I'm Still Here

Summary: Post "Truth" - A brief look into Mulder's mind before the dawn of the day and of his new life of running.

A/N: I wrote one other X-Files fanfic before this one … back in the day when the show was still running. I've never posted one before, though; this is my first. Take it easy on me, hums? I kept telling myself not to write any fanfics on this subject, and it worked for a while, but with the release of the Mythology DVDs, I simply could not help myself.

Disclaimer: The X-Files is the property of loads of people with loads of money and loads of power. Do you think I'd intentionally rip off people who can have the word 'loads' used in reference to them more than once in a single sentence? Silly you. Ditto that to the owners of the title, which is taken from the song, I'm Still Here, performed by Johnny Rzeznik.

Sunrises were vastly overrated. The colors are what some would call beautiful, but Fox Mulder was never one for … beauty. Instead, he preferred the moments just before the great sphere of yellow and orange was painted onto the infinite, dark canvas. Those few minutes, never lasting more than half an hour, made up the perfect time to sit by the window with the pane lifted up and collect one's thoughts, so to speak.

In fact, that was exactly what Fox Mulder was doing at the time he pondered on the nonsensicality of sunrises—collecting his thoughts. He was sat backwards on a chair in front of the window, outside of which a rather calm storm was making its presence known to the sleepy occupants of the little motel. His chin rested on his arms, which were crossed over the back of the chair, and his tired eyes were closed in contemplation.

Aside from the rain falling lightly on the roof over his head, the only noise to be heard was the soft breathing of his partner in bed behind him. Normally, this fact would hardly be welcome due to his ubiquitous paranoia of what silence was usually accompanied by: hidden assailants. Now, though, Mulder was elsewhere than his normal state of mind, and his renowned slogan of "trust no one" was completely out of thought.

He had hardly slept the night before, even with his partner's arms wrapped securely around him. She, Dana Scully, was where his thoughts currently rested, and had rested throughout the night. He knew he should not, and that she would immediately argue the notion, but he kept telling himself repeatedly what he had needlessly gotten her into.

A life of constant change, of running and of hiding, that's what. Though to do so would have proven futile, he could have tried a bit harder to get her to stay away from him, that he was not worth her ruining her life. Then, he always thought in immediate succession, she would have told him—very firmly, no doubt—that she had nothing else to live for, if not for and with him. Thus, he would have had to give in and allow her to come anyway; so all the thoughts of "what might have been" were, in an even deeper sense, pointless.

The rustling of blankets behind him made his head twist around quickly—it was only his partner repositioning in her sleep. He sighed at the sight before his eyes and turned his entire body around to face the bed, his elbows now resting behind him on the desk. He heaved a sigh for the woman under the sheets, and his head bowed until his chin rested on his chest. His eyes lifted somewhat until he was looking at a spot on the floor just in front of the bed.

Whatwill happen tous now? he wondered for what seemed the trillionth time since he had left that Virginia State Penitentiary. There was no way he could ever again exist as Fox Mulder and she as Dana Scully. They would have to start over, but as what? As Jack and Sally? He could find a job as a psychologist and she a doctor, could they not? They could get married and live in the suburbs...

Mulder shook his head; that would never work out. In all actuality, he would probably have to wake her within the next fifteen minutes, quickly have a shower, and board the next plane to England. He fully realized this would mean he could never so much as see his son again, but he had to sacrifice if he wanted to keep the three of them safe.

He stood from the chair, shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and despondently walked to the wall, which he leaned up against, his head turned up at the ceiling. He had his Truth that he had been searching for these past ten years. He had it, but no one else did. For what good had he surrendered their lives? Mulder himself could answer that one easily: no good at all.

His thoughts traveled once again to the sleeping form and smiled—the first real smile he had produced since the two of them had sped away from Skinner and the rest on that deserted back road just outside the prison. If he did have to start over, at least he would have her to himself, and would not have to worry about the X-files or what had happened to his sister or whether extraterrestrials existed. However, as he had thought earlier, a normal life was practically out of the question, not without the pervasive knowledge of who could be hiding just behind that shrub. There was still, however, the possibility that they would have the suburban life which Mulder had longed for behind the closed doors of his deepest thoughts. The thought alone brought him insurmountable rapture.

A knot formed in the pit of his stomach as his hopes crashed before his mind's eye. How could they possibly live together, grow old, and just be Average Jack And Sally if the world would be colonized by aliens in ten short years? He had spoken to his partner not twelve hours ago about hope, but in the end, was there really any hope left? He had lived on optimism and determination since he was twelve years old, and at the age of forty-one, he was running out of the former. It was not hope for mankind that he had lost; it was merely hope for himself. He and Scully alone knew the Truth, and thus their lives were forever marked—he had known that from the start. Life together, while it would have extreme ups, would also have extreme downs. Constantly, he thought, they would be on the lam, running and hiding from the government. After all, not only did they know the precise date of Earth's downfall, but also Mulder was a runaway man charged with murder. The military would not let that go to rest easily.

He glanced at his luminous watch and sighed, now turning his attention the window. The rain had ceased, and the sun was just starting to poke its orange face over the top of a hill. He sat down on the bed and Scully stirred. As she rose, her cerulean eyes blinked back sleep and her arms went around his chest, her head resting on his shoulder. She heaved a sigh, and he closed his eyes.

They sat in that position for what seemed an eternity before Mulder lifted her head and studied her face carefully. He then looked outside once more at the new day dawning.

"It's time to go."

A/N: Sorry for its being so short. I'm a bit, er … lazy, which you can no doubt tell by the style of writing. You don't have to review, because I know how it is to be cursed with laziness. They are welcome, however. ;-)