From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 17 Jul 2002 03:49:32 -0000
Subject: At the End of the World, MSR, R, by Ann K by Ann K
Source: direct

Reply To: annhkus@yahoo.com


"At the End of the World"

Author: Ann K

Rating: A dark R

Keyword: MSR, implied character deaths

Summary: Mulder and Scully face the end of the world together.

Author's notes: Not written as a post-ep to "The Truth,"
and does not follow the show's timeline. The world is 
simply ending, without an alien in sight.

Archive: Yes, just let me know, and keep my name and headers
attached. Thanks.

Feedback welcomed at annhkus@yahoo.com. Read more of my
stories at www.geocities.com/annhkus.




"At the End of the World"

1/1

Of course I would be with Mulder when the world came to an end.

It wasn't exactly planned that way. We spent the night before 
together, a night when we figured none of our old reasons for 
being apart really mattered. We shut Mulder's window tightly 
against the noise outside, the chaos and mayhem and looting and 
gunfire, and simply lost ourselves in each other. If I was a 
more cynical sort, I would have said that it almost made the end 
of the world worth it, finally getting to discover Mulder in all 
the ways I had wanted for so long. Almost.

When we said goodbye the first time, it was surreal. Should I 
shake his hand? Kiss him on the cheek? Weep tears over our 
shared memories and frustrations? After the evening we shared, 
after the life we had together, all the options seemed too proper, 
too reserved. He had seen me perform acts that had never before 
been witnessed by man. Or woman, for that matter. I settled on a 
hug. Mulder's lanky frame was standing in his doorway, and I 
just reached out for him, holding tightly to his body, memorizing 
the warmth and the way his body fit so naturally against mine.

I wanted to remember that feeling at the end of the world.

He didn't walk me outside. I had my gun. We both knew I 
could protect myself. I think it would have been too hard for him, 
to see what had become of the world outside his apartment. He 
told me he wanted to be there at the end of the world, curled 
up on his faithful leather couch, watching his fish. He refused 
to come with me, so I left him there. 

He saw the last image of me walking down the hallway toward 
the stairs, like any other day, like we would wake up tomorrow 
and go to work and pretend what we did really mattered. My 
hair was disheveled from spending the previous twelve hours in 
his bed, and my shirt was untucked. I even had my heels on, and 
Mulder's favorite fuck-me black skirt, which just barely skimmed 
my knees.

I always knew he liked that skirt, from the way his eyes widened 
in appreciation every time I wore it. I wore it the day before the 
world came to an end just because of Mulder.

When I walked outside, the sun was bright and hazy, even though 
my wristwatch said it was still very early in the morning. It had 
been bright and hazy for days, almost as if the sun were slowly 
consuming the earth. In a way, it was, I supposed. There were 
scattered fires on the street, random people stumbling by. It was 
the general attitude of despair and abandon that washed over me, 
even though I told myself not to let it. There was nothing I could 
do. There was nothing anyone could do.

I looked at my empty parking spot a long time before I realized 
my car wasn't there. Of course it wasn't there. Half the cars on the 
block had been stripped or set afire or turned over. My heart sank. 
I wanted my mother. I peered up the street, squinting against the 
sun, hoping to see Mulder's car. It wasn't there either, and too 
late I remembered he let the Gunmen borrow it for their caravan 
to Vegas.

I almost sat down on the sidewalk and cried. I had planned so 
carefully, as carefully as I could once I knew the world was 
going to end. I would spend the night before with Mulder, and 
the day of with my mother. My brothers would be there, too. 

I couldn't very well walk there, though, particularly not in the 
ripped remnants of my black skirt.

So there it was. I was to spend the last hours on earth with Mulder.

On my way back inside, I tried to call my mother with my cell phone, 
already knowing it was useless. Funny, when you find out the world 
is coming to an end, public services aren't as important anymore. 
The telephone service had been erratic for days, finally shutting
off the day before yesterday. The television, too. 

Everything was okay, though, I realized, steadily climbing the 
stairs, avoiding the piles of trash and the clothes hastily strewn 
about. My family knew what there was to know. That I loved 
them, and I loved being a daughter and a sister. No regrets, there.

Mulder's door was slightly ajar.

No regrets here either, I realized as I quietly slipped inside. 
Mulder and I had faced a lifetime together. It was fitting we 
face this together, too.

He was sprawled on the couch, the harsh sunlight filtering through 
the closed blinds. His face was expressionless, traced by an emotion 
I could not define.

Much later, when it was too late, I realized that emotion was regret.

"Mulder?" I whispered softly, hoping not to startle him.

He didn't even jump. "You decided not to go?" It was a statement, 
not a question, and I was surprised to see the tears shining in his 
eyes when I sat down beside him.

"My car wasn't there," I simply answered. He nodded his head, as if 
that explained everything, and moved over slightly, offering me the 
warm space next to him on the sofa.

So, we lay together, covered by a blanket, watching the fish swim 
lazily in circles. They had no idea, no idea that everything was 
about to end. I was envious of them. When we first found out the 
world was ending - not just Mulder and I, but every person on the 
planet - there was a general sense of disbelief, a surreal 
confidence that someone would figure something out.

No one did. So, here we were. Skinner left town with Kimberly a few 
days before, headed to parts unknown. We saw the Gunmen off 
yesterday, almost deciding to join them in Vegas. A few last phone 
calls, a few tearful farewells.

We didn't know how to say goodbye to each other, and we didn't 
even try.

"The sun is bright outside," I said, not knowing what else to say.

Those were the only words I spoke for many hours. I was amazed at 
how long we could sit in silence, Mulder's arm resting on my stomach 
beneath the Indian blanket, my foot draped over his leg.

"Are you scared?" he finally asked. He wasn't, I knew. I could tell 
by the way his eyes were wary, not with fear, but with exhaustion. 
There was a part of Fox Mulder that had been born a very old soul, 
waiting for the end of the world since the day he arrived in it.

"No," I answered definitively. I really wasn't. "I'm just a little 
sad, and angry," I added. "There are a lot of things I didn't get 
a chance to do in my life. I am angry about that." 

That got his attention. He shifted so he could see me better, and 
then asked, "What would you have done, Scully, if the world wasn't 
ending today?" He was intensely interested.

What would I have done? I did have regrets, I decided. But this was 
not the time to be somber. Fuck being somber. I was not about to 
spend my last minutes on earth rattling off regrets. 

So, instead, I kissed Mulder, tasting the lasagna we managed to 
throw together for dinner last night, eating it naked in his bed. "I 
would have done more of this," I answered, truthfully. That was a 
regret, and we both knew it.

We stayed that way for some time, our foreheads touching. Then 
Mulder got up from the couch, his knees creaking, and walked into 
his bedroom. I couldn't see him, but I heard a box being thrown 
around, and the sound of what sounded like a picture falling from 
the wall. "Shit," Mulder mumbled, before walking back in the den.

Before he sat next to me, he opened the blinds, pulling them to the 
top of the window frame. I was surprised, but said nothing. What 
else was there to say? If Mulder wanted to face the end of the world 
as a voyeur, with the blinds wide open, I wasn't going to waste the 
energy to argue.

In a daze, I stared at the sticky residue in the shape of the "x" on 
the window as Mulder sat down next to me.

"Here," he said without preamble, handing me an odd-shaped box 
wrapped in paper adorned with small Christmas trees.

I raised my eyebrows at him. Only Mulder would celebrate the end of 
the world in July by giving out Christmas presents.

"You shouldn't have," I said softly, not knowing how to respond. We 
wouldn't be around to celebrate the holidays. No one would. Might as 
well celebrate it in our last minutes of life.

He shrugged as I ripped off the wrapping paper. It was a snow globe, 
and I turned it upside down, watching as the imitation snow fell 
over the figure of an alien. What made this alien so unique was that 
there were seven fingers on his right hand, and the middle one was 
extended into the air.

"You really shouldn't have," I said with mock seriousness, and 
Mulder grinned. 

"I couldn't resist," he said, and then he laughed. I laughed, too, 
unable to stop myself.

And that's how we sat as the last minute on earth approached, 
laughing on Mulder's couch, letting an alien figurine transmit 
our message to the world. He settled closer beside me, pulling the 
blanket tighter around us.

The sun, which had been so bright and hazy, was now at fever pitch. 
I could barely make out the features of Mulder's apartment in the 
glow. I heard the distant echo of a woman's scream, and felt 
Mulder's arm tighten around me.

"I love you," he murmured, almost too softly for me to hear.

"I love you, too," I answered.

And then I thought of it. What regrets did Mulder have? I refused to 
give voice to my own, but, when I walked in his door, he was 
obviously thinking of his. Were they the regrets of Mulder the 
child, or Mulder the man? Was he angry that the world was ending 
this way? Did he wish there was one more hour, one more day?

I had to know.

But, when I turned to ask him, I realized that, at the end of the 
world, time had run out.

And there was only darkness. 


FINIS