From: "Dana Scully" Date: Sun, 07 Feb 1999 04:54:40 PST Subject: 'Nothing at All' 1/1 TITLE: Nothing at All AUTHOR: Brynna EMAIL ADDRESS: ingos_grrl@hotmail.com DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Please, just keep my name on it. And please email me, so I can see where it is. :-) SPOILER WARNING: I guess thru 6th season, what we've seen so far. RATING: Um . . . well, I never rate, and I wouldn't know to classify this one anyway. CONTENT WARNING: Character Death CLASSIFICATION: V/MSR-ish/Angst (major!!) SUMMARY: um . . . stuff happens. Standard Disclaimer: Mine. All mine. Allllllllll MINE. Oh, wait, sorry, wrong thing. CC is God. He is The Creator. All things come from Him. I worship only Him. Notes: Okay, here we go - this is a BAD fic. It is incredibly depressing, I recommend tissues. Maybe alcohol. Whatever your drug of choice is. You're reading at your own risk, it made me cry while writing it, so . . . you've been warned, I've done my job, and I'll let you read now. ~~~~ It wasn't supposed to end like this. I wasn't supposed to be the one who survived all of this, only to lose her. Too bad fate doesn't listen to what we mere mortals think is the direction our destinies are to take. She was so beautiful. So vibrant. So strong. Everything that I came, quickly, to love. To need. And now it's gone. She's gone. And nothing can be done to change it. Because they've taken her, a final time. At least they can't take her again, they can't continue to hurt her. Hell, they can't even continue to hurt me, because they've done their worst. Nothing else they could ever do would be as painful, as soul shattering, as what they did to her. I'm still just sitting here, holding her hand. It's cold now, lifeless and limp. No pulse beats in her wrist. Her chest doesn't rise and fall with breath; no oxygen circulates in her system. Her eyes are shut; they'll never open again. Her lips; parted slightly. If I let reality blur enough, she looks exactly like she did when I first kissed her. Eyes shut, mouth open slightly, her expression a tiny bit dazed. But her cheeks were rosy, maybe a little too red. Her pulse was beating wildly; I could feel it, with my lips pressed to her throat. She's so small, so pale. She always surprised people, me especially, with how tough she was. I don't hear the doctors, as they come to tell me there's nothing I can do. They don't understand. I'm not trying to do anything. I'm trying to join her. The love of my life, the only person I trusted with every secret, every wound, everything that matters, left me, and I want to be with her. But still, they come, to tell me it's time to go. I can't leave her. I continue to hold her small, cold hand between mine, rubbing it, as if I can will circulation back, will her back to me. If anyone ever could, it would be the two of us. We've done it enough times. This time, it's different. I held her in my arms as she took her last breath. She whispered that she loved me, with that breath. The first time she'd ever told me that. We both knew, and it didn't have to be said. She was pregnant. Three months, according to the doctors. She must not have known, because she would have told me. I have to believe that she would have told me, if for no other reason than if I don't, it will be even more painful to acknowledge. You didn't know, did you Scully? Not positively, you didn't have your proof. I brush some of her hair back, my hand lingering on her cheek. There's still a little warmth radiating from her body. She hasn't been gone that long. They did this, they took her, they hurt her, and finally, just before I could get to her, they killed her. I knew; I knew beyond anything, that this would happen. One day, I wouldn't be able to get to her fast enough. The first time something I just thought turned out to be right, beyond a shadow of a doubt. And it had to be this. I can hear them. They're laughing at me. The Smoking Man is sitting somewhere, lighting up, to toast his victory over me. There's nothing more that they can do to me, because I'm giving up. I don't have anything to keep fighting for. They took my sister. And now, they've taken Scully. I give up. I'm sure I should care about the rest of the world, but I just don't. =My= entire world is gone, why should I worry about anyone else's? She's gone, our baby is gone, and my heart went with them. I lower my hand to my side, feeling my gun. I should join them. I hear her voice. She's leaning over my shoulder; I can feel her hair brushing my cheek. Her arms around my neck. I shut my eyes, and I see her standing in front of me, shaking her head. 'Don't,' she tells me. And something in her eyes makes me drop my hand from the gun. I don't believe, but she did, and since she can't anymore . . . I suppose I'm doing it for her. Suicide sends you to hell. Somewhere deep down, in that good Catholic upbringing, she still believed that. Which is why she stops me. I feel a squeeze to my hand. My eyes fly open, but she remains lifeless on the bed, her fingers curled just slightly, but by my hand, not hers. Fresh tears fall from my eyes to my cheeks. I barely notice them. The doctor again. This time to tell me that I have to go. That this isn't healthy for me. I just look up at him; I'm sure my eyes are haunted, dead. He sighs, and nods, turning to leave. I move to the bed and lay my body down next to hers. I wrap my arms around her small, limp form, holding her to me. I sob now, freely and openly, my face pressed into her hair. Some time later, I don't know how long, I feel a hand on my shoulder. Opening my eyes, I see Skinner standing next to the bed, staring down at me, his eyes worried, despondent. He tells me to go home, to take a shower. At least, I think he does. I don't really hear him. He gently, but forcefully, unwraps my arms from Scully's body and drags me from the bed. "Go home," I hear him say now. My head shakes, quickly. Home. Where I was with her. Where we were together. The first place we kissed, the first place we made love. I can't go back there. I suppose Skinner senses this, because he puts his keys in my hand. Tells me to go to his apartment, to shower and come back. He promises he'll stay with her, until I get back. What good that will do, I don't know. She's dead. I don't want to stay with her body; I just want to join her spirit. Before he makes me leave the room, Skinner takes my gun. Then he pushes me out the door. The further I get from her the more numb my body becomes, and I walk to his apartment. I don't notice the cold, nor do I see the odd, concerned, sometimes frightened looks I get from strangers. I'm covered in blood. Her blood. I arrive at Skinner's and unlock the door. I walk straight to the shower, and turn it on, only removing my shoes before stepping under the hot water. It's too hot, it burns my skin, but I don't feel it. I feel nothing. This is what they wanted. They wanted to destroy me. And they did, better than I ever thought they could. I was stupid, to have thought they might not actually kill her. They don't have compassion. They don't care. My head drops to the wall in front of me, and I watch the water at my feet run pink, her blood washing from my shirt, my hands, my neck. They couldn't have just let her die easily and painlessly, if they had to kill her. No, first they drugged her, then they shot her. All the while making me watch. I always thought that I would seek revenge if anyone did anything to her again. I don't want to. I want to die. But if I were to kill the men who took her from me, they'd only be where she is now. And I don't want them near her. I have to protect her. And our baby. More tears come to my eyes. Our baby. She was carrying our baby. And I honestly don't think she knew it, for sure. For all of one one-millionth of a second, I was ecstatic, just hearing those words. 'Three months pregnant.' And then it hit, again. Harder, if that's possible, than the actual moment of her death. She's gone. There's no more baby, there's no more Scully. Nothing. There is nothing. No heaven. No hell. No God, or Devil. No sun, stars, moon. Earth. Sky. Pain. Joy. Hate. Love. None of it. Absolutely nothing exists anymore. The hot water runs out. The water's running clear at the bottom of the shower. I don't turn it off, just climb out and take a towel, wiping off my face. I stare at my reflection in the steamy mirror, and I don't recognize who I'm staring at. Stumbling, I leave the bathroom, going into Skinner's living room, and finally, his bedroom. I know he keeps another gun around here somewhere. She's still talking to me, telling me not to do this, but her voice is getting fainter, the longer I'm away from her. A-ha, the gun. Back of the closet. Logical. Loading it quickly, I stand back up. Looking around the room, I turn and walk out of the apartment, leaving the door wide open, not caring, and not even noticing. I'm dripping wet; my t-shirt is stained pink from her blood. I'm barefoot. And I'm walking the streets with a loaded gun in my hand. I don't stop until I'm at the bureau, inside the building, and in the basement. Our office. Sure, they took it from us, but it's still our office. I collapse into one of the chairs, and idly wonder if it's Diana's, or Spender's. It doesn't matter. I can see the morning headlines. 'FBI agent murdered; partner commits suicide.' I run the gun up, to the side of my head, my finger tensing and loosening on the trigger a few times. I'll see you soon Scully. I love you too. END