A/N They're not mine, although I wouldn't mind having them to play with in my own twisted universe. I have to thank a friend of mine, Pat, for providing the basic inspiration for this. It's sappy, and slightly Lifetime-ish, and no aliens, as of yet. As I've only really seen the end of the first season and beginning of the second, I'm pretending that according to this, the 7th season or so, I believe it was, never happened, and there is no Dogget, and Scully never got pregnant, etc, etc. Nearly an AU here. Anyways, on with the fic!
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He breathed in the crisp, clean mountain air, it had always been something that he loved. He continued his hike up the mountain, barely noticing the weight on his back, or the basket he was carrying. He paused just long enough to take a swig from the canteen that lay slung across his shoulder before continuing on.
He often came here to think, to clear his mind, to relax, and most commonly, to reflect. That's why he was here this time, to reflect on all that had happened. To reflect on the life that he had left behind five years ago that day.
He found a nice large rock to sit on, and as he sat down, he slung the pack off of his back, and gently set down the wicker basket that he held in his hand. Opening the basket, he drew out a sandwich, and a bottle of wine. He pulled a small glass out of the basket as well, and poured himself a glass of the rich red drink.
As he sat there, eating and drinking, he raised his glass in a silent toast, a toast to a life well spent. It was also a toast to the woman he would always remember, not only for stealing his heart, but also for breaking it into a million tiny pieces.
He checked his watch again, it was one of those fancy digital ones which also gave you the date. He still couldn't believe it. He still couldn't come to terms with the fact that she wasn't coming after him. He still couldn't believe what his own eyes had shown him.
He finished off half the bottle of wine, before packing things back up. He was slightly woozy, but he'd always been able to handle a few drinks, and this wasn't exactly tequila. He was all packed up, but he wasn't going to be leaving, yet.
He almost didn't trust himself in his house. There was too much there to remind him of her. And he especially did not need to be remind of her today. He should have felt guilty for all that he did. He left her stranded. But he didn't, not really.
If he had really wanted to be a bastard, he would have left when she was still sick, when she was still in a coma in the hospital. But he couldn't, he couldn't be that mean. He loved her too much. There had been others in the five years since her, but none, no one was the same as her.
He had waited until she awoke, and then he left, packing all of his necessities, leaving half of his things behind. He left anything that was closely related to her behind, he didn't need the memories. He had quickly gotten rid of his home, sold it to someone he never even saw. Looking back on it now, he thought it was slightly rash, but he had been so upset, it was justifiable.
Finally, he got up, and stretched out, the alcohol beginning to die down. He was feeling more alert than he had been, and certainly well enough to trek down a not very steep hill. He slung the bag back over his shoulder, and picked up the basket again, leaving behind no trace of his picnic for one.