From: Jay1029 Date: 8 Nov 1998 14:00:09 GMT Subject: REP: "Last Dance" (01/01) PG SA Last Dance Title: "Last Dance" Rating: PG for two uses of one bad word Category: VA Spoilers: "The End" mostly; tiny references to "Pilot," "Syzygy" and "War of the Coprophages"; pre-Fight The Future Keywords: M/S friendship Summary: In the aftermath of the destruction of the X-Files, Scully and Mulder attempt to console themselves. . .and each other.. *~*~* 2630 Hegal Place - Apt. # 42 Alexandria, Virginia *~*~* Gone. Everything -- the X-Files, our office. . .Mulder. Gone. I poise my hand to knock on his apartment door, stopping myself in mid-air. I am unsure of the reason that brought me here. Perhaps it was to check up on him, make sure he was alright. Well, as alright as I suppose he could be now that his world has been eradicated. By Him. By Them. By the legion of nameless men who exist purely to make our lives a living hell. The government inside of the government we work for. The government we continue to put our lives on the line for, day in and day out. The government who is supposed to be on our side, not against us. Or maybe I followed him home for a more selfish reason. For his reassurance that we will prevail, that the bond I have depended on for strength these past five years will not be severed. That this is not the end of us. xXx xXx I am cold. Is the window open? I shiver regardless, placing my phone back into its cradle. I can't call her, can't work up the nerve to tell her what I'm feeling now. I can't tell Dana Scully just how much I need her to survive. I am cold, yet I can smell the stench of our charred office. I stood in that room, only black remainders of our five years together before me. My work, my love, my life. . .destroyed, ironically enough, by my fear. I hang my head in my hands on my couch. She is outside my door now; I saw her turn her headlights off. I heard her footsteps echo between the walls of my hallway. She sighs and I am instantly reminded of how close we are. . .and how far apart we've become. xXx xXx Perhaps 'the end' came earlier than the burning of our office. I think now it may have started with the return of Agent Diana Fowley. There were things at home I wanted to get back to. . . I snicker now as I did then. Is this her way of taunting me? I sigh, sliding down the wall to where it meets the floor. He loved her. She was the partner before me, the best friend. His lover. She was me. . .before me. Something that I'm uncertain if I can compete with. Even through the Bambi/Detective White flings, I was jealous. But I knew they wouldn't last and that, in itself, satisfied me; it comforted me, the knowledge that they couldn't be what I am to him. I wonder if he remembers what that is anymore. <> <> I don't hear any sound emitting from his apartment, nor do I see any lights. He, I imagine, is sitting on his couch: shoes off, tie and jacket discarded in a pile in the corner, first few buttons of his untucked shirt undone, hair unruly as a result of him running his fingers through it. He's blaming himself now for Gibson's disappearance, for Diana's critical state of health, for allowing the X-Files to slip through his fingers as they did. He's asking himself, "Why? Why now?" as I question that myself. Mostly, however, he is blaming himself for letting them win, for losing Samantha all over again. I smile at this. It's amazing and unexplainable, this connection we have. His pain has become my pain. I try not to dwell on it any further. I want to enter his apartment, take him in his arms, hold him as he holds me. To be there with him, no words needed, just us. To be allowed to mourn not only his loss in our search for the truth, but my own as well. I need to touch him. Need to reconnect to him. I place my hand on the door and try to feel him. Yet, here I stay, my head against his door, more than a wall between us. xXx xXx I totally fucked everything up. I should have a slogan attached at the end of my name. Fox Mulder - fuck-up extraordinaire. I drug Diana into this quest of mine and brought Scully in further than she ever should have gone. And, all for what? Diana's lying in some hospital bed as I struggle with my guilt and Scully remains silent outside my door. Is she thinking about what I'm thinking about? Maybe she's finally come to her senses and decided to get as far away from me as she can. The initial shock has worn off now and I am able to put things into perspective. Forensics were unable to pinpoint the exact cause of the fire. Of course, they weren't. That evidence -- a Morley's cigarette, I'd bet my life on it -- was erased, as were any traces of documented cases They didn't want the public to know about. I wonder how Gibson will fit into their scheme of things. I wonder if they really know what that child is capable of. Who am I trying to kid? Of course they do. They like to play God. They know everything. <> <> <> <> <> <> <> In the midst of Diana's return, I pushed Scully away. Even tonight, in the basement, when she tried to comfort me, I pushed her away. I'm scared to love her, to let her in. I know too well the effects of that. And I try to protect her by not letting her get in any further, but that never works. She has lost so much because of me, because of her association with me, with very little gained, which leads me to asking the inevitable. . . Why is she still here? Why, after all these years, does she remain by my side? Why hasn't she walked out of that basement office and never turn back? Because she's Dana Scully and that's not her way. I stand, unsteady on my aching legs. I ache, both internally and externally. Her body casts a shadow that comes through my apartment. I wonder why she's here now. Doesn't she get hurt enough through me? Doesn't she know how many people have? I'm like some kind of pseudo Midas; at my touch comes pain and misery, not gold. How much further will this have to go for her to understand that? Will it take her being shot at again? Losing another family member? Being abducted again, only to return to another mysterious, yet fatal, disease? Or will it take for her to disappear permanently because of me? Like Samantha. xXx xXx When had I taken on this search as my own? Was it when my sister died for me? Or when the daughter I never knew I had died suddenly? Could it be when I was diagnosed with my terminal cancer? Or after my abduction -- those three months erased from my memory without my consent? I think I know the answer. The day I fell for Fox Mulder. My emotions are jumbled right now, as I can only imagine his are. I don't know where one ends and another begins. I feel alone, helpless in this situation where I have not a semblance of control over. At the same time, I'm angry that Mulder has physically closed himself off to me, hurt that he won't let me in. That he won't accept my help, my comfort. Would I, if the situation were reversed? I do not know. Would things be different if I wasn't me? If I were her? If I were Diana? I hear footsteps now and I wonder where he's heading. To the bathroom to try and cleanse himself? Don't bother, Mulder. It won't work. Before coming here, I showered with water as hot as I could stand it. I tried to get the smell off of me, the burning smell. It was no use; no matter how much shampoo or soap I used, it remained in my hair, on my skin, on my clothes. Branding my soul. I think about hours before. Skinner called us down, an emergency, he said. Before I knew it, I was standing in the middle of the damp, putrid-scented reminants of our office. I looked to Mulder as he stared in disbelief at the sight before him, blue and red lights coloring his shirt. And I held him to me, selfishly, I suppose. I needed to regain my hold on us, thinking perhaps in a naieve way my tenacious grip would correct everything. He made no attempt to return my embrace, not that I expected him to. Maybe it was his way of letting go of the X-Files. . .of me. Maybe I'm just reading too much into nothing. xXx xXx Scully. I smile, hearing her sigh again. She's crying now, I know - I've memorized every sound she makes, thanks to this memory of mine - and I cry along with her. I cry for her. For all the things taken away from her. She never smiles anymore, as she did on our first cases together. I never hear her laugh. It's funny how fire has destroyed everything now on our last case together as it did on our first. I lean against the door, pressing my forehead to where I imagine she is. Oh, God, Scully. How did we get to this? How did we drift so far apart? She looks so tired now, more so than during her bout with cancer. She looks so exhausted and I can only blame myself because it's me that prevents her from getting that sleep. She has nightmares now, I think she has for quite some time, and my pulling her out of bed to chase after me doesn't help much either. She hasn't taken a vacation since that time in Maine, but even that was work-related. When we were first paired - the spy I thought she was - she had a sort of innocence about her. She had joy and enthusiasm and determination to prove me wrong every step of the way and bring me back to the normalcy of the Bureau mainstream. Over the years, with her introduction into the conspiracy that has warped me and stripped me down, that same joy and enthusiasm and determination has wavered, leaving sadness, loneliness, and despair in its path. Tomorrow, we will be reassigned. The X-Files are closed, and whether or not we will remain partners, I don't know. But I will see to it we don't. I have to put aside my personal feelings and my selfishness and give her back the life they've taken away. The one I've helped them take from her. I will request that she go back to Quantico to teach Pathology or even to a field office. Anything to get her away from me. Anything to get her happy again. Anything to give her back that innocence and happiness. As for me, I can't say what the future holds. Probably back to Behavioral Sciences. I wonder if this is what Scully felt like when she was struggling with her religion and the absence of it from her life. I feel like I don't know what to believe or what to believe in anymore. Only one thing I know for sure -- I believe in Scully and only Scully. My search will continue for Samantha as I will try to fit together the puzzles that keep coming undone as soon as another piece is discovered. But I will go about this search alone. Without Scully's assistance, without her science to save me as it has in the past. I must find a way to continue on. Alone. xXx xXx I stand, collecting myself. My right hand goes instinctively up to my face, catching the moisture that falls from my eyes. I was crying, but unaware of that. Once again, my brain working as my body struggles to catch up. I need him, want him to help me get through the night. We both have lost so much, sacrificed ourselves in this quest for the truths we aren't even sure exist yet. With my index finger, I trace the number '42' on his door. Then, I turn to leave. To go home. I'm of no use here. I can go home and deal with my loss. Sort out my feelings, think about things. The door behind me opens. In the doorway stands Mulder, dressed as I knew he would be. A solitary tear falls from his saddened hazel eyes. He now feels my pain, my loss, as I feel his. Again, I pull him into the haven of my embrace and he reciprocates the gesture. It is he who has the tenacious grip on me. "I love you," I whisper softly to him. I feel him tremble against me. Has it really been that long since he's heard those words? My heart is breaking, as I think of that. With one hand, I close the door; with the other, I reach out to soothingly caress his face, his stubble rough against the softness of my palm. He pulls away, taking my face into his own hands and studies me. Sometimes I think, if he tries hard enough, he can stare down into the depths of my soul and see the truth behind the facade I wear. I'm glad to give him that one truth. Tonight, I will be Diana. I will be that partner, the best friend. . .the lover. Tonight is not the end of us. It is simply the beginning. Liked it? Hated it? Let me know. :) Janet Jay1029@aol.com