I am a Scavenger
Darkness echoes across great plains of emptiness, and six people sit in the dense blackness and pretend they don't exist.
One man shot himself in the arm by accident. Rex badly bruised his nose running into a close door. Skinner is tired; he wishes he had been in Washington when the cities shattered apart. Elaine finally stopped sobbing a few hours past.
Mulder's breathing is faint and ragged, barely audible over the distant howls of the wind. The moon hasn't come out in hours, and no one can see the other. They know everyone is in one room, but everyone is separate, physically and mentally.
They stifled the blood flow from Mulder's wound, but he'll die within the day without proper medical supplies. He drifts in and out of consciousness, but feels light and cool in the darkness. He can't remember if he's alive or not.
Scully is sitting on the dirty floor, covered in blood. She cradles Mulder's head in her lap, doing her best to remember he is there, so she won't start pitying herself again. She thinks this must be the most awful place to die.
Everyone is shell-shocked, breathing slowly and staring into the un-seeable space. Sometimes someone sighs or coughs, and despite the situation, no one startles or reciprocates. They don't know how to think anymore.
Scully is trying not to fall asleep—she doesn't want to dream anymore, because the nightmares and dreams always feel more real than reality, and sometimes she can't tell the difference—and Mulder is stirring in his sleep.
He mumbles something; he can't remember where he is anymore. He can't piece the puzzle together, and he needs to remember.
"Shhhh…" murmurs Scully, stroking his hair in the darkness. "Shh…"
And then he whispers in a cracked, hoarse voice:
"…sing to me Scully…"
She nearly stops breathing, because she can't bear to remember that night now. Looking back, it was such a grand, beautiful night, and she remembers thinking, "Only for you Mulder, only for you." But it was such a…cheery thought then, and she can't bear to remember such a life-filled night.
In the darkness, tears begin to course down Scully's face, and she forgets that the others are there.
"Mulder, I can't…please rest Mulder, please go to sleep," she begs, voice breaking, hating every minute he subjects her to the torture of the past.
"Sing anything…so I know you're awake."
He's not listening to her anymore, except in his dreams.
Hot tears are running down Scully's face, and she fruitlessly hopes they haven't dripped onto Mulder.
"…I love it when you sing…"
Scully gasps, trying desperately to stop the wracking sobs that threaten what little respect she has left for herself.
Across the darkened room, the others hear her refrains, sung in a beaten, trembling voice, bouncing through the empty black rooms—
"Jeremiah was a bullfrog…"
A part of Scully dies when she reaches the chorus and can only hear the wind echoing off the silent, broken, and utterly defeated world.
A/N: Italicized are Interpol lyrics.
If you're following this story, and haven't reviewed (or tried to, and were anonymous and couldn't) please do.
Most likely one more chapter after this, before I switch to working on a couple of separate X-fics.
On a more television related note, I just finished season 6! Yaa! Or not, considering how I've gone through 6 years in less than 5 months. And only 3 more seasons left till withdrawal. Ahh!
