Date: Thu, 13 Mar 1997 09:12:02 +0000 From: "Denise A. Agnew" Subject: (1/1) Missing Time Please don't post to atxc. I'll do that myself. Any other archives, please let me know if you decide to archive this piece. Thank you very much. Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the television program "The X Files" are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, and Ten-Thirteen Productions, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. Spoilers: Memento Mori, Never Again. Rating: G Classification: V. Summary: Scully reflects on Mulder's state of mind and her own during her continuing fight with cancer. Author's Note: I never thought I'd write a piece like this because I don't care for the depressing stuff too much. But I finally got to watch Memento Mori and after that I couldn't help myself. I hope this one makes sense, and as always, I'd love feedback. Missing Time (1/1) by Denise A. Agnew writer@agnewdt.demon.co.uk FBI Headquarters Basement Friday, 4:00pm Was the light in the office brighter somehow? Scully took her glasses off and looked away from the computer screen to the white, glaring light of the florescent tubes above her. Were sounds more intense? The hum of the lights above, the sound of Mulder closing a file drawer vibrated with intensity against her ear drums. The scent of Mulder's after shave drifted toward her, and she knew that his scent was something she'd remember, would recognize anywhere. Did scents assault her nose more acutely than they did before? Before. Everything in her life now revolved around the past and what she had or hadn't done. Before this disease had shocked her into a reality she'd never expected, had never wanted to think could ever happen to her. With her usual aplomb she pushed away a sudden, disturbing image of herself lying in a bed, her head wrapped in gauze, dark circles ringing her once bright blue eyes, her skin a pasty, lifeless white. Mulder sitting by her bedside, clutching her weak, small hand. His eyes swimming with tears, an unspoken message of the deepest kind imprinting on her soul forever. Maybe she'd take that thought to her grave. The messages hiding in Fox Mulder's enigmatic eyes. He could only show this side of himself to her, and even though he would never say it, she knew this in her soul and absorbed the comforting thought like a sponge does water, or paper does ink. She smiled. Hell, she'd been called the Enigmatic Dr. Scully, when the one with all the secrets was really Mulder. Because before she departed this life, she planned on telling him all of her dark corners, her naked truths. And then they would be his secrets and part of his truth. Turning her chair slightly, she gazed at him. Standing by the filing cabinet with his back to her, he thumbed through files and papers, oblivious to her scrutiny. But she knew if she stared at him for long he'd turn around. He always did. And when he did there would be a million possibilities of what his expression might be. She sighed, a weary blanket settling over her like a comforter in winter. Soft, slow. Sometimes, when she thought about why she was so tired, the blanket was almost suffocating. Leaning her head back on her chair, she closed her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she drew the aroma of paper, ink, and something vaguely metallic in through her nose. Her thoughts drifted, floated in her mind like dust motes do in evening rays of sunshine. And she thought of everything in her past that seemed to have lead her to this moment, to the time where every second was precious, every nuance of life was savored for whatever time was left. Locked away in her musings, she gave into her imagination, and found her life floated before her like a movie on a screen, and she wondered if she reviewed her life now would she have to later? When she was on her death bed? So often she'd wondered in the last few weeks if she would change anything. Anything at all about where she was in her life right now. Would she wish that she'd never set eyes on her partner? The man she cared for more than any person on earth and yet disliked in the deepest part of herself for making her feel so much. So many things she would never have felt if she hadn't walked through that door and discovered Spooky Mulder and the X-Files. She never would have been attacked, shot at, been abducted- Well, she may have been attacked and shot at if she'd worked elsewhere in the FBI. But not abducted. Never that. And still, as she reviewed the bizarre cases up until now, when the office was silent but not silent, she wondered if she'd change her relationship with Mulder. Would she have broken down and told him things she'd never told another man? Could he have accepted that she was more than just the cool, level-headed partner he'd come to depend on? She took another deep breath, and this time caught the scent of sunflower seeds. Another file drawer closed, and the breeze created by the motion reached across the room like a fan and lightly brushed her face. Even her skin felt more sensitive. She thought she felt her tattoo tingle, and had to remind herself she wasn't Ed and ergot poisoning couldn't explain her propensity lately to daydream. Who said she never enjoyed life until she knew it was almost gone from her? Despite the horrible outcome of her acquaintance with Ed, she'd reached within his demented world and saw a part of herself within him. Not the hate, or the killing. The thrill of the unknown, the uncaring part of herself that threw caution to the wind and burrowed in with both hands. So many times she'd been viewed by people, including Mulder, as an unfeeling, thinking machine. Logic and precision ruled her day. At least that was what they thought. But the rebellious, ready for anything part of her surfaced when she was pushed too far and too hard. So Mulder had learned. Learned, maybe, too late. "Scully?" Mulder's voice rang loudly in her ears, and her eyes sprang open, a startled breath parting her lips. She stared at him with wide eyes. He stood by the file cabinet, holding papers loosely in one hand, his gaze touching hers. "Scully?" he asked again softly. He looked, perhaps, as if he'd been shocked, or shot, or just read something horrible. "What is it, Mulder?" He shook his head the tiniest millimeter, and opened his mouth. Nothing came out for a moment as he continued to look at her. There it was again. That softening, that particular glow that back lit his eyes. It was there for her every day now, every moment he wasn't harassing her with silly jokes, and sometimes even then. Every day now when it could have been every day before. Before. "Are you okay, Scully?" "I'm fine, Mulder." She knew she wasn't. But it was what he expected her to say, and what she required of herself. Without this subtle form of control over her life, she was no longer the owner of her time. And she'd been missing a lot of time lately. Looking at the wall clock she saw that fifteen minutes had passed from the time she'd closed her eyes until she'd heard Mulder's voice. "When I saw you sitting there, with your head back and your eyes closed..." She dared to look directly into his eyes. "I know, Mulder." A long pause settled over them, and still he did not move. Finally, he stepped the few inches to his chair and sat down heavily, as if her tiredness had transferred to him. "Where did you go?" he asked. "What?" "Where did you go during your little trip this time?" "Back to the hundred and one cases I've shared with you." She took another deep breath and drew in another draught of scents. "I didn't realize after I closed my eyes that so much time had passed on the clock. It seemed like only a few moments." "Ah, missing time, Scully. I think we have another X-File." And in her usual quiet, wise way, she nodded and smiled and replied the way he would expect her to and what she required of herself. "Mulder, you have no proof for that theory..." The End -- Denise A. Agnew