A/N: Had to throw in this quick update because I forgot to throw something in the last chapter. This story is alternate universe, and assumes that seasons 8, 9, and
parts of season 7 never happened. I couldn't live with myself until I finally typed enough to post, just so I could clear that up. Oh, and though I realize that this story
isn't at all interesting yet, and seems to be going nowhere, stick with me, I beg of you. I promise it'll get exciting somewhere down the line. :) Yeah, and my
apologies for the horrid spacing job in the last chapter, hopefully this one will be different. Much like writing, apparently posting things isn't my strong point, either.
Damn. Sadly, the spacing won't be any better in this chapter, thanks to my lack of knowledge and my computers lack of Microsoft Word. Sorry.
---
Who's to say where the wind will take you,
Who's to know what it is will break you,
I don't know which way the wind will blow.
Who's to know when the time has come around,
Don't wanna see you cry,
I know that this is not goodbye.
-U2
---
St. Bethany Funeral Home
Arlington, Virginia
2:35 P.M.
Scully set her head in her hands. The past two days had been absolutely surreal. She had been dancing with Mulder as her mother lay bleeding to death on
the side of the road, sandwiched between a steering wheel and an unrelenting chair. She should have been there, she should have stopped the other driver from
swerving, from drinking at all that night. Wasn't it her job to protect? How could she protect the public when she couldn't even save her own family, her own mother,
from the fate that had befallen her. And now, she was attending her own mother's funeral, all because she hadn't been there to save her.
Not that you could have, Dana, she thought, wearily. How many other lives have been lost because of your inability to preform your job? Your mother,
Emily....
"Scully?" A hand was placed gingerly on her shoulder, breaking her out of her cold reverie.Mulder sat down next to her, putting his arm around her, drawing
her close to him. There was nothing he could say to comfort her, and, knowing this, he restrained himself from speaking further, hoping against hope that she would
feel the need to confide in him, let him carry the burden of her grief for her, or atleast with her. If nothing else, he atleast wanted her to know that she wasn't alone.
She didn't speak. Instead, she placed her hand on his and looked up at him. She had managed to hold back the well building up in her eyes thus far, and had
no intention of breaking down right there, in front of him of all people. If she cried, she knew he would be overcome with a primal need to comfort her, to protect
her, forcing her to try desperately to regain his respect, which was something she held in the highest regard, almost as high as his trust. What are you talking about,
Dana? she silently reprimanded herself. You've never been strong, and you never will be. You are weak and you are useless. If you were actually of any value, you
could have been able to save her.
Mulder sighed. "If you want to talk, Dana, I'm here. And if you need a shoulder to cry on, I do have one."
She nodded, cursing herself. See? See what you've made him do? He feels like he has to comfort you. And why is that? Because you are weak. "Thank you,
Mulder."
The two sat in silence for the duration of the funeral, she, managing to temporarily fight off her self-loathing thoughts, and he holding her all the while.
parts of season 7 never happened. I couldn't live with myself until I finally typed enough to post, just so I could clear that up. Oh, and though I realize that this story
isn't at all interesting yet, and seems to be going nowhere, stick with me, I beg of you. I promise it'll get exciting somewhere down the line. :) Yeah, and my
apologies for the horrid spacing job in the last chapter, hopefully this one will be different. Much like writing, apparently posting things isn't my strong point, either.
Damn. Sadly, the spacing won't be any better in this chapter, thanks to my lack of knowledge and my computers lack of Microsoft Word. Sorry.
---
Who's to say where the wind will take you,
Who's to know what it is will break you,
I don't know which way the wind will blow.
Who's to know when the time has come around,
Don't wanna see you cry,
I know that this is not goodbye.
-U2
---
St. Bethany Funeral Home
Arlington, Virginia
2:35 P.M.
Scully set her head in her hands. The past two days had been absolutely surreal. She had been dancing with Mulder as her mother lay bleeding to death on
the side of the road, sandwiched between a steering wheel and an unrelenting chair. She should have been there, she should have stopped the other driver from
swerving, from drinking at all that night. Wasn't it her job to protect? How could she protect the public when she couldn't even save her own family, her own mother,
from the fate that had befallen her. And now, she was attending her own mother's funeral, all because she hadn't been there to save her.
Not that you could have, Dana, she thought, wearily. How many other lives have been lost because of your inability to preform your job? Your mother,
Emily....
"Scully?" A hand was placed gingerly on her shoulder, breaking her out of her cold reverie.Mulder sat down next to her, putting his arm around her, drawing
her close to him. There was nothing he could say to comfort her, and, knowing this, he restrained himself from speaking further, hoping against hope that she would
feel the need to confide in him, let him carry the burden of her grief for her, or atleast with her. If nothing else, he atleast wanted her to know that she wasn't alone.
She didn't speak. Instead, she placed her hand on his and looked up at him. She had managed to hold back the well building up in her eyes thus far, and had
no intention of breaking down right there, in front of him of all people. If she cried, she knew he would be overcome with a primal need to comfort her, to protect
her, forcing her to try desperately to regain his respect, which was something she held in the highest regard, almost as high as his trust. What are you talking about,
Dana? she silently reprimanded herself. You've never been strong, and you never will be. You are weak and you are useless. If you were actually of any value, you
could have been able to save her.
Mulder sighed. "If you want to talk, Dana, I'm here. And if you need a shoulder to cry on, I do have one."
She nodded, cursing herself. See? See what you've made him do? He feels like he has to comfort you. And why is that? Because you are weak. "Thank you,
Mulder."
The two sat in silence for the duration of the funeral, she, managing to temporarily fight off her self-loathing thoughts, and he holding her all the while.