From: ExPhila Date: 6 Apr 1999 14:46:37 GMT Subject: Greive By Exphila (1/1) Title: Grieve. Author:Exphila Rating: PG for language. Keywords: Charecter Death, Altenate ending. Summary: Life carries on....... An alternate ending to FTF. (Not flick-fic!!!) Classification: SRA (x-tra A) Spoilers: A little bit of FTF. If you like the ending the way it is, turn back now. There are also a few throughout the series. Disclaimer: They're not mine and rightfully I shouldn't be rewriting Chris Carter's master piece, but I just can't help myself!!!! Mulder, scully, skinner, Fowely, and anyone else I've forgotten belong rightfully to Surfer Dude, 1013 productions and Fox, And Spiritually to the actors who portray them. No Infringement Intended." I Grieve" belongs to Peter Gabriel. Notes: I was inspired to write this as I was listening to "I Grieve by Peter Gabriel and even though Its 3am and I should be in bed, I have to get this off my chest. Feedback is cherished!Exphila@aol.com Grieve By Exphila ---------------------------------------------------------- Nothing Yet has Really Sunk In, Looks Like it always did. Flesh and Bone; Is not just the way we're tied in. I can't Handle this; I Grieve For You. So hard to move on Still Loving what's gone But life carries on......... Peter Gabrielle. ----------------------------------------------------------- I smash at the Icy glass, hoping That the O2 tank doesn't go to far and hit your face. The Shield breaks and the stuff flows out. It's warm and you're standing there, motionless, as if you were already dead. I Inject you with the amber serum and I wait. And the tube shrivels up and you come back to me. You whisper your cold and we run through the icy corridors until we reach a vent and I lose you again. I pump my life into you, my coat and pants the only thing covering your weakened body and you come back and we escape. We're out on the ice and Look scully! It's a UFO! But you don't look and its black. Then its light and there's people in a helicopter wrapping me in warm blankets and I look for you and I see you. They are taking off my snow drenched clothes and wrapping me in warm blankets, But they're not taking yours off. I try and speak, try and tell them to put the blankets on you, but you just lay there. A small forcefield of ice has formed beautiful crystals over the white skin of your face and your lips are a pale blue. And then it's black. Then its bright and white but your still not there. I look around and there's machines and a nurse. I ask her where you are and she purses her lips and I already know, but she tells me anyway. It feels like a knife twisting in my heart as I lay there and hear the words wash over my body but I don't respond, I am beyond words. And I lay there grieving silently as I see the door open a little and a flash of wire rimmed glasses and a bald head as someone quickly peeks in my door and pokes out again, but I don't care. Its raining and your there. You're laying in a wooden bed as if you were sleeping and its raining. And all I can think about is when we were out in the rain, laughing over an open grave as I stood there and fell in love with you. Now I stand here over an open grave and I still love you but You are no longer laughing. I think about how I will never hear Your tinkling laughter again as I stand out here and you are lowered into the open grave in front of me. And skinner is beside me, tears streaming down his face and I pause for a minute thinking how odd it is for skinner to be crying. Hypothermia they said, we were out there too long they said. You're body was too weak from the virus they said. All it meant to me was that they'd stolen your life and dreams. All that fighting last year for your cancer was for nothing. I think about how, if you'd been here you'd tell me exactly how the person died, but your not and Its raining. And I stay there until the grave is filled and I know that you will never say my name, hold my hand, sit at your chair, call me, put your hair in a pony tail, perform an autopsy again and I cry. And I'm home now and there's some dumb thing playing silently on the TV but I don't care. And there's memories Playing through my head. Of a moment in a car with iced tea, of a hospital where I put a gun to my head, of a monster cuffed to a bathtub, of a writer making a bogus book about us, of you taking a hostage to free me, of us examining each others necks, of you getting a tattoo, of you almost kissing a duplicate of me, of us standing in a hospital hallway and you telling me you'd go on, You'd fight to the end. And I shake my head to clear the memories as I feel cotton rising in my throat and I go to the cabinet and rummage round till I find a brown bottle with blue pills in it. And as I tip out a few so I can sleep, I figure I should take a few more. Then I figure, what the hell, and tip the bottle in to my hand so that all of them fall out. In one quick movement I shove them in my mouth and chew, grinding them into a bitter blue powder that dissolves only slightly in my dry mouth, I take a sip of water and, within minutes, fall to the floor. Its black and Its Raining. Now it's bright and I have a headache as someone sits by my bed. Is it you? I try to see who it is, but it hurts to open my eyes, so I moan your name to get your attention but the darkness surrounds me. I fight to open my eyelids so I can see your face, but they're too heavy. I hear a mans sad sigh and the sickening truth sinks in and I succumb to the darkness. I'm walking through the office and they're not snickering scully, they're sending sounds of sympathy, except for one. He yells out that you are really my ice queen now. I turn around. And as my fist connects with his nose I recognize him as Colton, yet I feel the same, No better, no worse. And nobody helps him as his broken nose bleeds, you had a lot of friends. And I sift through our new office and I hate it scully, not even the new poster makes it feel mine. And as I set up my desk I Find something that makes me cry all over again as I go to the burnt ruins of the basement and pull a desk in to the elevator. And when I get it into the office I put Your name plate on it along with a pencil holder and a small computer the Beauru supplied for you and never took back. I sit at the desk and weep, wishing that when skinner had found me on he floor of my apartment he had left me there to die, cause that's what I wanted. I didn't care if he had reopened the x-files, I want you back, and nothing else. They replaced you with a woman, an awful blonde who stinks of Chanelno5. Who took you nameplate and Dumped it in the garbage can. Who mocked me for wearing your necklace. Who doesn't question my theories, who just sits there and files her nails and does nothing. Who I Hate. Skinner said it would do me good, hah. All I do at night is stare scully. I can't stop grieving for you. Your mother is taking it well, or so it appears. Skinner suggested therapy after I broke Coltons nose but I told him to piss off. I can't go on scully, I just want to stop the world and get off, I want to stop the monotonous pounding of my head. I have no reason to get up in the morning. My fish are dying cause there's no one to feed them when I'm away. I need you. As the minutes turn into and the hours turn into days, and the days turn into years, it says the same. I need you. And scully they keep replacing my partners and screwing with my head. And now they've taken me off the X-files and put me on wiretap. I don't care. And everytime I hear a song on the radio I need you, I want you, I cant live with out you. And I think that if only I had given you more warmth or managed to drag you out of the snow sooner you would be here with me. You would still be Dana Katherine Scully, The fiery, redheaded, strong woman who I loved so much. And I wish I had died on the ice with you in a blaze of glory instead of being the lonely disheveled old man I have become. Without you it doesn't matter if I'm old or young, sick or well, good or bad. It doesn't matter anymore. I am standing in the rain scully, outside your apartment. They sold it soon after you died. I don't know who moved in, I don't know what they did to it, but whatever it was, it's gone now. A blaze. A red cylinder engulfing anything that was left of you. It happened at the cremation, now its here. I slowly glance at the bundle in my hands. I retired today. I finally gave up the chase. That's because it ended scully, Its all over. Samantha's Dead. I'm 50, I'm just an old man. Just a sad, pathetic person who has nothing left in his life to live for. I still sleep on the couch. I still like girly magazines. I still have that basketball. I still feel like my heart has been cut out with a spork. I still need you. They're here. The little green men, the cretorians, the Grey's, whatever. They landed, by god I wish they hadn't. I am standing in a line with 13 guns pointed at my chest. A firing squad scully, they're killing us. We're too old scully. We can't work; we cant be slaves for this inhumane race. All we can do is wear a collar and sit in a cell. I look up at the sky. Are you there scully? Watching and waiting? Will you still look the same as you did alive? Are you sitting on a cloud with enough room for two? Are you with Emily and Melissa and Samantha and Ahab and Pendrell and anyone else who we lost to this endless journey? Only time will tell. Oh, and Scully: Does it rain in heaven?