Date sent: Mon, 25 Aug 1997 17:36:15 -0700 From: JAIME Subject: My Cross To Bear I wrote this story because I was feeling incredibly angsty about having to wait until October 19th to see the 5th season opener. We all know that he's not dead, here's one interpretation for you. Comments welcome at kimble@primenet.com. Oh - I give this a PG rating for lanquage. M & S friendship story. Lots o' angst. Okay, disclaimer time: Chris Carter owns Fox Mulder and Dana Scully blah blah I don't blah blah blah Please don't sue blah blah blah No infringment intended blah blah Chris Carter is GOD Blah Blah Blah Blah... My Cross to Bear By Jaime Special Agent Dana Scully slowly walked through the door of her apartment. She flipped on the light, but made no attempt to walk any further than the entry. With tired eyes, she slowly surveyed her surroundings. She didn't belong here. The apartment symbolized a safe haven. She never felt safe anymore. Scully wandered aimlessly through the apartment. She couldn't stop, couldn't rest, for the instant she sat down, she knew she would succumb to the battle raging within her mind. She continued to pace, until she came across a bottle of Scotch, given to her by her brother. "Damn you, Mulder, how could you do this to me?" She opened the Scotch, took a long swallow, and slowly sank to her knees. She took another drink and the dam burst. She sobbed as though her heart were breaking. Fox Mulder was dead from a self inflicted gun shot wound to the head. Part of her soul had died with him the day she was called to identify the body. They had been so tightly spun into a web of lies that neither of them knew fact from fiction, nor up from down. Her world had revolved around him, and she was his anchor. They only had each other and now he was gone. A few days ago, Scully had gone to the doctor for a routine cancer treatment. It had become a ritual for her to give Mulder her cross pendant necklace to hold while she was gone. The newly adopted ritual seemed to lend Mulder a sense of security. In the past, she had always survived to reclaim it. While in possession of her cross, Mulder always wore it, he needed her to remain near to his heart. Scully sat on the floor, an empty bottle in her hands. She was empty inside, soulless. She was torn between anguish and bitter anger. She brought her hand to her neck to finger the cross and paused when she found her neck bare. Startled, she realized that Mulder had never given her cross back to her. Fresh tears escaped her eyes. She slowly dragged herself to feet and resumed pacing. Finally, she came to rest in front of her computer. She sat down at her desk and turned on the machine. She had to organize her thoughts, regain some sense of control. Frantically she pounded on the keyboard. In her drunken state, her thoughts became poetic. The pain of losing her sister, her father and Mulder came bubbling to the surface. She grieved the for cancer that had become a ticking bomb locked within her own body. She grieved for love she would never experience, marriage and children. But mostly she grieved for Mulder. She had never allowed herself to analyze her relationship with Mulder. He was her other half, and she his. They were soulmates. Bound together for centuries and for the centuries to come. They could communicate with their eyes and finish each other's sentences. She knew that she loved him and he loved her in return. She desired him and was fully aware that he desired her, but they kept their relationship strictly platonic. Their closeness ran so deep, that becoming sexually involved with each other, would be simple mockery. Scully's eyes stung from staring at her computer screen. She was exhausted. She printed her writings and shut of the computer. Maybe her thoughts would make sense in the morning. She rose from the computer, swaying on her feet, realizing she had probably drunk enough to have a case of alcohol poisoning in the morning. She started in the direction of her bedroom and made it as far as the couch before she passed out. ***************************************************************************** The pounding was incessant. Scully squeezed her eyes shut as nausea crashed over her in waves. She took a deep cleansing breath and slowly opened her eyes. The first thing that she noticed was that her quilt from her bed was wrapped snugly around her body. Warily, she racked her brain, trying to remember if she had ever made it into the bedroom. She glanced around the living room, her eyes coming to rest on the coffee table. There was a small, brightly wrapped package on the table. Beside the package was her journal entry and a red long stemmed rose. She picked up her journal entry and began to read. Love is an ever distant destination that seems forever out of my reach. Love and hate reside on the same side of the spectrum. Only from love can we hate, and only from hate can we love. Hate is a strong word, as is love. Love is not an empty sexual encounter, with empty promises spoken in ecstasy. Love is about so much more than sex. Love is a deep understanding, a nexus between souls, void of boundaries, of walls and fences. Love does not die with the mere decay of the flesh that was once a body. True love, I believe, survives all tragedies. My heart resides in an small room made of stone with no doors, no windows. Ever trapped, ever hidden, ever protected from the harsh realities of an increasingly cold environment. I permit myself to love, to feel, but I wonder if I have in some way become a machine with only a direct current leaving my heart, rather than an alternating current, offering and accepting. I experience intense moments of love, consuming and overwhelming. Painful. My heart bleeds and I long to heal the wounds that somehow manage to carve themselves deeper and deeper into my soul. Heal me, mend me, fix me. I can not erase pain of the past, nor prevent pain in the future, but I can learn and I can grow. Flourish in the knowledge that the human soul is good, regardless of evil deeds bestowed upon us by those we perceive as bad. Human nature craves love, acceptance, for who we are, not what we may become nor have once been. Love is not selective. Love is there, hiding, waiting, knowing. Unconditional. Without love, we miss life's treasures. Our dreams become tarnished and incomplete, our actions more calculated. Love can be magical, mysterious. Opening doors to kingdoms buried deep within the recesses of our minds. Do not be overpowered by the temptation to hate, for hate is the coward's solution. Fight it, conquer it. For once the hate runs too deep, indifference will strike. Indifference is a plague, by which we will be destroyed. If you let it, love will triumph. We become whole, rather than random pieces of a puzzle that never quite come together to form the image that was intended. Open the doors, break down the walls. Be free, for freedom is not impossible. Each of us holds a key, but some never discover to which lock the key fits. Search it out, find it. Unlock your soul. Love. Love yourself and love thy neighbor. Love me, for I love you. Dana lowered the paper to the table. She felt utterly exposed. Someone had been in her apartment, had read her most personal thoughts and feelings. She eyed the package warily. She finally grabbed it and ripped it open. Inside the box, was her cross necklace and a small note that read, "Dana, I will be back to hold this cross for you. Until that time, please feed my fish. Thanks, Mulder" ****************************************************************************** Across the street in the building across from Dana Scully's apartment, a man peered through his binoculars at the petite redhead across the street. She had finally awoken from her drunken stupor. Mulder had used the key to her apartment last night. He was surprised to trip over a Scotch bottle, lying empty on the floor. He walked through the apartment, careful not to turn on any lights in fear that Scully's apartment was under surveillance. He passed her computer and read the piece lying on the desk. His chest tightened. This woman had been caused so much pain, so much grief. She was struggling to right the wrongs in her ever chaotic life. In her journal, the world was simple and love would heal her wounds. He hoped she would survive to experience the love she deserved. He set the journal entry on the coffee table next to a rose and a small package. He sat down on the floor next to the couch and held Scully's hand. He kissed her hand and whispered, "I'm so sorry, Dana." Mulder grabbed the quilt off of Scully's bed and wrapped it around her body. He left her apartment without looking back. Mulder looked through the binoculars once more. He held his breath as she opened the box and pulled out her necklace. He almost cried with her as she dropped her head onto the table and sobbed. After her tears subsided, clasped the necklace around her neck. She picked up the rose and got a vase from the kitchen. She placed the rose in the window. She knew he would come check on her. This was her signal that everything was going to be alright. She stood in the window and gazed at the building across the street. A soft smile touched her lips. Mulder gazed upon his partner for last time. It would be months before they were reunited, but she would hold the cross for him until they were returned to one another.