blood had stopped flowing and that his brain was going to explode, his finger shook on the trigger and suddenly a loud noise pierced his consciousness…
* * * * * *
...Mulder couldn't believe the ill-timing of it; Scully's cell phone was ringing on the sideboard...
* * * * * *
...At first he was startled and confused, but he wasn't fucked enough to fail to understand that it was an alarm. He couldn't believe that his friend had set an alarm off - betrayed him, let him down when he needed him. He raised his eyes questioningly whimpering through gritted teeth
'What are friends for man, what are friends for?' and he pressed the trigger...
* * * * * *
...Mulder crumpled to the floor like a mere paper doll, his wounded cry echoing through the lonely forest of apartments.
* * * * * *
Scully hurried through the labyrinth of streets now smothered in the living blanket of night. Lamp posts loomed out of the ebony haze like random beacons as she made her way to Mulder's apartment, her footsteps mimicking a clock as she strode up the stairs and into the claustrophobic building. She had forgotten her cell phone and had mentally kicked herself for it. She got into the lift thinking that hopefully Mulder would be back by now, when a resounding bang echoed around the building. Suspicious, she hurried her ascent, anxious to reach Mulder's apartment. It sounded like gunfire: trouble, and Mulder was usually at the centre of that.
She stepped out of the elevator and was instantaneously welcomed by another shot, closer this time. As if to reinforce her worries, a black blur hurtled past her and into the lift. With a shudder that set alarm bells ringing she noticed that Mulder's door was open. The next seconds passed in a flash yet it took forever to get to his door.
He lay deathly pale on the floor, a dark pool spreading about him.
She could hear police sirens echo around the dank alleyways but already knew that they would be too late. Kneeling beside him she rested his head on her lap and stared at his passive face, trying to remember every detail, every emotion, every part of his character etched in his features, searching in it for the answers and the questions that she knew would submerge her mind after his death. She knew it was a hopelessly fated attempt to keep him with her always.
'Mulder' she whispered, she waited, the seconds ticking by, she repeated herself 'Mulder, please answer me.'
His eyes flickered open for the briefest of moments but he saw the world dimming, everything shrouded in an ethereal mist. To him it seemed as if ghosts had encircled him, calling out, reaching out to him, he does not recognise her disembodied voice; he sighed welcoming the dark ocean around him. It became blacker and blacker as he relaxed, ready to let go.
Scully stroked his head, helping him through the last moments, trying to comfort the confusion death brought - the imprinted bright lights on the eye, the feeling of last warmth as the heart gave up and the ringing in the ears. It has started she thought as she felt him tense in her embrace. Mulder saw the lights, felt the warmth, and experienced the ringing in his ears; yet he perceived it as a ship of the stars; the heat of its arrival its overwhelming noise. He called out to Scully, imagining her with him. He believed he could finally see them, the celestial beings, his aliens... tears of joy trickled from his face.
He exhaled his last breath, his chest no longer rising and falling in the rhythm of life. Scully cradled him in her arms, pulling his rigid form close to her, her unwept tears welled up in her eyes as she remembered his last words: 'Scully, look.' Her heart broke in two.
* * * * * *
"What sighs re-echo'd thy parting breath,
Whilst thy was't struggling in the pangs of death!
Could tears retard the tyrant in his course;
Could sighs avert his dart's relentless force;
Could youth and virtue claim a short delay,
Or beauty charm the spectre from his prey;
Thou still hadst lived to bless my aching sight,
Thy comrade's honour and thy friend's delight.
Yet if thy gentle spirit hover nigh
The spot where now thy mouldering ashes lie,
Here wilt thou read, recorded on my heart,
A grief too deep to trust the sculpture's art."
* * * * * *
Scully lay on her bed, staring blankly at the plain ceiling that had become her cell in the now empty and barren world in which she was trapped.
*I am entombed here, Mulder. Condemned to a life without any feeling or inspiration, to live alone without you. The darkness ensnares me in its cold and unwelcome embrace. Now that you are gone no light guides me anymore... I cannot see... I am blind...
My soul seems impaled on thorns, from which only death can relieve me- it seems the only consolation.
Why did you die? Why does God act so cruelly? You faced dangers everyday and yet you survived - does fate delight in irony?
What could I have done to change what happened so that you would be lying here with me, as we forgot our work and heavy burdens we carried and pretended we led ordinary lives. If the thief had only chosen a different door that would lead down this path, a path that ended in panic, murder ...shame. *
She stared emotionlessly at the window. The last dying rays of the sickly pale sun filtered feebly through the misted glass, as the day faded into the evening, swallowed by the realm of stars.
*The thief is sentenced to life, as I am. I have been sentenced too. If my soul could be heard in song, angels would weep at its woeful sound. Yet, I cannot show my feeling, I must lock them away behind mental walls, I must leave them in the abyss, which resides in the back of my mind -annihilate them completely. This world cannot see how I feel I must wear a mask -empty and expressionless; before I fall...
But, until then I will live knowing that one day Mulder, I will awake unto you, awake from the seemingly infinite night and see the dawn, at last. I know you stand there waiting for me, and when I am released from this torment, this hell, when I am free we will walk together into oblivion, hand-in-hand.
But for now I am here and you are a world away - you are lost from me but not forgotten...*
* * * * * *
Mulder laughs, a humorous grin on his face, his eyes sparkling.
'What?' Scully asks, giving him an evil. He remains content to laugh.
'What!" She repeats with more agitation, while she looks over him questioningly, reinforcing her glare.
Mulder sees he is in for a rough ride and makes a botched attempt to extricate himself from the daggers in Scully's eyes. 'I was just…er, thinking that-'
'Thinking? Sure,' she cuts in sarcastically.
'Yeah,' he gives her a withering look, then failing to change to a more sophisticated manner, 'I was thinking that... that it was really... deep?'
'And you're not?'
'Look, it's not a criticism, what I mean is, well, when I wake up crying from a dream, or nightmare, it's because my favourite baseball team has lost real bad... or, or,...' Mulder blushes, '...well things like that. I think you catch my drift...'
Scully doesn't. But she is silent. She tries to look him in the eye but feels foolish now.
'No, I really liked it, it was very touching...' he pauses, unable to think of any further statement to try to dissolve her discomfort with the situation, which has in fact become his own.
He butts into the silence enthusiastically with '-So who was responsible?' confident that it will change the atmosphere. It works. She half smiles.
'... for your death?'
Mulder nods.
'Well the obvious answer would be the robber, but you're talking about the whole wrong place wrong time thing. Like was it the late or early train, my cell phone ringing, me, for not arriving earlier...' She sighs her mouth moving like a drowning fish as she tries to think of an answer. 'I can't really say, what do you think?'
He seems to think deeply, and after a few minutes of silence... 'The sun flower seeds.'
'Sunflower seeds, Mulder?' She gives him the "yeah-right-and-I'm-E.T." look and gets up, fed up with his persist jokes...
'No, but - Scully, I'm being serious-' he pleads
She stops ready to give him one last chance.
He quickly takes up the lead 'If the sunflower seeds hadn't of scattered, you wouldn't have bent down to clear them up and so my purse would have gone unnoticed- ' he is stopped mid-sentence, as the cushion collides with his face. Scully dusts off her hands, thinking so much for being on the same wavelength. It was meant to be special, moving, tender... anger overcomes her and she picks up her coat and leaves. She wished she'd never told him...
...Mulder doesn't bother to call after her. Instead ...he smiles... touched.
THE END
I'd be really grateful if you'd review it! Also, it would be interesting if you include who/what you think was responsible for Mulder's death in your view! Optional, of course.
Scully groaned as she picked up yet another packet. She aimed at the bin - and missed; the left overs of Mulder's sunflower seeds scattered across the newly cleaned floor. Refraining from cursing, she approached the bin. The apartment was a mess, and now looked as though another bomb had hit it, that was, along with a nuclear missile, three army tanks and a Russian submarine, she thought, sardonically. As she stooped to collect the seeds she noticed Mulder's wallet lying open on the couch, *how careless can he be?* In good faith she had picked it up and moved it to the abyss of the bedroom, sliding the various plastic cards and paper money between the mattress. She observed her work, and hoped Mulder would appreciate it, not that he would notice... She opened the door, slowly passed through, and then shut it carefully behind her as she took a last look and sighed before she walked away. She would have sighed more if she'd realised that she'd left her cell phone behind, sealing their fate. Her diminishing form reflected in the brass numbers that hung on his door.
* * * * * *
The illuminated numbers stung his bloodshot eyes. He stumbled through the maze of corridors confused; his brain unused to being clear, free of the cannabis and other drugs that usually clouded it. The apartment door loomed up. He didn't care which one he broke into, he needed the money. Just a quick fix, he promised himself. He knocked, checking that no one was at home; there was no reply. He chuckled softly to himself with the thought of cash. He pulled the pick lock out of his pocket: its contence mistakenly with it and they clattered to the floor; the empty bag that once held fairy dust - as he liked to call it, along with numerous empty fag packets and his most prized possession, his gun. His fumbling hands gathered his possessions and he lovingly gazed at the gun, before he stuffed it into his coat pocket once again. He jangled the key around in the lock, trying to look as normal as possible to the empty corridor, which he swore was watching him. The familiar itch in his nose and his body crying out for drugs quickened him. He didn't know whether he could take the strain much longer - he needed money now; the door swung open with a reassuring click and he smiled to himself willing his mind to stay attached to his body for a few more minutes, while he stole and bought. He stepped into the dark room; the twilight highlighting the apartment, but not enough to pierce the gathering gloom of shadows. He searched the desk tearing the contence, which drifted to the floor. Nothing. He went through all the rooms, desperately looking, probing for the cash that would see him in high spirits again. Sweat dripped off his brow as the desire and longing seized him, the craving only creating crazed ideas as he hunted, shuffling through the accumulating rubble that he had thrown to the floor. The doorknob turned gently behind him, and the creaking of unoiled hinges awoke him to the 'intruder'. He turned, his fingers fastening around the pistol, and tracing its familiar and powerful shape he pointed it at the slowly opening
door. He felt his shaky fingers slipping against the sweaty metal as the beam of light fell across his face…
* * * * * *
Mulder ran, the pigeons disturbed at the sudden movement flew up around him, adding to the chaos. From far off, he could hear the bells tolling, chiming repeatedly. Nine, *I'm going to be late. Damn.* He rushed down the stairs and on to the platform, just catching the last glimpse of the train pulling out of the station. The grimy fumes engulfed him. Through the clearing smog he could see that the platform was empty and desolate - all the evening passengers had gone and most of the shops barred, shut down for the night. He laughed to himself and sat down on the cold flagstones, and waited. The abrupt ear-piercing squeal of brakes woke him from his musing. He got up and boarded the train. He looked at his watch, 9:20pm, for once the train was early. The interior welcomed him like a thunder storm, hostile and opposing. Its inhabitants were not much different, most of their faces mirroring the gargoyles that haunted graveyards, their faces eroded by tears of rain. The ancient and dirty walls were dull, freckled with stains that, to his weary mind, resembled gore and blood. He settled for the uneventful journey, lost once more in his own world, where the X-Files dominates his thoughts, along with tatters of suspicions and threads of unease.
A shiver clawed its way up his spine as his tired body jumped at seeing the double doors to his bock of flats. He pushed through them and into the domain of fluorescent lights that clung to the corridor ceilings like leeches. He walked up to the elevator, the doors overshadowed over him, their peeling paint like fallen leaves at their base. He proceeded in, undaunted. At his floor, they opened with a ping and his steps echoed hollowly as he strode across the badly carpeted floor. *Yep, this was it.* He groped around for his keys and producing them with a flourish, inserted them into the door. He was surprised to find it already unlocked and slowly, cautiously turned the handle, pushing the door open, mostly expecting to see Scully. To his dismay, he was greeted by
'Don't fucking try anything stupid, I know how to use this,' a stranger said jerking wildly with his pistol. Mulder stopped in his tracks and gingerly raised his hands.
'Shut the door', said the dark figure infront of him, Mulder hesitated,
'SHUT THE DOOR' he repeated his eyes rolling madly and his teeth grinding. Mulder backed up towards the door and pushed it so it was ajar mumbling sarcastically, 'Hi Scully, what a wonderful greeting'.
'Don't play games with me. Close it'. The stranger reinforced.
Mulder knew he was pushing his luck but replied 'Jeez, I'd love to just that I'm….'
'NOW' screamed the man
'-Afraid of the dark' Mulder trailed off. Immediately, the man pulled the trigger and a bullet whizzed inches from Mulder into the wall.
'Thought I was fucking joking didn't you.' He paused seeming to loose it for a few seconds and then carried on, 'now be a good boy and close the door'. Mulder pushed it to thinking that the man was crazy; with that shot the whole neighbourhood must have heard, and the police called - (knowing his neighbourhood).
* * * * * *
The man was giving him hassle, all he wanted was money, this man was making a mockery of him, this man, this man...fuck it, he was screwed; his vision was blurring and his whole body felt like it was on fire, the lack of dope was seriously making his head reel. Police would be here soon, and it would be back to four sterile dope-less walls.
'Where's your money,' he knew he was pleading, but he was desperate now.
'Soda?' Came the reply, the man was fucking with him;
'Money!' He screamed, 'Where is it?' The man spoke again continually repeating himself but his hearing muffled the words, so that only eventually, through the mesh of obscurity did he hear:
'Sofa, on the sofa'. He staggered over to the sofa, his insides felt like they had folded themselves up - it was not there. He turned, his unfocused eyes trying to hold on Mulder.
'It's not there' he whispered spitting out the words like venom, yet feeling tears prick his eyes, 'It's not there.' he repeated this time dejectedly. The seemingly harsh reality descended; the gun feeling a dead weight in his hand and his only friend, that he brought it up to point at Mulder. 'I'm going to fucking shoot you man, I am not a looser, I am not a looser'...
* * * * *
...Mulder almost felt sorry for the guy. Who had said anything about looser? He was obviously really screwed up inside, but even so, this guy was going to shoot him, and Mulder was desperate too.
'I swear it's there' his words tumbled quickly out his mouth. 'My money is there…', the thief just stood there, even his eyes didn't flinch to take another look at the sofa, his trigger finger seemed the only active part of him: It was hopeless. 'I want to help you... let me do that...that's all' he tried. The guy's hand drooped and he seemed to brush tears away from his face. 'Put the gun down, you don't need it, You and me are friends'...
* * * * * *
Friends? The man was patronising him, he saw him as a poor little druggie. I am just a text book case as far as he's concerned. The anger welled up inside him, his gun arm resumed its stance, he'd never shot a man before, yet his pride had been hurt and he felt vulnerable, yet the man's face was so honest and sincere... He back up against the wall and made his way towards the door, trailing the pistol on Mulder, but decided on letting him live, he was a buddy after all- wasn't he?
His hand fiddled for the doorknob, he could feel his mind lapsing again, it was being wrenched from his body, kicking and screaming. Fresh air, I need fresh air, just a little something to clear my head but the damn door needed effort. Repeatedly, his clumsy fingers yanked the handle in the wrong direction.
He felt like his blood had stopped flowing and that his brain was going to explode, his finger shook on the trigger and suddenly a loud noise pierced his consciousness…
* * * * * *
...Mulder couldn't believe the ill-timing of it; Scully's cell phone was ringing on the sideboard...
* * * * * *
...At first he was startled and confused, but he wasn't fucked enough to fail to understand that it was an alarm. He couldn't believe that his friend had set an alarm off - betrayed him, let him down when he needed him. He raised his eyes questioningly whimpering through gritted teeth
'What are friends for man, what are friends for?' and he pressed the trigger...
* * * * * *
...Mulder crumpled to the floor like a mere paper doll, his wounded cry echoing through the lonely forest of apartments.
* * * * * *
Scully hurried through the labyrinth of streets now smothered in the living blanket of night. Lamp posts loomed out of the ebony haze like random beacons as she made her way to Mulder's apartment, her footsteps mimicking a clock as she strode up the stairs and into the claustrophobic building. She had forgotten her cell phone and had mentally kicked herself for it. She got into the lift thinking that hopefully Mulder would be back by now, when a resounding bang echoed around the building. Suspicious, she hurried her ascent, anxious to reach Mulder's apartment. It sounded like gunfire: trouble, and Mulder was usually at the centre of that.
She stepped out of the elevator and was instantaneously welcomed by another shot, closer this time. As if to reinforce her worries, a black blur hurtled past her and into the lift. With a shudder that set alarm bells ringing she noticed that Mulder's door was open. The next seconds passed in a flash yet it took forever to get to his door.
He lay deathly pale on the floor, a dark pool spreading about him.
She could hear police sirens echo around the dank alleyways but already knew that they would be too late. Kneeling beside him she rested his head on her lap and stared at his passive face, trying to remember every detail, every emotion, every part of his character etched in his features, searching in it for the answers and the questions that she knew would submerge her mind after his death. She knew it was a hopelessly fated attempt to keep him with her always.
'Mulder' she whispered, she waited, the seconds ticking by, she repeated herself 'Mulder, please answer me.'
His eyes flickered open for the briefest of moments but he saw the world dimming, everything shrouded in an ethereal mist. To him it seemed as if ghosts had encircled him, calling out, reaching out to him, he does not recognise her disembodied voice; he sighed welcoming the dark ocean around him. It became blacker and blacker as he relaxed, ready to let go.
Scully stroked his head, helping him through the last moments, trying to comfort the confusion death brought - the imprinted bright lights on the eye, the feeling of last warmth as the heart gave up and the ringing in the ears. It has started she thought as she felt him tense in her embrace. Mulder saw the lights, felt the warmth, and experienced the ringing in his ears; yet he perceived it as a ship of the stars; the heat of its arrival its overwhelming noise. He called out to Scully, imagining her with him. He believed he could finally see them, the celestial beings, his aliens... tears of joy trickled from his face.
He exhaled his last breath, his chest no longer rising and falling in the rhythm of life. Scully cradled him in her arms, pulling his rigid form close to her, her unwept tears welled up in her eyes as she remembered his last words: 'Scully, look.' Her heart broke in two.
* * * * * *
"What sighs re-echo'd thy parting breath,
Whilst thy was't struggling in the pangs of death!
Could tears retard the tyrant in his course;
Could sighs avert his dart's relentless force;
Could youth and virtue claim a short delay,
Or beauty charm the spectre from his prey;
Thou still hadst lived to bless my aching sight,
Thy comrade's honour and thy friend's delight.
Yet if thy gentle spirit hover nigh
The spot where now thy mouldering ashes lie,
Here wilt thou read, recorded on my heart,
A grief too deep to trust the sculpture's art."
* * * * * *
Scully lay on her bed, staring blankly at the plain ceiling that had become her cell in the now empty and barren world in which she was trapped.
*I am entombed here, Mulder. Condemned to a life without any feeling or inspiration, to live alone without you. The darkness ensnares me in its cold and unwelcome embrace. Now that you are gone no light guides me anymore... I cannot see... I am blind...
My soul seems impaled on thorns, from which only death can relieve me- it seems the only consolation.
Why did you die? Why does God act so cruelly? You faced dangers everyday and yet you survived - does fate delight in irony?
What could I have done to change what happened so that you would be lying here with me, as we forgot our work and heavy burdens we carried and pretended we led ordinary lives. If the thief had only chosen a different door that would lead down this path, a path that ended in panic, murder ...shame. *
She stared emotionlessly at the window. The last dying rays of the sickly pale sun filtered feebly through the misted glass, as the day faded into the evening, swallowed by the realm of stars.
*The thief is sentenced to life, as I am. I have been sentenced too. If my soul could be heard in song, angels would weep at its woeful sound. Yet, I cannot show my feeling, I must lock them away behind mental walls, I must leave them in the abyss, which resides in the back of my mind -annihilate them completely. This world cannot see how I feel I must wear a mask -empty and expressionless; before I fall...
But, until then I will live knowing that one day Mulder, I will awake unto you, awake from the seemingly infinite night and see the dawn, at last. I know you stand there waiting for me, and when I am released from this torment, this hell, when I am free we will walk together into oblivion, hand-in-hand.
But for now I am here and you are a world away - you are lost from me but not forgotten...*
* * * * * *
Mulder laughs, a humorous grin on his face, his eyes sparkling.
'What?' Scully asks, giving him an evil. He remains content to laugh.
'What!" She repeats with more agitation, while she looks over him questioningly, reinforcing her glare.
Mulder sees he is in for a rough ride and makes a botched attempt to extricate himself from the daggers in Scully's eyes. 'I was just…er, thinking that-'
'Thinking? Sure,' she cuts in sarcastically.
'Yeah,' he gives her a withering look, then failing to change to a more sophisticated manner, 'I was thinking that... that it was really... deep?'
'And you're not?'
'Look, it's not a criticism, what I mean is, well, when I wake up crying from a dream, or nightmare, it's because my favourite baseball team has lost real bad... or, or,...' Mulder blushes, '...well things like that. I think you catch my drift...'
Scully doesn't. But she is silent. She tries to look him in the eye but feels foolish now.
'No, I really liked it, it was very touching...' he pauses, unable to think of any further statement to try to dissolve her discomfort with the situation, which has in fact become his own.
He butts into the silence enthusiastically with '-So who was responsible?' confident that it will change the atmosphere. It works. She half smiles.
'... for your death?'
Mulder nods.
'Well the obvious answer would be the robber, but you're talking about the whole wrong place wrong time thing. Like was it the late or early train, my cell phone ringing, me, for not arriving earlier...' She sighs her mouth moving like a drowning fish as she tries to think of an answer. 'I can't really say, what do you think?'
He seems to think deeply, and after a few minutes of silence... 'The sun flower seeds.'
'Sunflower seeds, Mulder?' She gives him the "yeah-right-and-I'm-E.T." look and gets up, fed up with his persist jokes...
'No, but - Scully, I'm being serious-' he pleads
She stops ready to give him one last chance.
He quickly takes up the lead 'If the sunflower seeds hadn't of scattered, you wouldn't have bent down to clear them up and so my purse would have gone unnoticed- ' he is stopped mid-sentence, as the cushion collides with his face. Scully dusts off her hands, thinking so much for being on the same wavelength. It was meant to be special, moving, tender... anger overcomes her and she picks up her coat and leaves. She wished she'd never told him...
...Mulder doesn't bother to call after her. Instead ...he smiles... touched.
THE END
I'd be really grateful if you'd review it! Also, it would be interesting if you include who/what you think was responsible for Mulder's death in your view! Optional, of course.