Tonight I've Watched..Ch. 1-5
Emily Todd Carter
Author: Emily Todd Carter
Genre: MSR/UST, Angst
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: It's not like anyone who matters will
read this, much less sue me.
Summary: 1/? (Takes place around 5th or 6th season) A
bullet taken one chilly November evening leads to the
merging of two separate paths, two separate people
already walking side by side.
VERY IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE: Um...I wrote the
first chapter of this story in like 8th grade,
so it gets SOOOO much better around the 2nd chapter...
HANG IN THERE!!
~**~
Chapter One...Take This, My Heart
"Mulder, have you ever even taken into consideration
the nutritional value of a sunflower seed?" Scully
once asked me.
Truthfully, I hadn't. To this day, I don't know what
the Hell sunflower seeds are good for. But I do know
that on the night of November 4th, I had felt the
familiar craving for my favorite snack. And without
Scully's consent, I had pulled up to the nearest
Pantry and unbuckled my seatbelt.
I hadn't known what a horrible decision I was making.
I'd give anything to have kept driving and ignored
the portion of my brain signaling my need for
sunflower seeds. We would have made it to the airport
on time to catch our flight and nothing would have
gone wrong. Nothing would have happened to my Scully.
It was drizzling lightly that cold November night
and the moon was hidden behind the clouds.
"Mulder, what are you doing?" she asked frantically,
glancing at her watch. "We've got forty minutes
before the plane leaves! There's no time to stop for
whatever reason you're stopping." She had given me an
evil Scully-glare then. You know, the one where she
scrunches up her eyebrows and sort of narrows her
eyes? Scully's eyes were green then. They're always
green when she's mad.
"I'll be quick." I replied,
pulling the car door handle and placing my oversized
feet on the sidewalk. I heard Scully sigh behind me
as she exited the car from the passenger side. Our
doors slammed simultaneously, as if on cue. Her
petite heels clicked against the concrete with each
step. I glanced in her general vicinity and noticed
her pulling her coat tightly across her chest to
shield from the impending draft of wind. I
instinctively placed my hand on her back and guided
her through the door of the Pantry.
The tiny bell rang indicating our entrance. I
surveyed the small store out of habit. People say I'm
paranoid. I'm not paranoid, just aware.
A short, Mexican cashier stood behind the counter and
a young mother with her child strolled down the candy
aisle. The drink refrigerators lined the back wall
adjacent to the bathrooms. Three rows were stocked
with various junk food and candy. It didn't take me
long to locate the sunflower seeds. They're always
right next to the Pringles and Planter's Peanuts. I
grabbed a pack of the cheapest brand and headed to
the cash register. Scully followed suit with her Diet
Coke in hand. We waited patiently behind the young
mother who seemed to be having trouble finding the
correct change to make her purchase.
Scully glared up at me. Her hair was limp from the
damp air, but she didn't seem to notice. I tried not
to realize that not worrying about her appearance
around me was not exactly a compliment. "You've got
thirty-seven minutes, Mulder."
She took a swig of her drink for added effect. "I
hope you're prepared to pay for that, ma'am," I
taunted.
"Actually, I seem to have left my wallet in the car.
I hope you're prepared to pay for it."
We stepped up to the counter as the young woman left
and placed our purchases on the surface. The cashier
added up the prices and placed our food into a
plastic bag. I handed him a five-dollar bill and he
depressed the change drawer. When it refused to open,
he cussed in Spanish and headed somewhere in a back
room to find a key.
"Thirty-five minutes, Mulder," Scully reminded me. I
nodded and turned to face the magazine rack. A
particular one caught my eye on the bottom row, but I
decided not to look further into it. I didn't want to
ruffle her feathers any further just now. Scully has
always hated my magazines. And my videos. I like to
imagine that they make her jealous.
We both glanced at the door as the tiny bell rang. A
mid-twenties, tall man passed the magazine rack
wearing jeans and a leather jacket. I instinctively
moved closer to Scully, not wishing to take any
chances. The young man stepped into line behind
Scully and me. The two of us did not fail to notice
the way he nervously shifted from one foot to the
other as we anticipated the Mexican's return.
We weren't disappointed as he appeared moments later
and produced a small key that succeeded in unlocking
the cash register. Just as he handed me my change, I
heard that all-too-familiar click behind my back.
"N-n-nobody move or I'll sh-sh-shoot!" the man
screamed, pressing the gun firmly into my left
shoulder. "Just-just gimme all the money in there!
Just-just give it to me! I'll sh-sh-shoot! I swear ta
God, I'll kill this man!"
My senses were exceedingly acute at that moment. I
heard Scully draw in a quick breath alongside me. I
watched the shaking cashier's hand slowly move toward
the red button. I felt the cool cylindrical barrel of
the gun against my shirt. I could taste the fear that
pervaded the room.
"Hurry up, dammit! Give me the money!" The man thrust
a small sack at the cashier, who jittered as he
filled it with all of the cash in the register. "And
don't push that button! I s-s-swear if you push that
button, someone's gonna die! S-s-someone's gonna
die!"
As if on cue, multiple car doors slammed from outside
of the convenience store. With the arrival of the
police, our assailant began to quiver in sheer
terror. He closed his eyes and swallowed, mentally
blocking images of apprehension by the men in blue
poised outside the door.
"Look what you did, you-you-you Mexican bastard! I'm
gonna go to j-j-jail now!" The leather-jacketed man
relieved my back of the pressure and aimed his gun at
the cashier who seemed to be praying. The cashier
lifted his hands into the air in surrender as he
closed his eyes and muttered what he believed would
be his final words. Once they opened again, tears
streamed down his cheeks in tiny rivers, mixed with
beads of sweat.
"You don't want to shoot anybody, here," I finally
said, taking action.
Leather Jacket took a and continued to point the gun
at the cashier.
"Just gimme the gun and nobody gets hurt. Nobody gets
hurt and everyone'll be fine. Everything will be all
right. Just give me the gun," I said calmly, keeping
my tone monotonous so as not to startle him.
Our only hope rested in Scully's hands. Leather
Jacket apparently didn't take notice of her as she
gradually unhooked her Colt .32 from its holster. I
smiled inwardly, silently grateful that Scully was
experienced enough to be able to operate under
pressure.
The cashier finished loading the sack and held it out
to Leather Jacket with shaking arms. He stepped
forward to accept his reward and Scully seized her
opportunity to strike at the time of a slight
weakness. She smoothly drew her weapon from its
holster, a clean motion derived from her years of
practice. Her sleek motions almost mechanical,
Leather Jacket staggered back in surprise. The Colt
was aimed at our assailant's chest before he could
register the action.
"Look buddy, I need you to listen to me now. You
listen, or you die. It's very simple."
Leather Jacket drew in quick breaths as he wiped a
trail of sweat away from his brow.
"You see those men out there? The guys in blue with
the guns?" She waved her gun in the general direction
of the policemen waiting patiently in position beyond
the door. The squad had accepted that the situation
was under control for the moment, and to strike then
could possibly startle an already terrified man into
overreacting.
"You shoot one of us, they kill you. It's that easy.
No questions asked. Now, I'm going to present a very
reasonable solution to the problem we seem to be
having today. You give me that gun..." Scully paused to
catch her breath and regain her composure. "And I'll
see if I can pull some strings to abbreviate your
sentence."
The gunman shook his head violently. Aware of the gun
aimed at his chest, he apparently seemed to accept
the fact that he was no longer in control and had
nothing left to lose. He glanced towards the door and
anxiously shifted his weight from one foot to the
other.
"No. No, no, no, no. I g-gotta get outta here. I need
this money, dammit!" With that, he swerved around and
aimed the gun directly at the policemen outside the
door. Normally, I would have chuckled at the
stupidity of our adversary at this moment, but the
situation was too severe. The man's sanity was
hanging by a thread ready to break at the slightest
disturbance.
The men in blue outside the door raised their guns at
the gunman, poised to shoot should he venture any
closer. One tiny click of a policeman's safety was
all it took to finally push this disturbed man over
the edge. The gunmen swiveled around and raised the
gun at Scully.
The next few moments seemed to be happening in slow
motion, yet passed in the blink of an eye. The raised
gun fired in a flash of light and a puff of smoke.
Scully gasped and slowly dropped her weapon to the
tiled floor. Time seemed to freeze, as did my
partner. Eyes wide, her hand fell and slowly brushed
the gaping hole in her sky blue blouse, now being
soaked with a deep red liquid. Scarlet blood trickled
over her fingers as her head rose and her eyes slowly
searched the room to meet mine. Scully then sank to
her knees.
In an almost surreal state, the room began to spin as
my thoughts swerved out of control. Flashes of color
filled my mind; the deep blue of the policemen moving
in to apprehend the young man, the stained white of
the tiled floor beneath my feet now being soaked with
the claret blood of the woman that meant the world to
me.
I was at her side in an instant, supporting her back
as I slowly laid her down upon the tiled floor. Her
tiny hands remained positioned over the wound, as if
to shield the pain. One hand propping her head, I
slowly caressed her cheek and brushed a strand of her
flaming hair away from her face.
"Mulder," she mumbled, her eyes rolling from side to
side.
"Don't talk, Scully. Don't talk. It's- It's gonna be
alright, ok? Just hang in there. Hang in there," I
replied, resting her head upon the floor to free my
hand. Glancing around, I noticed the policemen
calling an ambulance. It would only be a matter of
time.
I furiously ripped at her blouse, sending buttons
flying in various directions. The wound was exposed
amidst the fair skin of her stomach. The blood flow
was rapid and relentless. I tore the coat from my
shoulders, pressing it against the wound in an
attempt to decelerate the flow.
"Come on, stay with me, Scully."
Deep breaths, Mulder, I thought to myself. Inhale and
exhale. My petty exercises did little to suppress the
growing emotions that were threatening to erupt
within me. As I held my partner close, the sheer
anger, fear, and regret gnawed at my soul. A brief
flash of a thought entered my mind that was destined
to haunt me throughout those long hours in the
waiting room of the hospital:
--My blood should be spilled upon this floor.--
But there was no time for these contrite sentiments.
The guilt would have to take second priority at the
moment. I was clutching a fading life, a dying woman.
But Scully had been through worse, and I knew she
would fight to the death should the need arise.
My partner's hand sluggishly lifted above the floor
and brushed against mine. I grasped it gingerly and
held her sweaty palm against my cheek. Kissing her
fingertips, I could feel Scully's hand slowly flex
with each wave of pain. She was clutching on to her
precious life, threatening to slip through her
fingers.
"I...I...I d-don't think I'm going...going to m-make it,
Mulder," she panted, her once vigorous face now pale
and sodden with beads of sweat. Her grip on my hand
began to slacken with every breath. Scully's eyes on
the brink of closure, I bowed my head and searched
for words.
"Scully?" I asked. "Can you hear me?" A squeeze of
her hand conveyed her positive response. Taking a
shaky breath for reassurance, I gently leaned forward
and planted the lightest of kisses upon the tip of
her nose. I fought back the tears threatening to fall
and went on.
"Don't go, Scully. Please, don't go. I need you,
Scully. Please, don't leave me," I choked,
surrendering to the fresh shower of tears now
streaming down my face. I buried my head in her
shoulder, letting the tears soak her blouse. Whoever
said that grown men don't cry?
I was suddenly aware of my surroundings the moment an
ambulance appeared outside the Pantry door, screaming
its siren and sending red flashes of light through
the dusty glass window. The paramedics were inside
immediately, gurney in tow.
I raised my head from Scully's blouse and squeezed
her hand one last time. I smiled and smoothed her
hair away from her face. A paramedic placed one hand
upon her back and the other below her knees to lift
her from the cold floor onto the stretcher. "You're
gonna be fine, Scully. Everything'll be just fine."
I walked along beside the stretcher, my oversized
hand still clutching hers. It was almost perfect how
our hands fit together, hers so tiny that it almost
fit into my palm. Such a tiny hand for such a strong
woman, I thought. Strong enough to hang on to life as
powerfully as she clutched me.
The wheels rolled through the door and outside onto
the pavement. As I loaded into the ambulance
alongside her, the air was flooded with EMS workers
screaming vital signs and treatment commands.
"Let's get two large bore IV's, lactated ringers.
Pressure?" the chief medic shouted.
"90 over 60. Airway and breathing established,"
another replied, pressing an oxygen mask over
Scully's mouth. He slammed the door as we drove away,
sirens screaming.
I didn't speak, but simply kept my firm grasp of her
hand, hoping that my presence was a comfort to her.
It wasn't her time to die. Not yet. And I was going to
do everything in my power to prevent that from
happening.
END Ch. 1
-----------------------------------------------------
Title: Tonight I've Watched
Author: Emily Todd Carter
Genre: MSR/UST, M Angst
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: It's not like anyone who matters will
read this, much less sue me.
Summary: (see previous)
Chapter Two...A Pause For Redemption
Georgetown Memorial Hospital
Trauma Unit One
7:34 P.M.
The hospital doors burst open before us as Scully
was wheeled into the white-walled hallway. The
three EMT's, clothed neatly in crisp white scrubs
that now sported stains of my partner's spilled
blood, were promptly accompanied by various other
doctors and emergency room personnel.
"Thirty-five year old Caucasian female, status
post sucking gunshot wound to the right flank,
found conscious at the scene; vital signs
stable…," shouted one EMT to the doctor beside
him. His superior glanced quickly at Scully's pale
skin, now slightly turning a shade of blue, and
sweaty brow as she gasped sharply for air and
fought to stay awake.
"Look's like we've got a pneumothorax to the right
lung. I'm gonna need a local anaesthetic and 2
quarts of o-negative. Let's get her to surgery
with a chest x-ray immediately."
An Asian nurse to one side recorded vitals and
treatment commands on a clipboard. She
exasperatingly glanced at me as I clutched
Scully's hand and walked briskly alongside the
gurney.
"Sir, are you the husband?" she asked, pausing
from her work.
"Uh, no," I replied, turning back to Scully. Her
shirt and bra, now sodden with crimson fluid, were
continuing to be soaked as fresh blood drizzled
from her wound. My partner's head rolled back and
forth as her eyes began to flutter.
"Heart rate is dropping! This woman needs a chest
tube right now!" another doctor yelled, turning to
open the door to the trauma room.
"Sir, you're going to have to leave. The doctors
need their space, Sir," the Asian nurse shouted as
she grabbed my arm. I brushed her away and leaned
closer to Scully, avoiding the hands of the
doctors and EMTs.
"We're almost there, Scully. You're gonna be
alright, ok? Just hold on," I murmered, barely
audible above the pandemonium in the room. Her
eyes flickered open briefly and met mine with a
strong gaze of determination. She started to speak
and stopped as her eyes widened. Suddenly, she
began to convulse with wracking coughs. I drew
back as vomit gushed from her mouth. I winced and
squeezed her hand as she lay her red-crowned head
back down upon the stretcher.
Scully's eyes closed. The nurse behind me
threatened to call security.
"Hang on, Scully," I said, and released her hand.
The mass of medics wheeled her into the trauma
room, preparing for surgery. The doors swung shut
behind them, leaving me alone in the white-walled
hallway.
I stayed there for a long moment, my gaze not
fluctuating in the least. Nurses and paramedics
dashed past and collided with me, not bothering to
excuse themselves. I'm positive that the sounds of
the hallway were deafening, yet I heard only the
unremitting pounding of my heart inside my chest.
Waiting.
What is waiting but anticipation of the unknown?
To wait is to sit idly by as the future suddenly
becomes the present, and eventually the past. We
watch opportunities pass in the blink of an eye
and gaze back at them with regret and
disappointment, wishing somehow that we had
recognized their significance before it was too
late. And then we wait once again for the next
opportunity to present itself, praying that we
will somehow seize it before it can slip through
our fingers like so many before.
I myself have learned to accept waiting as as much
a part of life as any other daily activity. All
too many years I have spent waiting for the moment
to come when I shall be truly content. When I
shall be able to prove to Scully, as well as
myself, that all of the years we have sent
searching and fighting have not been spent in
vain. When the Truth will be unveiled before her
incredulous eyes and she will be no longer capable
of denying the things she has seen.
And so I waited.
I waited for hours that night, though it seemed
like days or even years. My unwavering eyes were
focused on the clock hanging high above the
hospital waiting room doorway. With each second
that passed, I felt the pain of my suffering
partner only two rooms away.
--Tick-tock, tick-tock.--
All that mattered was time now. The seconds turned
to minutes, and the minutes to hours. It was as if
my life revolved around those three rotating
hands, spinning around and around. Peripheral
vision ceased to exist, and I was only
semiconsciously aware of my surroundings. I remain
with my elbows on my knees and hands clutching my
ruined jacket.
Parts of the jacket now matched my hands, stained
with the scarlet blood of my partner. The jacket
had been used in attempts to stop the bleeding.
But it hadn't stopped, and Scully lay on an
operating table at the hands of doctors hopefully
doing anything and everything possible to help her
hang on to life.
As I waited there for those long hours, I was
forced to trust those doctors treating my partner.
I was not accustomed to placing such faith in
anyone, especially concerning Scully. Would they
be doing everything in their power to save the
life of the only woman I trusted?
The gentle touch of a hand on my shoulder brought
me back into reality. I turned to face the Asian
nurse I had encountered before.
"Hmm?" I asked, placing my face into the palms of
my hands and rubbing my sore eyes. She smiled and
revealed too-white-to-be-natural teeth against her
almond colored skin.
"We're going to need you to fill these out,
please, Sir," she said, presenting a short stack
of forms attached to a clipboard. "Who's the next
of kin?"
I was then struck with a pang of emotion.
Realization, mixed with guilt and fear. Scully's
mother would soon arrive. Would she, could she,
possibly forgive me for the pain I had failed to
keep her daughter from being forced to endure? Did
Maggie Scully have enough compassion inside her
not to blame me for what her daughter was going
through?
"Her mother.... I know where she can be reached,"
I replied. The nurse nodded and drew a notepad
from the pocket of her fuchsia scrubs. She jotted
down the telephone number I recited and left to
call from the front desk.
And so I passed the next hour of waiting by
filling out form after form concerning everything
from medical insurance to allergies. Occupying my
time didn't seem to assist the minutes in passing
any faster, though. No word came from the trauma
room.
Once I had completed the forms, I arose and walked
to the counter to hand the forms in to the nurse.
My feet were lead and it took every ounce of
strength I possessed to will them into moving, but
I eventually reached the counter. She thanked me
and resumed the telephone conversation she had
been previously involved in. I turned and headed
back to my seat.
As I slowly trudged forward, I paused and glanced
ahead at the doors to the trauma room swinging
open.
First to pass through was an EMT, backing into the
door to keep it from closing upon the gurney he
towed behind him. As he passed into the hallway,
the contents of his stretcher were revealed.
A living, breathing, Dana Katherine Scully covered
in her own blood. Her delicate eyelids were closed
and her rose-colored lips were slightly upturned
in what I was convinced resembled a smile.
I could only grin and follow the train of medical
personnel to the ICU.
My Scully had fought death, once again, as it
stared her straight in the eyes, threatening to
swallow her entire body and soul.
And, once again, she had won.
I didn't leave her side once that night. Not for
coffee, not to sleep, not even to use the
restroom. Though the doctor had reassured me of
her stable condition following his explanation of
her treatment and prognosis, I clung to my
habitual paranoia. I had come so close to losing
her only hours ago that I felt to leave her would
be risking losing her again. Somehow, I knew that
she needed my presence as much as I needed hers.
The ER doctor that had performed Scully's
operation informed me that she had endured a
pneumothorax to the right lung as a result of the
bullet fired. It was a simple procedure, he had
explained, that included anesthetizing her and
inserting a chest tube to allow the collapsed lung
to reinflate. It would only be a matter of time
before she awoke.
And so the doctors came and went, as did the
nurses, attaching IV's and taking notes on her
vitals and such. I remained seated in a cushioned
chair at her bedside, almost completely oblivious
of my surroundings; therefore, I barely realized
when I was left alone in room number 423 of the
Intensive Care Unit with my partner, who remained
fast asleep.
The monotonous beeping of her heart monitor kept
the rhythm of her steady breathing. Breathing. My
Scully was breathing, and I was somehow thanking a
God I barely believed in. Could He possibly
understand what this woman who lay sleeping before
me meant to me, to my life? Was it some form of
divine intervention that had delivered this woman
from the shadow of death that loomed so near her
not too long ago?
I could only contemplate these questions and many
others as I waited those grueling hours for
Scully's eyes to flutter open and for her to ask
me, ‘Mulder? Where am I?' in her groggy morning
voice I knew too well. But, until that moment, I
simply gazed at her, absorbing her every motion.
She was dressed in a pale blue hospital gown,
resembling the hue of the blouse I had ruined as I
tore it open to reveal her wound. The hospital
sheets and blanket were laid gingerly over her
chest. I watched them slightly rise and fall with
each breath.
I knew that Scully didn't want me to see her like
this, drugged and unconscious, marred and
helpless. Had I ever seen her face so pale? I
couldn't recall. But, somehow, her expression was
not one of fear… It was more of an expression of
satisfaction. Scully had taken the bullet for her
partner, a duty every member of the Bureau was
trained and expected to fulfill.
By then, the tiny thought I had been neglecting
like an old electric bill suddenly struck, sending
chills along my spine. Scully shouldn't be lying
here on this bed.
I should have been the one to take that bullet.
Fox Mulder, Oxford degree in psychology. Was I not
the one renowned for my expertise on infiltrating
the minds of criminals? How many times before had
I realized the notions of the villain at hand and
dealt accordingly, and with haste? Why, God, why
had I allowed Scully to step in and control the
situation?
Scully, my constant, my companion, the only one
that understands. If only I had pushed her back,
had stepped before her and taken that bullet. I
would be lying on this stiff hospital bed. I would
be the one suffering and regurgitating and being
drugged and undergoing operations…
Silence.
Beep…beep...beep…beep…
>Dr. Barrows to the ER, Dr. Barrows to the ER>
Beep…beep…beep…beep…
Scully's heart monitor kept a steady rhythm.
I became acutely aware of the soft clicking of a
closing door behind me.
"Fox?"
Swiveling my head to face the direction of the
soothing, familiar voice, I offered a gracious
grin to Maggie Scully and slowly stood to greet
her. She crossed the few feet separating us and
wrapped her arms around my chest in a warm
embrace. Her head barely reached my chin, and I
could feel her shivering despite the woolen
sweater she adorned. Maggie's hair smelled of
rosemary and lavender. It smelled like…home.
God, how she reminded me of her daughter in ways I
could never begin to describe.
"Oh, Fox. The doctor said she was going to be
okay. Is she going to be okay, Fox?" she asked,
not bothering to mask her swelled cheeks and moist
eyes as she drew away from me and faced Scully.
I didn't speak. I searched for words, but couldn't
determine the right ones, so silence seemed
sufficient for the moment. Maggie approached the
bedside with trepidation and took in the full
scope of her wounded daughter.
Extending her trembling hand, she reached for
Scully's ashen face and ran a finger along her
cheek. She slowly stroked her only daughter's
smooth skin with a mother's touch. I turned away
as I noticed a stray tear drop to the sheet below.
"Who did this, Fox? Why would someone want to hurt
her?"
She fell with resignation to the chair that I had
occupied not minutes ago, her head bowed. We
mutually understood that neither of these
questions merited answered, at least at the
moment. She did not need answers. She was not
searching to place the blame.
Hence followed a silence during which I came to
realize that she was praying.
I stepped alongside her chair and found her hand
that rested upon her lap. She grasped it with the
strength only a Scully could possess at a time
like this. She did not lift her eyes, although I
felt she could sense mine close.
And so, I began to pray.
END Chapter 2
-------------------------------------------------------------
Title: Tonight I've Watched
Author: Emily Todd Carter
Genre: MSR/UST, Angst
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: It's not like anyone who matters will
read this, much less sue me.
Summary: 3/? (Takes place around 5th or 6th season) A
bullet taken one chilly November evening leads to the
merging of two separate paths, two separate people
already walking side by side.
Chapter Three...He Called Me Starbuck
"Call me Ishmael," I read aloud.
Scully didn't stir, as I had anticipated, so I continued to read.
"Some years ago-never mind how long precisely-having little or no
money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I
thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the
world."
I glanced up from the pages of Moby Dick to linger on the image of my
sleeping partner. I silently closed the book, the distinguished scent
of aged paper wafting through the air. It was quickly replaced by the
smell of a hospital, metallic and medical, with a twist of bleach.
It was Tuesday morning and the sky was expressing its lament. Not
pouring or drizzling, but a steady fall that had lasted most of the
night. The room was silent aside from the patter of the gentle shower
on the windowsill.
I stood and watched her sleep, one hand in the pocket of the same
jeans, which I hadn't changed for days and the other grasping the
closed novel. Its threadbare cover had faded to a shade of pale green,
its feeble binding barely securing its yellowed pages. The tattered
volume radiated childhood memories with the turn of each leaf, and
somehow I could envision Starbuck cuddled in the lap of her Ahab, the
glow of a winter's fire pervading the living room, simply from holding
it.
I suppose that my ultimate intention was to bring Scully home to this
place, home to the days of her innocent youth, while she slept. When
nothing else mattered but finishing homework in time for The Brady
Bunch, and there was nothing to fear late at night beyond the
fantastic tales of her older brother's imagination.
I laid the book upon her bedside table. Seating myself in the chair, I
once again became immersed in the gentle rhythm of her breathing. Each
exhalation fluttered a lock of crimson hair away from the smooth
curves of her cheek and back again. Scully's eyelids seemed to dance
as she dreamed, sporadically trembling in the slightest.
Please be dreaming of someplace far, far away from here.
I leaned forward, the chair faintly protesting, and delicately brushed
the stray wisp away from her face. I lingered for a moment, breathing
silently as not to awaken her.
Hey, Scully. Everything's fine now. There's nothing to be afraid of.
You're safe, we're both safe, so you can wake up. I'm right here,
Scully.
I returned to the chair, resting my elbows on my knees and massaging
my temples with my fingertips. The motions required energy, something
of which I significantly lacked at the moment. My body cried and
pleaded for sleep as my physical exhaustion combined with my mental
fatigue. Somehow I knew, though, that I could never allow myself to
sleep until Scully awoke.
Scully rarely lets me down.
The sheets before me rustled slightly, indicating a movement from
within. I instantly lifted my gaze to observe my partner's eyes feebly
flutter open and blink. I met her weary gaze with a smile.
Her pale lips parted in a tiny yawn before smiling in return.
Something inside me melted, beginning deep within my chest and
spreading to the tips of my fingers and toes. My heart refused to
beat, a brief cessation ensued by a rapid thudding as it quickly
picked up pace. I realized I had been holding my breath and slowly
released it as Scully wanly whispered,
"I had you bigtime, Mulder."
~**~
As the elevator doors parted before me with a quiet chime, the silence
of the elevator was invaded by the cacophony of the second floor of
the hospital. Not a single glance was passed my way as I stepped out
into the busy hallway, narrowly avoiding the path of a stretcher being
rushed past me through the open doors. I slipped one of the steaming
paper cups I was holding into my overcoat as I maneuvered my way to
the third door on the left.
Slightly pushing aside the curtain, I glanced through the window.
Scully was sitting up in bed, her head turned in the direction of the
window opposite the door.
Not bothering to knock in an attempt to remain unnoticed by the doctor
swiftly approaching, I cracked the door and slipped into the room,
turning to click it softly behind me.
"Mulder, I'd complain about the fact that you're not carrying any
flowers, but caffeine withdrawal is hell."
I smiled and turned to face her. Her eyebrow was raised, her shoulders
were back, but I felt a sting as I noticed the way she was slightly
hunched to the left, favoring the bandage I knew lay beneath her gown.
"I assumed as much," I said, crossing the room to hand her the cup of
coffee beneath my coat. She closed her eyes and savored the aroma for
a moment before sipping it and sighing. Her shoulders sank, her face
relaxed, and she whispered,
"Now I can die a happy woman."
She smiled and opened her eyes, meeting mine as I sipped my own cup.
"You're easy to please, Scully," I replied. We remained silent for a
moment, and I turned to remove my jacket and pull a chair beside her
bed, lowering myself into it and relaxing against the back.
She nodded and allowed her gaze to wander in the direction of the
window. The glow of the overhead lights cast a pallid shadow on her
face and cheeks, now so shrunken and faint. I couldn't tear my eyes
from protrusion of her jawbone and contrast of her pale skin against
the sky blue hospital gown loosely draped across her shoulders.
She kept her countenance strong, her demeanor resilient, but she
couldn't hide the effects of her substantial blood loss and resultant
physical decline and weakness. Were I to mention anything, though, her
harsh glare and pert "Mulder, I can take care of myself" would only
drive her farther away.
She already seemed so distant.
"I thought I was stronger than this, Mulder," she said, her eyes
remaining fixed upon the splash of the raindrops on the windowsill.
She seemed to have lost interest in the steaming coffee she continued
to clutch.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, awaiting clarification.
"Mulder, I've always relied upon the strength of my beliefs, drawn
upon my faith as a source of comfort, a constant in this dynamic life
I've chosen," she began, her eyes focused on the whitewashed sheets
below her. She fingered the hem of the covers, toying with a loose
thread.
"My faith in you, in myself, and in God."
I swallowed silently.
"And you've kept that faith, Scully. More assiduously than could have
possibly been expected, considering your experiences."
She absently reached for the base of her neck, fingering the tiny
cross that lay upon the pastel skin. Pausing for a moment, she turned
in my direction and locked her gaze with mine.
"Mulder, while I was lying on that floor, watching my blood spread
across the tiles, and you were speaking to me...you were
talking...Mulder, I was facing death, staring it straight in the eye,
and...I was terrified."
She regained her composure, suppressing the tears threatening to fall
upon her cheeks.
"I thought I was stronger than this, Mulder. I've faced death before.
Mulder, I can't even remember if I was thinking about God."
I let her continue, her voice progressively rising.
"Suppose I hadn't survived, Mulder. Suppose my life had slipped away
as easily as the blood from this wound, and the last thing God heard
before my soul left this earth was,
I don't want to die.
Damn it, Mulder, what kind of faith is that?"
I didn't speak but let the tears already beginning to drop trickle
down her cheeks. She inhaled sharply and turned away, whispering,
"What kind of faith is that?"
The rain continued to fall upon the window. The wind from the
impending storm gently shook the pane, scattering the drops in various
directions. I remained silent for a moment before standing and
approaching the bed to touch her fingers, raising them gently from the
sheet. Not allowing my eyes to wander from them, I murmured,
"To me, it's the strongest kind of faith. The kind of faith
unwillingly to yield."
She didn't turn.
I let her fingers fall back upon the sheets.
Padding softly across the floor, I pulled my coat from the chair and
headed for the door. Grasping the handle, I turned to meet her watery
gaze for a moment. Her eyes were blue that day.
I opened the door silently and left her room, draping the coat across
my shoulders to fight the quiet rain.
END Ch. 3
---------------------------------------------------------
Title: Tonight I've Watched
Author: Emily Todd Carter
Genre: MSR/UST, Angst
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: It's not like anyone who matters will
read this, much less sue me.
Summary: 4/? (Takes place around 5th or 6th season) A
bullet taken one chilly November evening leads to the
merging of two separate paths, two separate people
already walking side by side.
After fumbling in my pockets for the keys, I reached for the knob of
the office door, only to realize that it had already been opened.
Puzzled, I stepped into the office. A welcome surge of familiarity
flooded my thoughts as I smiled at the woman rearranging the papers
and files scattered across my desk.
"I thought you wouldn't be back until Monday, Scully," I said as I
stripped my coat and turned to hang it on the back of the door. Facing
her again, I was answered with a simple smile and lifting of her
eyebrows, an unspoken statement of, What did you expect?
"Jesus, Mulder. I'm gone for a month and you succeed in reconstructing
Hiroshima in the basement," she muttered, standing slowly to replace
some files in the cabinets behind the desk.
"You mean you weren't invited to the Bureau Basement Beer Bash last
week, Scully?"
I crossed my arms and smirked, leaning against the desk as she turned,
glaring, and sat back down. I watched her finish reorganizing the
desk, trying not to flinch as I noticed her strained efforts to reach
for the pencil cup. She didn't grimace or tremble as her side pressed
against the desk, the pain searing through her chest.
But I did.
I reached across the desk and grabbed the cup for her, placing it in
her hand. She coolly accepted it, her eyes focused forward, away from
my gaze. Her jaw was clenched; she swallowed and raised her chin.
I let go of the cup and pushed away from desk.
"Coffee, Scully?" I asked, heading for the door.
"No, thanks," she murmured.
Entering the darkened hallway, I absently began to unbutton and roll
my sleeves as I approached the steaming coffee machine. After pouring
myself a steaming Styrofoam cup, I replaced the coffee pot and leaned
against the wall.
I closed my eyes and breathed in the steam for a moment. That
definitely hadn't gone well, I thought.
She had awoken from her coma only three weeks earlier and had left the
hospital a week after that. Two weeks at home hadn't seemed to me
enough time for a full recovery, but Scully had insisted on returning
to work as soon as her body would allow her, if not before.
Her mother had stayed with her during the first week of her release,
despite her insistence that she was competent to care for herself. Her
inability to walk, though, precluded any chance of living alone until
she was no longer bound to a wheelchair.
I brought her dinner every other night after her mother left. Her
restlessness was obvious, and her boredom even more so. Oddly enough,
she had taken to watching Oprah...
Forced to work alone in the office for the first time in years, I had
found myself uninterested and accomplished virtually zero. More than
once, I needed a second opinion on a prospective case but hesitated to
call Scully on any matter related to work, wishing to keep her from
any unnecessary anxiety. She had been shot the last time she tried to
help me.
The days had been monotonous, the hours long, and the silence
unbearable. Silence brought thought, thought brought memories,
memories brought guilt. Little things would trigger my mind-the extra
pair of hose in the bottom desk drawer that Scully didn't think I knew
was there, an old receipt from a take-out lunch months before, my key
to Scully's apartment...
She wasn't there because she had taken that bullet for me.
The phone rang down the hall and silenced as Scully picked up the
receiver. I began to walk back into the office, rolling my other
sleeve in the process. Turning into the doorway, I stood listening to
Scully talk.
"Okay, we'll be right there," she said, staring at me. "Yeah, okay,
thanks."
She hung up the receiver and stood, straightening her jacket.
"That was Skinner's secretary."
I nodded.
She walked around the desk, and I grabbed my coat from the door,
tossing the remainder of my coffee in the trashcan. I followed her out
of the office and down the hall, realizing how much I had missed the
sound of her heels clicking on the tiles beneath my feet.
We didn't speak on the elevator or in the crowded hallway leading to
Skinner's office. Scully kept her cool composure, meeting the stare of
other agents with an aloof gaze mastered by years of isolation in a
bottom-level office of the Bureau. People knew what had happened; yet
not one said a word.
I unconsciously guided her into the anteroom, surprised at her flinch
in response. Glancing downward, I watched as she kept her eyes focused
ahead and continued into the room. I sighed quietly and followed.
Maybe four weeks had been too long...
"He's waiting for you, agents," the blonde secretary said without
looking up from the computer screen. I noted Scully's slow intake of
breath as she paused to rest her hand on the door. Her eyes floated
downward to focus on the handle, and she lowered her head slightly.
Concerned, I touched her arm cautiously. "You okay, Scully?"
She rubbed her hand across her forehead for a moment before answering,
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."
I looked away and clenched my jaw as I pushed the door open before us.
Skinner stood as we entered the office, leaning across his desk to
shake Scully's hand. She smiled forcibly and took her seat beside me.
As if on cue, we crossed our legs simultaneously in opposite
directions. She didn't seem to notice, and I never had before. Four
weeks had been too long...
"Agent Scully, it's great to see you on your feet again, although
you're not technically supposed to be here until Monday."
Skinner raised his eyebrows at her and glanced at me.
He isn't actually accusing me of talking her into this, is he? I
thought, glaring back but brushing it off. He rested his arms on the
desk, folding his hands. Scanning the counter, I noted an unusual
profusion of paper and files beneath him, too many for a typical case.
"Anyway, I'm sure you're both aware of the Bureau's recent loss in
Violent Crimes," he began, awaiting my customary interjection.
"Hudson Barrows, sixty-eight. Lung cancer." I glanced at Scully and
Skinner, respectively, and continued. "He was known as the division's
most experienced and valuable profiler since Robert Ressler and
facilitated the capture of over two hundred serial murderers and
rapists. I worked under him for a year after I left the Academy."
Skinner nodded. "Needless to say, there's been much debate as to his
successor."
I froze, and sensed Scully's apprehension as she recrossed her legs.
"The head of the VC has been considering the leaders of each unit
Barrows controlled, but it may be weeks before a final decision is
made. Valuable weeks," he said, though I knew that he meant "expensive
weeks", and I was fully aware of the direction in which he was headed.
My suspicions were confirmed as he met my eyes and continued.
"Considering your background, Agent Mulder, and Agent Scully's
temporary incapacity to enter the field, you've been elected the
temporary candidate for replacement. For the next four weeks, you'll
be filling Barrows' position in the Violent Crimes Unit."
Without pausing in reaction to my fuming, "Sir-," he turned to Scully.
"Scully, you'll be temporarily reassigned to the Pathology Lab for the
duration of these four weeks. You'll be working under a Dr..."
He flipped through a small stack of papers on the desk before locating
a packet. Glancing at the top sheet, he stood and handed it to Scully.
"Randall Miller. He'll be contacting you shortly."
Coolly, Scully pursed her lips and accepted the papers without
glancing at them. I interpreted this reaction as a signal that she
shared my fury at this outrageous reassignment, and I turning my head
to confirm this with our notorious unspoken communication.
I'm positive that she saw me turn, that she felt my eyes watching her,
waiting for her to glance back as usual, her silent expression of They
can't do this, in response to my Can I fight back now?
But she didn't turn.
Her eyes remained focused on Skinner, ignoring my silent screams.
I bit my cheek and focused my own glare on the Assistant Director, his
hands now neatly crossed once again atop his desk. I didn't need her
permission.
"Sir, I find it difficult to believe that you've found someone
qualified to continue our work on the X-Files during our absence," I
snapped.
Skinner glanced at his hands. "The X-Files will be temporarily shut
down until a permanent replacement for Barrows is found."
Instinctively, my furious eyes shot to meet my partners' beside me.
She inhaled deeply for a moment while focusing ahead, and I almost
thought she wouldn't turn.
Slowly, though, she rolled her eyes over at me, tilting her head in my
direction. *Go ahead.* she told me, without saying a word. I almost
smiled.
"Temporarily shut down? What kind of bullshit is that, Sir?" I said,
my voice a tad beyond the social norm.
"Mulder, you don't actually think I'm the one doing this, do you?" he
retorted, his face beginning to turn slightly pink.
"I think you're the one not doing anything to stop it!" I yelled,
rising to my feet. "How many times are they gonna taunt us with this,
Sir? Dammit, tell me why they haven't just shut us down for good!"
Shooting out of his chair and pulling his glasses off of his face,
Skinner clenched his fist and roared, "Who the hell do you think
fought to make this temporary, Agent Mulder?"
We stared silently at one another for a moment, Skinner's face
returning to normal hue and my quickened breaths subsiding. They had
thrown this at us before, and they'd do it again. But I had yet to
concede to their seemingly invincible methods of manipulation.
If this went higher than the office in which I stood, then higher I
intended to fight.
I opened my mouth to inform the assistant director of my intentions,
to let him know that we meant to pull whatever strings necessary to
effect the reinstatement of the office I had struggled so long to
establish, but I was stopped by a gentle tug on the sleeve of my
jacket.
Turning my head downward to face Scully, I stared angrily at her
imploring eyes. She was telling me to sit down.
"Not here," she mouthed silently, begging me to comply.
I wouldn't be fighting this alone.
I lowered myself slowly into the cushioned chair. Skinner remained
standing, but searched his desk for another packet of papers.
"You'll report to VC tomorrow morning," he said, handing me the
papers. "You're dismissed."
Muttering the requisite "Thank you, Sir," we rose and walked slowly
toward the door. As Scully reached for the handle, Skinner spoke.
"Don't stop swimming, Agent Mulder."
I turned to meet his eyes, pausing for a moment to watch him sit back
down, before following Scully out the door.
We didn't speak on the walk to the elevator, my rush of adrenaline
thudding in my ears. Scully walked a step ahead and to the side, per
usual, and weaved us a path between the oncoming rush of agents. The
elevator emptied as it arrived, a blur of black suits and briefcases,
cell-phones and ties.
We boarded alone, and Scully pressed the lowest button mechanically
before stepping back to cross her arms. I waited until the doors had
closed with a chime before I spoke.
"I could've used your support back there."
She sighed and closed her eyes briefly. "It wasn't the place, Mulder.
Skinner said it himself-it goes much higher than this."
I faced the doors, bowing my head. She was right. It did go much
higher than this. The chances were great that at the end of these four
weeks, the office I had frequented more often than my apartment for
the last five years might once again take up its function as the home
of the copy machine.
"I hope the man upstairs has a moment between tee times four weeks
from tomorrow," I said, glancing down at her. She looked up.
"Mulder, what makes you so certain that they're really shutting us
down?"
The elevator chimed as it came to rest on the basement floor. The
doors opened before us.
"What makes you so certain they aren't?" I asked.
She stepped out and began to walk slowly down the hall, the echo of
her heels reverberating off the walls. I remained in the elevator,
holding the door for a moment.
"Scully," I began.
She paused and turned, the dim light off the hallway casting a shadow
across her face.
"You will back me up on this, won't you?"
Her expression remained static apart from a tiny smile, almost
sympathetic. Her eyes were troubled-more than usual, anyway. Perhaps
it was the pain medication, perhaps simple exhaustion.
Scully wasn't the same woman that had taken that bullet for me four
weeks before.
She quietly swung her heel, hesitating, and continued into the office.
I left the elevator and followed.
END Ch. 4
----------------------------------------------------
Title: Tonight I've Watched
Author: Emily Todd Carter
Genre: MSR/UST, Angst
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: It's not like anyone who matters will
read this, much less sue me.
Summary: 5/? (Takes place around 5th or 6th season) A
bullet taken one chilly November evening leads to the
merging of two separate paths, two separate people
already walking side by side.
NOTE: This takes place right where Chapter 4 left off...
OTHER NOTE: The microscope is really in the office in a few of the
episodes...look for it.
I entered the office while shedding my coat, pausing behind Scully to
stare at the man standing in the back of the room. With his back
turned to us, he seemed oblivious to our presence and completely
absorbed in something atop the file cabinet.
"Can we help you?" Scully asked with a hint of negativity.
Startled, the man jumped and almost dropped whatever it was he had
just lifted from the cabinet. Turning, his face reddened behind his
glasses, a sharp contrast to his sandy blonde hair.
"I'm sorry to intrude, really. The office was empty when I came down,
and I was about to leave when I noticed this microscope on your
shelf."
He paused. I glared at him.
"Where did you get this?" he asked.
I kept glaring. "And you are...," I said, feeling slightly less than
exuberant.
"Oh, yes, I'm sorry," he replied, crossing the office with the
microscope. He extended his hand to Scully and smiled. "Dr. Randall
Miller, Pathology."
She forced a smile in return and accepted his hand. "Scully," she
said.
"I assumed as much," he grinned, pointing the microscope in the
direction of her hair. She nodded slowly and glanced at me. Miller
stepped toward me and reached forward.
He was tall, yet slightly shorter than me, and perhaps a little older,
though not by much. He wore the standard black coat, badge, and
pinstriped tie, his sleeves tightly buttoned and shirt neatly pressed.
"Mulder," I said, shaking his hand. "And it was here when they gave me
the office."
He seemed slightly puzzled for a moment, but quickly recovered. "Ah,
yes. Well, I don't suppose you wish to sell it then. It's quite
beautiful, wouldn't you say? An early Leitz brass and black,
three-lens turret still intact. 1921 model, if I'm not mistaken." He
continued to gaze at the antique, turning it to inspect every side
while adjusting his glasses.
I closed the office door behind me and hung my coat on the hook.
Crossing the room to my desk, I lowered myself into the chair and lay
back, crossing my ankles on the countertop. Scully glared at me from
across the room. Crossing her arms, she interrupted Miller's
fascination.
"Is there something you need?" she led, nodding toward a sheet of
paper in his other hand.
Sighing, he glanced at the paper, his face lighting up. "Oh, yes, of
course." He smiled. "I assume that you've been informed of your
temporary reassignment to my division."
She nodded impassively, an obvious display of her unenthusiastic
attitude and a sharp contrast to his apparent exhilaration
about...everything.
"Well, I thought I'd show you around your new office, maybe help you
get settled in before Monday."
She arched her eyebrows in surprise. I spoke up before she could
reply.
"She's about to ask if that office comes with a desk," I smirked,
staring at her.
She turned and glared at me before responding to Miller's proposal.
"Sound's great." She approached the desk to set her stack of papers
beside the computer. With a final, unreadable glance in my direction,
she allowed the man to guide her out the door of the office.
Miller turned to close the door with a nod in my direction. "Nice
meeting you, Agent Mulder."
I mumbled some inaudible reply before the door shut with a click.
The office was silent once again.
I couldn't shake the image of the man guiding my partner out of the
door.
She didn't flinch.
The biting chill of Washington in December whipped across my cheeks as
I paced out onto the corner of Pennsylvania and 10th. Shoving one
trembling hand into the pocket of my coat and waving the other at the
onslaught of rush hour cabs, I stepped onto the curb. I paused for the
customary mêlée between the oncoming taxis and slid gratefully into
the warm backseat of the victor.
Sighing, I said, "Alexandria, please," to the driver and lay by head
back upon the cushion.
Leave it to the FBI to issue fleet sedans with defective
transmissions.
I had been greeted at 7:23 that morning by such a new discovery in my
car and had been forced to call a cab in order to arrive at work
before eight. Pissed as I had entered the office, I left my
frustrations at the door upon the familiar sight of Scully behind my
desk once again.
So quickly did my exasperation return, as I was stunned so many times
that day by her offhand refusals to reply to the simplest of requests,
the way she cringed whenever I drew near enough to touch her.
I had presumed that her detached demeanor could only have been a
result of her injury or month-long absence until she had allowed that
obnoxious man to lead her slowly from the office...
I lifted my head from the cushion and stared absently at the park
outside the frosty window. Normally, I wouldn't have expected myself
to notice such a trivial thing, much less react to it. But, today
hadn't been a normal day, and Scully had been even more distant than
normal.
She had been injured, yes. But she had been hurt, too.
The cab passed the park and turned at an intersection, barely avoiding
a stray pedestrian in the process. My thoughts drifted to Scully's
unclaimed coat still draped across the back of the desk chair when I
left. She hadn't returned after leaving with Agent Miller earlier that
morning.
The day had passed even more slowly than usual, of course, and I had
attempted to occupy my time by finishing the task of cleaning my desk
that she had begun. Of course, this had taken up the remainder of the
day, and a stack of files still remained to be sorted.
Scully would have been impressed, though. Had she been acting
normally.
But something was off...something wasn't right. Given, Scully's
dispositions could be unpredictable at times--I had come to accept
that fact years ago. And she had never been exceedingly comfortable
with my constant invasion of her personal space, but...
I closed my eyes to the onslaught of memories of the day...
The coarse fabric of her coat shying away at my touch.
Her eyes cast downward, not daring to meet my gaze, as she walked
slowly into the office to leave me alone, confused in the sudden chill
of the elevator.
The way she had almost seemed relieved to be leaving me. Almost as if
something had changed while she had been away, some wall had been
obstructed between us while my back had been turned, unaware.
That night in the hospital, she had seemed so distant, as if some
surreal hand had been keeping her away, safe, from me and from death.
Had she grasped that hand as she had held mine so precious few times
before?
Was it leading her away from me to protect her? Or was she willfully
taking a different path, separate from the one we had shared for so
brief a time?
I hesitated as the cab approached the bridge to Alexandria.
I don't want to do this alone. I don't even know if I can.
I spoke before I could convince myself otherwise.
"Actually, ya know, uh, let's go to Georgetown. Let's go to
Georgetown."
It was already dark when I jogged up the stairs to Scully's apartment
building, nodding to her landlord as he held the door for me. The
warmth of the white-walled hallway was almost comforting as I passed
the golden-numbered doors to reach the stair.
The carpeted passage to her apartment seemed endless; the journey took
seconds. My hand instinctively reached to my coat pocket for the key,
but I hesitated.
I had let myself into her apartment so many times before without a
second thought. So many times before...
But that morning she had pulled away. And that day she hadn't
returned.
I would wait outside the apartment. She wouldn't be long.
Placing my hands in my pockets, I rested upon the door and glanced at
my watch.
Perhaps I should have brought her something, bought an excuse for my
impulsiveness. She had seemed to grow tired of alternating between
pizza and Chinese during the past month, though. Besides, bringing her
dinner might have been misinterpreted as an indication that I still
considered her injured rather than capable of caring for herself.
God, the look she had given me when I had helped her clean the desk
that morning...
Perhaps that was precisely the root of her remoteness-my overbearing
inclination to protect her. My obsessive tendency to treat her as
fragile and incapable of providing for her own needs.
Maybe four weeks alone to reflect on what had gone wrong between us so
many years ago, what had led us down this path that had kept us
together-though at a comfortable distance, had been enough to realize
that she needed more out of the life she had promised herself.
The life she I knew that I couldn't give her.
I waited for hours that night. My thoughts incoherent, suppressed
memories resurfacing.
...So you can clear your conscience and your name?! You've been making
reports on me since the beginning Scully, taking your little notes!
...Don't ask me for my trust!
My eyes remained focused upon the whitewashed wall before me,
unwilling to close despite the looming fatigue. I hadn't slept well in
four weeks. I hadn't eaten well in four weeks, either, and my belts
had been traded in for dusty ones from college, settled on the floor
of my muddled closet.
...Not everything is about you, Mulder. This is my life.
My own personal well being had been given second priority to Scully's
recovery. Sleeping brought dreams of her blood spilled across the
tiled floor, her sodden blouse drenching my hands.
Didn't she understand? Couldn't she tell? She may be able to function
without me, but her security was the only thing that mattered to me
now.
...It just doesn't hold the interest for me that it once did.
True, she had deserved a rest from the chaotic lifestyle she had
chosen when she decided to follow me. But, maybe Scully had come to
realize that she no longer wished to tag along on every eight hundred
mile witch-hunt that sparked my curiosity. She had never ceased to
exhibit her lack of enthusiasm for my ever so slightly unconventional
case selections, but her façade had always been feigned...
Hadn't it?
By nine I had decided to leave, unsure of whether I was about to make
a terrible mistake by confronting her about this, about us. I hadn't a
clue where she would be, or whom she was with, for that matter, but
drowning myself in the six-pack looming in my refrigerator was
becoming an increasingly enticing prospect.
I sighed. Increasingly enticing in the respect that the biting silence
would become a hum, a ringing, as I'd slowly drink myself to sleep.
Alone.
I'd done it before, of course, even after we'd begun working together.
The pain of the solitude numbed, if only for the night. The hangover
only another excuse to wallow in self-pity.
But I knew Scully had always noticed. She never once said word,
acknowledged the fact that she knew what I had done, was ashamed of
the way I treated myself. Her sad glances were enough to keep nights
such as those less and less frequent, though.
Because the longer we were together, the closer we became, and the
miserable nights alone had been replaced by cross-country car rides
and all-night debates about science and the Truth, fate and free will,
and the mathematics of baseball...
I thought I had been content to stand alone until she had offered to
walk beside me.
And now the hole that she had filled in my pitiful existence was empty
once again.
I hadn't realized that my eyes had closed until Scully, paused at the
end of the hall, had called my name.
"Mulder?"
I started forward, lifting myself from the wall as I turned to face
her. She approached cautiously, puzzled.
"Is something wrong?"
I laughed, rubbing my eyes and shaking my head.
"No, no. Sorry, I must have fallen asleep," I lied, acutely aware that
the time was approximately 9:13 and that I had remained more or less
conscious at her door for the past three hours. She was glaring
wearily at me, awaiting an explanation of my presence.
"Mulder, how long have you been here?" she asked, reaching for her
keys as I moved away from the doorknob.
"Not long."
Scully looked up and met my eyes, her gaze continuing down to my coat
and tie. She sighed and stepped into the apartment. I hesitated.
Her confusion was obvious. She looked at me again and asked, "Really,
Mulder, is there a reason you're here? And, are you coming in?"
I nodded and followed her through the doorway, shedding my coat as she
crossed the front room to hang her own in the bedroom closet. I
glanced around the apartment for a moment, taking in everything that
was so...Scully. Perfectly spotless, but warm and almost welcoming.
I draped my coat across the couch, careful not to disturb an opened
medical journal posed on its arm. I heard her reenter the room and
looked up. Her jacket removed, she was wearing a light blue blouse,
cross neatly resting on the base of her neck. Eyeing me, she stopped
and crossed her arms, indicating that the time had arrived for me to
explain why I had come.
I paused.
"Hey, Scully, how about those Knicks, huh?"
She didn't respond, but lifted her eyebrows and sighed. I cracked a
smile and folded my own arms, turning to lean against the couch beside
me.
She continued to wait silently for a moment before replying.
"Mulder, if this is about plotting dissent against these "higher
authorities", I refuse to-,"
She paused, reading the slight turn of my head as an assurance of the
negative.
"They're not my primary concern, for the moment," I said, glaring at
her as she stared defiantly at me, her hands now resting upon her
hips. This silence continued for a moment before she sighed once more
and crossed the room into the kitchen.
I watched as she poured two cups of water into the coffee maker and
flipped the switch. Her expression, typically perturbed and
exasperated in a situation such as this, was almost...resigned, or
even tired. As if my presence had become stale to the extent that she
barely noticed the little things that used to aggravate her to no end.
Grabbing two mugs and pouring a drop of cream into one, she emptied
the coffee pot and turned it off. Padding softly across the carpeted
floor, she handed me one and turned, making her way around to the
couch.
"So, this is about my returning to work early, then," she said
exasperatedly as she placed her coffee on the table and rested her
elbows on her knees. I moved to take a seat beside her, placing my mug
upon the table and lying against the back of the couch.
I crossed my arms and breathed deeply once.
"Not so much as the fact that you barely returned at all."
She made no response, recognizing the implications of my words. Our
eyes locked for a moment before she leaned back, leaving her coffee
for the moment.
"What exactly are you getting at, Mulder?"
I sighed and turned away, scanning the room as I formulated a
response, praying for the words that would answer a question so
pivotal to the events of years to come.
I'm trying to say that I want to know what I've done wrong.
I'm trying to say that I won't let this ruin us.
But, more than anything, I'm trying to say that there comes a time
when two paths must eventually merge, whether to cross a river
together or to meet for only a moment before continuing along two
separate courses.
That time is now.
"Scully, I won't fight this alone."
I met her eyes, unwilling to let her turn away.
God, I needed her to say it. You won't be, Mulder. Of course not.
She kept her gaze locked with mine, her troubled eyes pleading. I
wasn't about to allow her to speak the words I knew she had prepared,
to utter those things that would send me back to sleepless nights. I
wasn't about to walk through that door and leave behind the thing for
which I had fought harder than ever before.
She began to turn her head away as her eyes began to shimmer, and I
reached forward to gently nudge her chin in my direction, forcing her
to meet my eyes.
The shimmer became a glaze, and she turned her cheek into my hand.
"Mulder..." she began, her voice strained and saddened.
Before I had begun to realize it, my head began to turn slowly back
and forth.
Don't say it Scully.
God, don't say it.
The glaze formed a tear that rested silently within her eye.
Her blood was spilling between my fingers, spreading like fire across
the pale blue of her blouse. Between my fingers as I helplessly,
hopelessly fought to keep her with me.
"Mulder, I..." she tried, but couldn't bring herself to speak.
My head continued to shake, the room blurring as I began to feel the
creeping heat of panic.
Scully, don't say it. I can't do this. Don't make me do this...
"I can't, Mulder," she whispered, the words barely audible above the
deafening silence of the apartment.
...Salt Lake City Utah. Transfer effective immediately.
...You don't need me, Mulder. You never have.
I had always known that this wouldn't last forever, that this couldn't
last forever. But the last time I began this, she had stayed. She had
walked away and turned around, her glassy eyes pleading for a reason
to remain beside me as she had for so long a time.
If only for a moment...
I stroked her cheek softly, but her tear refused to fall.
Forgive me, Scully, but I've always known that it would come to this.
I silently drew closer to her, searching her face, pleading.
If only for a moment...
I paused quietly, gathering the strength I needed to break this bond
we had wordlessly established the moment we met.
The tear fell, and Scully kept my gaze for an instant-an instant
irrevocable and binding, one destined to haunt my memories for
solitary days to follow.
Forgive me, Mulder.
She turned away as I brushed her cheek, pulling her face from my palm.
She rose, betrayed, and met my eyes, asking me to leave.
I swallowed and leaned forward, closing my eyes and resting my face in
my folded palms, sighing.
Maybe in this life, she needed more than I could give.
I stood and grabbed my coat, walking briskly to the door. I turned
slowly as I touched the handle, meeting her wounded gaze.
The silence was unbearable, but the words refused to come.
I quietly opened the door before me and left her still in the
apartment.
Alone.
END Ch. 5
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