From: "Angela" Date: Mon, 14 Aug 2000 17:52:05 +0200 Subject: "Elegy" by Angela C.J. Wettergren Source: direct Title: Elegy Author: Angela C.J. Wettergren E-mail: starbuck79@hotmail.com http://www.angelfire.com/ms/starbuck79 Rating: R Category: S/MSR/A Spoilers: Yes. If they are still considered spoilers. Summary: 'Now the sun's gone to hell And the moon's riding high Let me bid you farewell Every man has to die' Finished: 000424 Disclaimer: No. They still don't belong to me. The summary comes from the song 'Brothers in Arms" by Dire Straits. Doesn't belong to me either. Warning: I don't believe in warnings. Lots and lots of angst in this one, though. Archive: If you want it, you can have it. Let me know? :o) Thanks and dedications: Thank you, Robby, for all your words of encouragement and brilliant editing (oh, and I'm sorry about all the dots ). I want to dedicate this to my mother, who recently found out she has cancer. I'm with you all the way, mom. I love you. Feedback: I absolutely love it. Please? Pretty please? "Elegy" By: Angela C.J. Wettergren Chapter 1 The room seems dark to me. Everything seems that way to me these days. Dim and cold; an endless night without stars to illuminate the blackness, frozen minutes with no promise of dawn. The curtains are pulled away from the windows, but there is no sunlight outside to shine through them. The rain has been falling heavily for the past few days, and it doesn't look like it'll be stopping soon. I feel trapped within these bleak, gray days; I don't think I will ever see the sun again. A middle-aged man is standing behind an imposing mahogany desk, puffing on his cigarette. He turns to me as I step into the room, and asks me if I mind. I shake my head and tell him it's fine. I hate it. I hate the smell that comes from a cigarette. It makes me want to throw up. But I don't tell him that. I glance around, and the walls are covered with expensive paintings by artists I know absolutely nothing about and diplomas and awards and all kinds of things. I'm not really sure why I'm here. People have been telling me that I need to see someone longer than I can even remember now. I've even forgotten why they wanted me to go. I've finally given in. I looked up this man in the phone book. I don't know anything about him, but I don't care. I'm just here to get everyone off my back. The smell from his cigarette is giving me a throbbing headache. I think he notices when I put my fingers to my temples, pressing them for some relief; he looks at me sympathetically and extinguishes the only half-smoked cigarette in an ashtray. "I should probably give it up anyway," he tells me, referring to his smoking, and I nod. I don't come back with a witty remark or even a hint of a smile. I just nod. He clears his throat, and waves his hand towards the couch standing in the other side of the room. "Do you want to sit down?" he asks me. I don't really care either way, but I walk slowly over to it, mental lethargy weighing heavy on my limbs, and I sit down. I feel his eyes burning into my back as I do. I wonder if he knows anything about me. I wonder if he's called people who know me and asked about me. I'm probably just being paranoid. And even if he has, I don't care. I don't care about anything anymore. Except for one thing. One person. Suddenly he is sitting in a chair in front of me. I didn't even notice him moving. Didn't hear his steps, his breathing. Nothing. I suddenly feel self-conscious sitting on the couch; feeling pinned down by his scrutinizing gaze. He extends his hand to me, waiting for me to take it in my own. When he notices I make no move to do such, he lets it drop again. "I thought we could begin with introducing ourselves," he says. "I already know your name", I reply tersely, averting my eyes from his. It feels like they are piercing through me when I meet them. I know he is only trying to get a hold on something, a hold on me, but I'm not ready for that. I don't think anyone is ready for that. "All right then, Mr. Mulder," he says. "We'll drop the introduction." I turn my eyes back to him. I know he's trying to win my trust by letting me have my way. A wave of annoyance washes over me as my own training as a psychologist comes back to me. It feels so wrong for me to be in this chair, to be the patient. In a single biting moment I realize that I've become the antithesis of what my years at Oxford made me. I hate myself for it. "Fine", I say. He glances down at his little notepad as if he's looking for something, and then his gaze returns to me. "May I call you Fox?" he asks me. I cringe at the sound of my name. "Mulder will be just fine," I tell him, and that's the end of that discussion. "So... Mulder. Why have you come here today?" I close my eyes and think about his question. I have no idea what the answer is. Because someone told me to? Or was it because of something else? "I'm not sure," I tell him honestly as I open my eyes, and he nods slowly. "Is there anything you feel like talking about?" he asks. I don't know the answer to this question either. I don't know what answer he wants from me. So I say the only thing I think about these days. "Scully." He nods slowly at me, as if he knows exactly who Scully is, and then scribbles something down in his little notepad. Without looking up at me, he says, "Tell me about Scully." "What do you want me to say?" I ask. "Whatever you want to," he tells me and then looks up at me. "This isn't about what I want to hear, Mulder. This about what you want to say. What you have to tell." Whatever I want to. He doesn't understand. If I were to tell everything there is to tell about Dana Scully, we would sit here forever. Forever is a long time. "I don't know where to begin," I tell him honestly. He watches me silently for a few seconds, and then he suggests, "Why don't we start at the beginning?" "The beginning?" He nods. My eyes close and I take a deep breath. The beginning. That was such a long time ago. I remember it like it was yesterday. * * * * * I was so used to being alone, being by myself. Being without anyone who believed me - believed *in* me. Without someone who cared about me, trusted me. I remember the day she walked into my life, her earnest blue eyes and staid taupe suit, the image that I could never forget, as it marked the moment when I was no longer alone. The moment when fate began to shift, hinting at a different life for me than the one where I was destined to rot in miserable solitude against the backdrop of the files that represented all I had. I didn't realize it then, the rigors of loneliness and my pride forbade it, but the moment our eyes met we sealed a pact of trust and partnership. I wonder if she had any idea what she was getting herself into when she first stepped into my office. 'Nobody down here but the FBI's most unwanted.' That was the line that greeted her through the door, the first words she ever heard come out of my mouth. She would have been better off if they had been the last words as well. She opened the door to my office, opened the door to my life, looking so young and innocent. If only she hadn't been so strong and stubborn. Maybe she would have left me earlier. Maybe she would have saved herself from me while she still could. She was the only one who dared tell me exactly what she thought about my crazy ideas and theories, while at the same time taking the time to actually listen to me, to what I had to say. Sometimes I don't think I paid her the same respect. I know I didn't. Not always. The beginning. At the end of our case in Oregon our partnership was sealed; I felt a connection between us almost immediately. It was a bond so uncommon that I couldn't recognize it as it flourished. I simply accepted it as something big, as something special; I accepted it as something *us*, something that would never be broken, something that would never be diminished. It was unlike anything I'd ever had with another person, unlike anything I'd ever felt. I couldn't explain it then, and I can't explain it now. It was just there, and it was there to stay. * * * * * Chapter 2 This is the second time I've left my apartment in as many weeks. I'm not sure what made me come back. The memories forced to surface now weigh heavy in my mind, millions of images bobbing with the tides like corpses. I'm sitting on the couch again. Neither of us has said anything for more than ten minutes. I know he's waiting for me to speak, but I don't know if I can. Finally Dr. Weisberg seems to notice this, and tries to put me out of my misery. I appreciate the gesture, but I fear I am already beyond any help he can give me. "This Scully you talked about the other week," he starts, and I involuntarily wince at the way he says her name. Like she's nothing to him, like it's just another word that comes out of his mouth. Her name should never be spoken with such carelessness, without the deepest respect and consideration. Never in the way he just said it. 'This Scully'... She is *the* Scully. My Scully... He obviously sees my pain and realizes his mistake. "I am sorry," he apologizes, and I nod my forgive- ness. "Scully," he says, and this time it sounds better to my ears, "obviously means a lot to you, Mulder." All I can do is nod silently. "The last time you spoke of her you told me that the two of you had a..." He takes a quick look in his notepad, then his eyes return to me again, and continues, "Special connection." I nod once again. "You also said you didn't feel love or even friendship toward her at the beginning, but that this changed later. What made it change?" "What made it change?" I repeat, as if he had just spoken to me in a language I didn't understand. "Yes," he says pointedly, as though this were a simple question with a simple answer, and it hits me that he doesn't understand, that he can't understand, that my bond with Scully defies everything he's ever learned. I don't have the answer to his question. I really don't. I have thought about it many times before; wondered when it was our relationship changed into something more than just being partners. I don't think I can pin it down to just one single moment. Our relationship is more complicated than that. It always has been. I realize I've been sitting silently thinking about his question, and that he is waiting for my answer. "Time," I say. "Time changed it." "What in time changed it?" he pushes. "Everything," I tell him. "Everything." I pause slightly. "I don't trust people easily," I admit, "and to me, trust means everything. In fact, Scully is the only one I have trusted for these past seven years. It was a trust that developed more quickly than I had thought possible." I look up at him. "How could I not trust her?" He just looks back at me, not saying anything, and not seeming to really care that I'm kind of avoiding the subject he brought up, so I continue. "With Scully... She was the only one who ever told me exactly what she thought of me. She was the only one who stuck with me for any longer than two months. And she was the only one who felt my life was worth saving..." * * * * * I was sitting in a strange car, with smells I didn't recognize, with people whose faces I couldn't place. I tried to look out the window, but the man sitting next to me prevented me from such a freedom. I don't know why they just didn't blindfold me if they were so damn concerned about it. It's not like I remembered any of it afterwards anyway. I don't know what they did to me. They stole my memories. The only thing I remember from that day is that Scully saved me. She ordered me into her waiting car, waving her gun around, screaming. Back then I didn't even understand what was happening, but from what she told me later, I knew I owed my life to her. As I walked toward her, she was the only thing that kept me up on my feet and stopped me from falling to the ground. Right then, I realized that she had come for me. She had risked everything, and she had come to save me. When we were a 'safe' distance away from the base, Scully stopped the car at the side of the road, and turned to me in her seat. "Mulder, are you okay?" she asked. I'll never forget the sound of her voice; her words filled with worry and concern. I turned to look into her eyes, and they displayed the same feelings. I had never before felt such gratitude toward another human being. "I don't know what happened, Scully," I said, my voice sounding so small and pathetic even to my own ears that I don't even want to imagine what I sounded like to her. But she didn't seem to mind or even care. Instead she reached out her hand and stroked my hair, and I closed my eyes under her gentle touch. "It's okay, Mulder," she reassured me, and as I heard her saying it, I believed it. As long as she was there, everything would be okay. "It's okay," she said again, and then we were on our way again. She saved my life again at the Icy Cape in Alaska. I sat alone in the dark room, locked in as if I had been thrown in jail without a trial. I wasn't worried about myself, I knew I was safe in here. I was worried about her. I was thinking about her, wondering if she was still alive. She was out there with someone who had killed another person, and I wasn't sure she had realized that yet. I hadn't heard a sound from out there for what felt like hours. All I heard was the silence around me, my own breath, my own heartbeat. My own thoughts. Suddenly the door opened, and I flew up on my feet, ready to defend myself if it came to that. The tension left my body slightly as I saw it was only Scully. She was scared, I could tell. She knew I hadn't killed anyone - deep inside she must have known - but all the evidence was pointing straight at me, and she couldn't ignore those facts. I didn't expect her to, either. I let her examine me. I tried to trust her like I wanted her to trust me. She drew my shirt down and examined my back and neck. I felt her small fingers dig into my skin, almost to the point of pain, searching for any signs that would prove I was infected. When she found none, her hands relaxed on my back, and she let me go. When I turned to face her, she looked almost embarrassed that she hadn't believed me. I didn't blame her, not really. She turned around to go out to the others, and she gasped loudly when I grabbed her shoulders to stop her. She quickly understood I simply wanted to examine her as well, and she let me. I trusted her to tell me the truth, but I had to know for certain. She herself had said the words to me not so long ago. 'You may not be who you are.' Her skin was unbelievably soft under my searching hands. That wasn't my main focus then, but it etched itself into my mind, and it stayed there. I was so happy to find what I had been hoping for. She wasn't infected either. I pulled her shirt back up, gently grabbed her shoulders and turned her around to face me. She looked up at me, worried. "You're okay," I told her, and a sigh of relief escaped her lips. Her eyes closed and her head fell down. I took her chin in my hand and made her look up at me again. "We're both okay," I said again, and she smiled slightly at me. Those few minutes meant the world to me. We had trusted each other enough to turn our backs against the other, knowing that there was the risk the other one really was infected, but taking that risk anyway. There is no other person I would have taken that chance with. By the time she ended up saving my life yet once again, this time in Puerto Rico, I already trusted her with more than my life. I was there, searching for the evidence I had been seeking for so long; evidence that there really was extraterrestrial life forms. Scully and I were no longer partners, yet who was I talking to as I taped my thoughts onto that tape? Scully. Of course. Who else was there for me? No one. If she hadn't come then, I would not be here today. I am certain of it. I would be so into what I was doing, that I wouldn't have noticed them coming to kill me, to make sure what I had learned was never repeated again. They would have made sure no one would ever see me again. But Scully saved me. And she proved to me once again, that she was the only one I could trust. * * * * * Chapter 3 They say third time's a charm. I don't think that will be the case today; I've lost all hope, all faith in a miracle cure. No one can save me, no one ever could. Especially not now. I'm not sure I care. I think I'm dying. I think I'm already dead. I don't know why I keep coming back, returning to this dim office that I've come to loathe even though I've only been here a few times. It's too dark; it's too cold. It makes me ache. Every ounce of agony I drench in alcohol and porn during the long days and even longer nights emerges and screams and begs for help. Something - anything - that'll make whatever it is inside of me that's clawing at me simply stop. I've never felt so desperate. And it scares the shit out of me. When Scully is with me I don't feel so worthless. I don't feel so scared, or lonely. I don't feel the pain that I'm so accustomed to, because it isn't there. She takes everything warped and disgusting about me and she makes me into a person. Not Spooky Mulder, not some fucking basketcase in the basement, but a person. She's the only one who can make me feel alive; without her, all I feel is pain. She can heal me with a glance. I'm with her and I forget that I'm a waste of valuable oxygen, that I'm the fuck-up who destroyed the lives of everyone around him, who allowed his family to dissolve. I told her once how much she meant to me, how much I needed her. I should've told her a million times before. I didn't. And I hate myself for it. I realize I am still standing outside Dr. Weisberg's office, and I raise my hand to knock on the door. I hear his muffled reply, and I let myself in. The office reminds me of the first time I came here. It has started raining outside again, making the room dark, and Dr. Weisberg is smoking one of his cigarettes, filling the room with smoke. He looks up at me apologetically as my eyes watch the cigarette in his hand. He coughs and immediately puts it out in the ashtray on his desk, and I try to give him an appreciative smile, but I think it comes out more like a grimace. "Now I know I should give them up," he says, coughing again, and for a second I fear he's gonna choke himself, but then he finally stops. "This cough is killing me," he tells me, and I do not argue. Not because I care about what happens to him, I honestly don't. He could fall over dead and I'd feel nothing. I don't care about anything anymore. Except for Scully. Nothing could ever approach what I feel for her, even now, as I watch myself breaking, slowly, submitting to the crushing pressure. I have nothing left to fight for. Before he says anything else, I take my usual position on the couch. The last time I was here he asked me if I wanted to lie down instead of sitting, but I'm going to continue to sit up. According to Weisberg it gives me a misplaced sense of control. I don't know the psychology of it, I really don't care, but I know it makes me feel more comfortable. As though anything could make me feel comfortable. He stands and walks around his desk, coming to sit in a chair directly in front of my couch. It used to make me uneasy, having him so close, like I was caged in, but I'm starting to become familiar with it. "How has your week been?" he asks me, and I look up at him, wondering why he's asking me that question. "Fine," I reply, without meaning it. I can see in his face expression that he doesn't believe me, but he lets it go anyway. He knows by now that I don't come here to chitchat about how my week has been. Instead he looks down in his notepad, where he seems to keep all his notes from our earlier conversations. "The last time you were here you talked about trust," he tells me, as if I wouldn't remember. "Yes," I nod at him. "Trust is very important to you, isn't it?" I nod again. I told him that last week, wasn't he paying attention? But then I realize he's bringing this up because he wants it to lead somewhere. "To have Scully's trust is important to you as well, am I right?" I can't argue with that one. If I didn't have Scully's trust, her confidence in me... I don't know where I would be. "Yes, it is," I tell him, and he looks pleased that I confessed as much. Why wouldn't I? Scully's trust in me, her loyalty, her faith in me - it's all I have. Without it I would fall helplessly to the ground, with nothing to stop me or to break my fall. "Have you ever felt like there was a time when you didn't have Scully's trust?" he asks me, and I feel myself falling. * * * * * "I told you, mom, he's here to kill me!" Her words echoed through my mind, almost beating me to the floor. But I stayed focused, with my eyes holding on to hers. "I'm on your side, you know that," I told her, surprised at how calm I still sounded. Inside, I was screaming the words, begging for her to believe me and put the gun down. I heard her mother's voice slightly behind me. "Put it down, Dana," and Scully's eyes flickered from me to her. "Scully, listen to me very carefully," I pleaded, and her eyes met mine, cerulean blue clouded with fear and confusion. She looked so helpless, so alone then, and I wanted to rush to her and wrap my arms around her and never let her be hurt again. "You don't know it, but you're sick. The same thing that drove those people to murder. Whatever you think may be happening..." She snapped at my words, instead of calming down. "Just *step* back!" she said, cocking the gun, and I fell silent. Her mother came up at my side, speaking calmly to her daughter. "Dana, you're not yourself," and I could see something briefly flicker in Scully's eyes. "He's telling you the truth." "It's not the truth, mom," she desperately tried to convince her mom. "He's lied to me from the beginning. He never trusted me." "Scully, you are the only one I trust." The desperation was heavy in my voice a well, and her refusal to believe me burned in a place I'd forgotten I had. "You're in on it. You're one of *them*. You're one of the people who abducted me. You put that thing in my neck! You killed my sister!" Her words pierced through me like a bullet. "That's not true, Dana," her mother said, beating me to it, and I prayed that Dana would listen to her, since she didn't listen to me. "It is!" she screamed, resisting her mother's attempts to help her. "I want you to listen to me..." She stepped between us, bridging the distance between me and the gun Scully had trained on my head. "Mom, just get out of the way!" "You trust me, don't you?" Scully was on the verge of tears, struggling so hard with the feelings she had inside, wanting to believe what her mom was telling her was the truth, but finding it impossible. I could see every emotion in her shiny eyes, and I wanted to cry with her. "You know that I wouldn't hurt you," her mother continued. "That I would never let anybody hurt you. That's why you came here, isn't it? You're safe here." She paused for a moment, imploring her daughter with her eyes. "Put the gun down, Dana." I watched as the words registered in her mind, watched as reality sunk in around her. I watched her eyes as she was freed from whatever it was that possessed her. The gun was no longer pointed at me. She'd come back to me. Her mother was crouching at her side, whispering softly to her, "Put it down..." and Scully fell into her waiting arms, crying. I could only watch, silently, as the scene played out before me. I wanted to take Scully into my own arms, hold her close and never let her go again. Never ever again let her believe that I would betray her trust for anything. Tell her over and over again that her trust meant everything to me. Instead, I simply stood still, watching her in the arms of her mother. And I promised myself that I would never do anything to destroy her trust in me again. And I didn't. For almost two years. She came to my apartment again. She simply opened the door with her key, stepping in, as if she owned the place herself. She was still angry with me, even though I had explained myself to her. My explanation hadn't been enough. She quietly slipped off her coat, tossing it carelessly onto the couch, then slumped down next to my own tired body. I kept my eyes on her face the entire time, waiting for her to speak, but she didn't. She didn't look at me. Instead she fixed her gaze on an invisible spot above the TV. She opened her mouth to speak, but she closed it again, as if she'd changed her mind. Then she let out a deep sigh, as if she had come to a conclusion. "Why didn't you tell me?" Her voice was so filled with anger it frightened me. "Scully-" I started, but she interrupted me. "Just... Just don't, Mulder." Her face expression looked almost pained as she turned to me. She closed her eyes briefly, biting down on her lip. Then she looked up at me again, and the intensity in her eyes made me want to run away and hide and hold her at the same time. I broke our gaze; I wasn't as strong as Scully, and I could hear the disappointment in her sigh. "I didn't want to lie to you, Scully. I thought I already explained this." "Dammit, Mulder, you made me believe you were betraying your country! The FBI!" She paused for a few seconds, and when she spoke again, her whispered words nearly broke my heart. "I thought you had betrayed me." "Scully... I would never do that. You know that." I looked up at her, hoping that my eyes would tell her I was speaking the truth, and that she would believe me. "I know..." she said slowly, and then she seemed to get angry with herself. "No, I don't know! Mulder, I *want* to know, I *want* to believe you, more than anything, but I don't know anything anymore!" She shook her head to herself, as if to clear her mind. "I thought we had moved past this, Scully." "I thought so, too," she said slowly. "But I haven't." She looked up at me. "Do you understand?" "Yes," I nodded. I did. At least I thought I did. "I wish..." She stopped mid-sentence. "What do you wish?" I pushed carefully. "I wish that this had never happened," she said. "I wish I didn't have these feelings. I know that I am being irrational, but there is nothing I can do about it." I reached out and took her hand in mine, holding on as she tried to resist. Finally she relaxed, and I placed our entwined hands in my lap. "I'm so sorry, Scully," I said to her. "I don't know what else to tell you." We fell silent, as she thought about my words. Minutes later she said, "I don't either, Mulder." She looked at me again, and I willingly met her eyes with my own. "I honestly don't know," she said, and I nodded silently. We looked away from each other, leaning back into the couch. Her hand was still in mine, and I squeezed it tightly. I felt the tears prickle under my eyelids as she squeezed back. I wanted to take her in my arms so badly, hold her close, and promise her a thousand times that I would never lie to her again, that I would never give her a reason to distrust me. Instead I only squeezed her small, delicate hand even harder, sitting with her in our joined silence, hoping that she would one day forgive me for everything I had ever done to her. * * * * * Chapter 4 I've been coming here for four weeks. It doesn't feel like it's been a month, but sometimes it seems as though centuries pass in a day. I've lost all concept of time. I can no longer grasp minutes or hours or weeks. I'm afraid of what that might mean; like I'm so far beyond help I'm incapable of acknowledging even the simple things. I can't function anymore. I don't belong here anymore. Dr. Weisberg has been trying to convince me to start coming in twice a week instead of just once, but I said no. I'm not sure why. I simply don't think that I would be able to handle it. It takes a lot out of me to just drag my sorry ass out of bed and show up at all. I don't sleep anymore. I lie in my bed or on my couch, awake. Always. I live in a constant haze. I am suddenly aware of the fact that Dr. Weisberg is staring at me, apparently waiting for an answer to a question I didn't hear. "I'm sorry?" I feel like I should be paying attention, but my mind keeps drifting off. I can't help it. She is always with me in my mind, occupying my every thought. Sometimes I wish I could make her go away, but just thinking that makes me feel guilty. I never want her to go away. Please God, forgive me, I think desperately, before I realize that I am praying to a force I don't believe in. This isn't the first time. I'm so desperate that I'll do anything. Sometimes I believe Scully is my God. My Goddess. My everything. Scully, forgive me. His voice startles me out of my thoughts. "Mulder, it is apparent that Scully is the most important person in your life." That's the biggest understatement of the millennium. "Yes," I reply. God, I am so tired. I haven't slept for I don't know how long. I can't even remember the last time I slept longer than two hours. "Do you want to tell me about it?" he asks me, and I stare at him. "I don't know." I do want to. I want to talk about Scully, about how much she means to me, about how much I love her. I want to tell someone. At the same time, it makes me feel like I am betraying her. Betraying Scully. Does she want me to tell someone about her? Tell someone else than her... "I do," I hear myself say. I need to. * * * * * When Scully was abducted, I was so close to taking my own life. If I had told her how many times I had looked down the barrel of my gun, staring death in the eye, I'm not sure she wouldn't have killed me herself. Maybe I should have told her. When she came back to me, I promised myself I would do everything in my power and beyond to protect her. When she told me she had cancer; when she told me she was going to die... I thought that I was the one who was going to die. I was in denial for weeks. And then when I tried to get her to open up to me, to face the fact that she was dying... she wouldn't. Not until it got so bad I had to find her in a hospital. I was ready to do anything to save her. I was ready to make a deal with the devil. Only one thing stopped me. She did. I knew that she would never have been able to forgive me. I was so close to losing her... That night I went to her, I stayed by her... and I cried. For the first time in a long, long time, I allowed myself to cry. And once I had started, I couldn't stop. That night I realized - truly realized - that I would not be able to live without her. I hadn't been able to protect her; I hadn't been able to keep her safe from the evil of the world - from the evil of the Consortium. And I knew that I didn't deserve her... but I was too selfish to give her up. I was too selfish to let her go. She didn't die. She didn't leave me. When she told me that she was going to live; when she told me that her cancer was in remission... I don't think my smile could possibly have been any bigger than it was in that second. It was then I realized how much I loved her. I loved her... I love her. When I knew that she was going to live, I couldn't help myself. I had to feel her close; I had to feel her touch, her heartbeat, her breath. Before I could stop myself, I was with her on that hospital bed, and she was in my arms. I held her so tight I thought I would crush her, but I couldn't make myself loosen my arms. I couldn't get myself to let go of her. And then I felt her arms come around me as she held me back, and I suddenly realized that she couldn't let me go either; that she didn't want to let me go. It was then that I swore to never release her, never relinquish her to the evil that lurked beyond that perfect moment in time. And I haven't. * * * * * Chapter 5 I haven't said a single word since I arrived. I came into his office, I closed the door behind me, sat down on the couch and then... nothing. Silence. He followed me with his eyes the whole time and they haven't left me since. He is not pushing me to speak. He is not pushing me to do anything. I shift slightly on the couch, for the first time realizing how uncomfortable it is. I shift, trying to find a position that isn't quite so awkward. "I need to talk about her," I suddenly say before I can stop the words from coming out of my mouth. I need to talk about her. Dr. Weisberg nods and I realize he's merely been waiting for me to tell him so. He leans forward slightly where he sits, getting my attention. "Does Scully know how much you love her?" he asks me. "Does she know of your feelings?" I am stunned by his question. Does she know how much I love her? "She has to," I say. She has to know... * * * * * Our office was completely black. My life's work was gone. I felt her hands grab my upper arms, but I couldn't move. I felt her lay her head on my chest, but I still could not move. I wanted to hold her, I wanted to feel her, I wanted to disappear into her. But I couldn't. She took me home with her that night. She kept me safe. She made me sit down on her couch, and she fetched a blanket from her bedroom, which she put around me. I felt so cold, and she sat down next to me and held me, completely, her small body cocooning my much larger one. I turned to look at her, but she was not looking back at me. She was trying to make the blanket stay over my shoulders, holding it together where the edges met. She was beautiful, wonderful; she was my angel. I raised my hand to her face, making the blanket fall off of my shoulders despite her attempts to keep it there, and her eyes met mine. They were the deepest color of blue I have ever seen, her black pupils big, as dark as an ocean at night. I was helpless, powerless. As if pulled together by magnetic forces, I pressed my lips against hers in a fierce kiss. When I realized she wasn't moving under me, I immediately pulled back. "I'm sorry," I murmured, ashamed, as I abruptly stood from the couch and started to walk away from her. Then suddenly something flashed in her eyes, something I had never before seen, and the next thing I knew, she was kissing me again; hard, passionately. She led me to her bed that night and we made love. I don't know if she did it out of love, or if she only did it to comfort me. But I reveled in the feeling of her - of feeling her hot, flushed body move against mine. As she slowly undressed me, her cool fingertips soothing against my burning skin, I suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders and stared at her. She looked up at me, those beautiful eyes filled with confusion. But I couldn't speak. I didn't dare tell her I love her. I was afraid I would scare her away. Instead I accepted her comfort, and I gave her back the pleasure she was giving me, making love to her with every part of my body, mind and soul. If only she had known that. I could only stand still as she took my clothes off; her mouth following the trail her fingers had set up. I felt her with every fiber of my being. I felt every single touch, every single breath that came out of her mouth. As she kissed her way down my torso, my fingers carefully started to unbutton the pale blue cardigan she'd put on. I hadn't even noticed she'd changed clothes as she went to get the blanket for me. One by one, I worked through the buttons. She stopped and looked down at my hands, and then she looked up at me, into my eyes. I imagined I could see love flow through them - love for me. I wanted to believe she loved me. I wanted it more than anything. As I reached the last button, my hands traveled up along her sides to her shoulders. The sharp intake of her next breath as my hands brushed against her breasts was all the encouragement I needed to kiss her again. As my hands pushed the cardigan off of her shoulders, I leaned down and I kissed her. And she kissed me... The cardigan fell to the floor and her arms came up around my neck, and she pulled me down further to her, pushing herself against me, pressing closer and closer to me, and I wanted to become one with her. And she kissed me... Her tongue searched for mine, and they met, dueling fiercely. Soon our bodies were naked against each other. She pulled me down over her on the bed, my body covering hers completely. No words were spoken that night. We knew what the other needed. Without words, we knew. I never told her I loved her. She never knew. * * * * * Chapter 6 It ends as it began; the sky is gray, not blue, and rain drizzles from the dark clouds in a thick mist that won't be stopping anytime soon. I will never see it stop. It will rain forever. Last night, Scully told me she loved me. She didn't just tell me with words, she told me with everything that she was. As she spoke the words, her eyes told me she loved me. Her sweet, delicate hands on my face told me she loved me. And then she pressed those red, full lips against mine, and they told me she loved me. Her body pressing against mine told me she loved me. And then I let my fingers slide through her hair, the soft strands somehow twining themselves around my fingers, and she looked up at me... and I told her I loved her, too. And I couldn't stop telling her. I told her over and over again between kisses, touches... I never told her I love her. It was all a dream. She doesn't know. Dr. Weisberg just told me that I have to tell her. There is nothing in the world I wish I could do more. * * * * * I ran so fast that I almost fell over every time I turned around a corner without slowing down, my breath catching in my throat from the exertion. My lungs felt like they were about to explode, and I couldn't hear anything but the loud beats of my heart, pounding in my ears like drums. I suddenly stopped dead in my tracks. Thirty yards ahead of me was Scully, pointing her gun at someone. My eyes followed in the direction the gun was pointing. She had found our suspect. And he was pointing his gun at Scully. I couldn't think. In a millisecond, I was pointing my own gun at him, screaming at him to drop his. I knew I made every mistake I could possibly make, but it was like I was no longer in control of my own actions. I could feel - rather than see - Scully's gaze flicker to me, but I couldn't turn to her, regardless of how much I wanted to make sure she was okay. I couldn't risk it. If I did, our suspect would be able to catch me off guard. He would be able to catch her off guard. I don't know what happened. I could hear Scully trying to calm him down, to make him put his gun down, but it was useless. He was completely deranged, insane, not listening to anything either of us said. The next thing I knew, guns were being fired. As if in slow motion, Scully fell to the ground. And I shot him until there were no bullets left to be fired. I watched as the bullets ripped into his chest. I watched as he collapsed, dead, and yet I couldn't stop shooting. Another agent who came running up behind us had to stop me, and he took the gun from me. Any attempts to stop me from running to Scully would have been in vain. I was next to her in a matter of seconds, gently holding her in my arms. I held my hand hard against the bullet hole in her chest, trying so hard to stop the blood from pumping out, but no matter how much I tried, I could see the blood soak her shirt. "Scully, don't you die on me!" I was screaming at her, frantic, but she didn't seem to hear me. "Scully, dammit, look at me!" I can't remember if I was shaking her... And then her eyes fluttered open. She looked at, her gaze unfocused, her eyes glistening, and then her hand came up to my face. I grabbed her hand in mine, and I kissed the palm of it, over and over again. She tried to tell me something, I know it. But she couldn't make a sound, and I watched her struggle to speak. I watched the fear of death overwhelm her. A single tear ran down her cheek as she looked into my eyes, and I wiped it away with my finger. "Scully!" I screamed, begging her to hold on, and I pulled her closer to me until our faces were only a mere few inches apart. "I..." Before I had a chance to tell her that I love her, that I won't let her die, that I'll take care of her forever and never let anyone hurt her ever again, she'd slipped away. I could feel her last breath as if it traveled through my entire body. I'd failed her. I stared into her vacant eyes, now focused on something far beyond me, and I finally told her. "Scully... I love you." It barely came out as a whisper. And then I screamed. * * * * * I suddenly realize that tears are streaming down my face and that I have been screaming out loud. I can feel the pain in my chest like it had happened yesterday. She's gone. She never knew I loved her. She's dead. Suddenly it's clear to me; the obscure path that I've set out upon reaches its zenith. There is no other way. Everything comes together in this ultimate illustration of fate. 'You're my one in five billion.' She's dead. 'You make me a whole person.' Dead. 'I love you.' Oh, God, Scully, I'm sorry. 'I don't know if I can do this without you...' I am so sorry. 'I love you.' She's dead. In less than two hours, I will have joined her. THE END.