From: "A. R." Date: Mon, 10 May 1999 23:17:52 PDT Subject: End of the Line Disclaimer: You all know that I don't own the X-Files or any related characters. If I did, what the hell would I be doing writing fanfic? They really belong to God (Chris Carter), his crew of heavenly angels (1013 Productions), and some other company that I'm sure fits into the picture somehow (20th Century Fox). The lyrics to "The end of the line" by The Offspring belong to The Offspring. (big surprise!) :) Title: End of the Line by conspiracy Rated: PG-13 (It deals with mature subject matter) ;) Key words: Angst, Character death, Mulder POV Spoilers: small spoilers for One Breath and The Blessing Way Summary: Mulder's reaction to Scully's death. Pure angst. Author's notes: I know I could have gone into what happened to Scully specifically but I wanted this story to be more about Mulder's emotiongs than anything else. End of the Line by conspiracy I open my apartment door with almost too much ease. Nothing should be so easy. I glare at the open door. The dark wook almost mocks me in its simplicity. Directing all of my anger toward it, toward the wooden frame, the all-too-willing-to-comply hinges, I slam it with a force I never knew I had. The sound causes a few shrieks from nearby neighbors, but I remain unflinching. The door still stands. It shuts me in from the outside world, protects me. Why should I be protected when I couldn't protect her? I ball up my fist in fury and throw it at the slab of dead fir tree with the same degree of force and anger. The sickening crack of my knuckles and the pain like daggers in the joints of my hand do nothing to ease my anger or determination. The pain I feel and respond to now no longer is physical. Physical pain is of no consequence anymore. I stare at the spot where I have hit the door and feel the burning of angry tears against the backs of my eyes as they reveal how little I've damaged it. My weakness sickens me. I can't even defeat a simple door. I am helpless. Just like I was helpless. I was helpless to stop them, to save her. Oh god, what have I done? I let the threatening tears come and turn to lean against the cold wood. I feel myself sink to the floor as the dark apartment blurrs underwater. All I can hear and feel are the violent sobs wracking my own body. I have no thoughts. My mind is empty. Like my soul. I look around the apartment I used to call mine. Technically it still belongs to me, but no longer in the way it did. Just yesterday it seemed to reflect my personality. It was a comfort to me. Now its normality stares back at me maliciously. The plain, empty coffee table, the semi-organized desk, the gently glowing computer screen that was never turned off-- they all mock me as the door did. I stand abruptly and pick up the coffee table, slamming it into the computer with one swift rush of adrenaline. It's not enough to satisfy me. I push teh coffee table aside and knock the desk completely over on its side, the PC slamming onto the ground with a small explosion. I fall back onto the couch in exhaustion and survey my work. They say you should decorate your surroundings to reflect your innerself. Looking around at the mess of papers and shattered plastic, the jumble of chaos and disorder, perhaps I'm almost halfway there. Perhaps this is the "dark place" Melissa Scully once spoke of. Melissa Scully. The name is another dagger to my heart. But no, it wasn't enough that I killed Scully's sister, now I had to kill her too. I have a fleeting thought of how much I'd like to see their brother befall the same fate but quickly admonish myself for thinking it at a time like this. All I can hear now is the sound of my own breathing. My anger directs itself toward that sound. Why should my lungs be allowed to take in one more breath when hers will never work again? I briefly consider retrieving a knife from the kitchen to silence the respirating organs, but the strength and will power are not in me. For the moment. Instead, I reach over and hit the "random play" button on my CD player. If I can't silence the sound, maybe I can ignore it. Something loud and angry comes through the speakers and I let myself be lost in the hypnotizing beat. The song that plays furthers the chaotic atmosphere. My sould reflected in the artist's angry voice. "When the siren's flash is gone and we're left to carry on all the memories are to few. When the pastor's music plays and that casket rolls away I could live again if you just stay alive for me. Please stay now. You left me here alone. It's the end of the line Make it on my own It's the end of the line Now that you are dead and gone And I'm left to carry on I could never smile 'cause you won't stay alive for me. Finally Your final resting day is without me I weep and think of brighter days What about me?" The rest of the song seems to speak to me rather than from me. "You can't take back the one mistake that still lives on after life it takes In that one day that changed out lives and bitter memories are left behind." The song continues, but I hit the stop button with my fist in frustration and anger. The sudden silence again highlights and increases the volume of my breathing ten fold. I cannot handle this sound. It will drive me insane beyond what her death already has. As I gather up my strength and make my way to the kitchen slowly, opening the knife drawer and studying the gleaming metal I remove from it, all fear and anger leaving me in final acceptance of my fate, I whisper softly to the emptiness. "I guess this is the end of the line, Scully." THE END So? How'd you like it? Enough of a downer for ya? :) Please send feedback, good or bad (but no flames, please) to conspiracy13@hotmail.com