From: shirlock Date: Fri, 6 Nov 98 11:17:31 -0000 Subject: Title: Quis separabit? Who shall separate us? Author: Shirlock Rating: PG-13 Category: XA-X-Files/ Angst Spoilers: None Summary: Cancerman has a name; Greater love hath no (wo)man than to lay hiser life for a friend; Mulder's thoughts at her grave. No teary farewell to the woman who always keeps her promises and a man who can't live without them. Credit due: To the anonymous poet who penned the haunting 13-liner. Disclaimer: All characters belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox. All credit due to his mesmerizing stars Gillian Anderson and David Duchovny. This is supposed to be the last episode of the X-Files. Hope you'll enjoy it. February 12th. 8:15 am, J. Edgar Hoover Building "William B. Davis." Fox Mulder pronounced. It rang out like a death sentence. "Who?" AD Skinner looked up from his desk. Fox Mulder carried a box and strolled in without asking. His smaller partner trailed in behind also carrying a similiar box, eyes defiant and lips set in a tense line. She was closely followed by another tall figure. Jeffrey Spender held a small manila envelope. Mulder put the box on Skinner's table. Scully dropped hers to the floor. Skinner's secretary stood at the doorway, but he nodded understandingly. She couldn't have held them back if she had all of security guarding his door. "What's this all about, Mulder?" Walter Skinner didn't enjoy surprises and he knew he was on the brink of stumbling into one. Cigarette smoking man listened. The tape spun in slow circles and the new voices in Skinner's office sounded offensive. He lit another cigarette and dragged at the filter. "Cigarette smoking man. Cancerman. Lucifer in a dark suit." Mulder said as-a-matter of fact. "His days are numbered. It's payback time." Walter Skinner felt the hairs on his neck rise. He wondered if his room was free of hearing devices. Scully didn't wait for him to overturn the furniture. "We were in upstate New York the last two days. We met some very influential men in dark suits in an even darker room. Sir, we have evidence. Proof. We have what it takes to hang him." Scully let Skinner sink in image of the shadowy Syndicate, the powerful men and the self-professed inventors of the future. "They gave you his name?" Skinner sounded incredulous but Mulder explained they wanted him dead more than they wanted the X-Files closed. He had become a liability with his big promises and his white lies. "What's in the box?" Skinner was slowly smiling now. His heart beat a little quicker and his breath shallower. "Poetic justice." Mulder grinned. "Poetic justice. And if we can't nail him for the sonofabitch that he is, we have a relative of his who will testify who he is. " Skinner eyeballed the three agents and his gaze transfixed onto the fresh-faced Spender. "I'm his son. " The tape recorder continued twirling the brown ribbon three floors immediately abover Skinner's office. The tell-tale sign of a single half-smoked Morley sat in the ash tray, but the smoker had departed. His overcoat clung to the back of the chair- the departure must, no doubt, have been a hasty one. 11:16 am Same day Mulder and Scully dropped into their familiar chairs in their basement office. The three hour meeting and the resolve to get the warrant from the justice department went swimmingly well. The evidence they had were incriminating and damning. For once, the law weighed the overwhelming evidence to prove that justice could be served. They wielded the hammer that would put nail his coffin shut. "We should celebrate," Mulder smiled, a generous smile. Scully responded with a toothy grin. Her face was radiant, even though they took the red eye back and had spent two nights skimming through boxes and boxes of documents and files, photos and evidence. There were eighteen boxes all in all. And if that didn't prove his connection, Jeffrey Spender offered to be the one to prove the existance of his erstwhile father. "The monster has a name. It's worse to think he had been a man. Man enough to have fathered a son." Mulder said discompassionately. He had once thought he was satan's offspring. Scully sighed. A long and wistful sigh. Her face was smiling and Mulder smiled in spite of himself. He watched her from his seat and the revelation that was slowly seeping into her mind radiated from her face. An absolutely triumphant face. There was something so ethereal about Scully, so inscrutable, Mulder drank in her delicate features. She dimpled in her right cheek and Mulder wondered why he had never seen her smile that way before. "Let's celebrate. Yes." Scully looked into Mulder and he thought he saw someone else. A mask was lifted. A beautiful woman with grateful eyes wandered into Mulder's. "Let's do Valentines." Mulder offered then wished he could stuff the words back into his mouth. Too soon.Too quick. Scully's grin disappeared, replaced by something impish. Something unfathomable. "Valentines?" the word echoed in her head, tripping an alarm that went ding-dong like a bell in the belfry, sending whimsical signals into her body. She wondered if they could actually go for a decent meal when she suddenly remembered. "Oh I can't. I'm going to New England with my mother. My cousin's getting married." Scully said not too enthusiatically. "She chose a good day." Mulder arched a brow. "He did." Scully corrected quietly. "Hypothetically, if you wanted a Valentine's gift, what would it be?" Mulder prodded. He was merely intrigued. He wanted to give her something. Something that meant a lot to her. "Seriously." "Hypothetically?" Scully mused, a tinge of pink crept into her cheeks. She managed to look shy and impish at the same time. "I want a man who loves me, and to spend the day with me. Is that too much to ask?" "I'll ask around." Mulder joked. "What are you doing for Valentines?" Scully couldn't help asking. Prying. Mulder had a quick response. "I'm hoping to have cigarette smoking man in the electric chair so that I can personally throw the switch." Scully appreciated the humour, but winced at the graphic image she conjured. "Well, I think I'm going down to the lab." Scully stood up, resolute. "Why?" Mulder genuinely didn't know why. "Because." Scully folded her arms and turned on her heel. That was all the answer Mulder was going to get from her. He watched her move down the darkened hallway and cocked his head to an angle, betraying his thoughts and wishes. The darkness swollowed her up until a light bathed her afresh at the lift lobby. Her hair was like spun copper in the harsh yellowy lights. Mulder spun around in his chair and scanned his cork board. I want to believe. The poster was once burnt, but he got another one. Relentless, he said to himself. It'll take more than a little fire to quench his own burning, though he felt the burning coming from a different place. He crossed his legs and looked again. His green eyes darted about the space and rested on a photograph. It was Scully and him, sitting on the edge of a table in the Lone Gunmen's lair. Their first picture together. They were seated close together and Frohike brandished the camera like a firearm. He wondered how many photos that nerd snapped of Scully that day. That first day she met the three stooges.Mulder looked about in his desk drawer and looked in the far recess where his partner sits. No name plate. No designation. Nothing. One lone computer and- Mulder walked over to the unlit corner. He snapped on a light. Dare I? He threw a cautionary glance to the door and decided to lock it. He came back and felt bad at what he was going to do. Almost ill, but it got the better of him. He yanked the first drawer open. It remained stubbornly unyielding. Damn. He cursed under his voice. Why would she lock it? He never locked his. Would she be hiding something? Did she presume he would come about and snoop in her desk? Why did she know him so well? When did she know him so well? When? February 13th, 8:30am Valentine's eve AD Skinner was feeling really good that morning. It could've been a restful night he had without nightmares. Or it could've been the little nightcap he took before he slept. But he preferred to believe it was because old cancerman had a name and an address and several aliases which checked out. It might even have been the fact that his crimes were being exposed and now the hunter has become the hunted. William B, Davis was a wanted criminal. In all states. He called Mulder to tell him of the progress. "Where's Agent Scully?" Skinner asked. "She took the day off. She's taking a long weekend up to New England with her mother." Mulder replied. "That's good. Maybe you should take off somewhere too, Agent Mulder. Take a break. With cancerman lose, he might come for you." Something struck in Mulder. All the signals went off like a cartoon gong. He might come for you, Skinner said. Scully! Mulder grabbed his jacket and fled out the door. On the other end of the line, Skinner replaced the receiver slowly. Shit, he said to nobody. New England, same day, 12: 50pm Dana walked next to Margaret Scully. The wind blew her hair into her eyes and the smell of salty air invigorated her. Margaret looked at her daughter, and laughed. "What?" Dana was surprised by the sudden laughter. "It's Valentines eve, Dana. And you're stuck with me." Margaret pulled her daughter closer and draped her arm around her. "Where's Fox?" "In D.C." Quick reply. No nonsense. "Why?" "Did he ask what you were doing on Valentines?" Margaret was astute in her observations but Dana was reticent about the topic of where she and Mulder were. The truth to that question was- nowhere, slow. "In a manner of speaking. Let's go for some lunch. I'm starving." Dana pulled her mother to the genteel cottages affronting the sea and guided her mother through a busy part of the beach front. There were many couples walking hand in hand and Dana smiled to herself. There were some thoughts she couldn't share with her mom. Didn't want to share with her. It warmed her heart to think of Mulder as the best friend she's ever had. Their relationship thrived on trust and where Mulder was betrayed of all of his, he was the one to buoy her up by the insistence that there was no one else in the world he could trust but her. Those words were better than holding a hand. Intangibles. Everything with Mulder is so intangible, yet it was the most solid thing she has ever found in her life. Faith in Mulder. Mulder raked his mind for names of places Scully had briefly told him about since her last visit. She had been visiting when she walked right into a strange case, involving a rather satanic Barbie doll. Where would she go? Margaret pointed to the small blue and white cottage that bore a sign "Fisherman's Cove". A dark skinned man in a tan T-shirt was walking three feet behind them. He broke into a run and grabbed the purse that Margaret Scully held in her left hand. "Hey!" Dana gave chase, immediately. She was furious someone would do this in broad daylight in a crowded area. She moved like a panther and shouted "Stop! Stop that man!" He kept on running and darted in and out of the narrow walkways, shoving people, knocking them down as he fled. Scully stopped in the middle of her tracks and listened. She was far away from the beach front and her FBI voice was telling her to seek assistance. She had drawn out her gun and she sidled along the same walkway when someone came up behind her. The next minute the man was dragging her behind a warehouse. She never saw the plank from where she stood and never had a chance to duck from its blow. Mulder was in his car when his cell phone chirped. "Mulder." he said, hoping it was Scully's cheerful twitter about the great time she's having with her mom. "Mr. Mulder. How's the scenic route?" An image of his craggly face and a cigarette perched on his lips shattered his hopes. " I was wondering if you would like to join us in New England for some clam chowder. I think your partner would like to spend some time on Valentine's with you." The suavity of the voice knotted his stomach. His throat was parched. He pulled over in the soft shoulder of route 115. "You sick-" Mulder could hardly contain his seething anger. "If you so much as touch her-" "I am doing that as we speak, Mr. Mulder. Come to the Columbus Warehouse near pier 66 and maybe we can do some business. Come alone if you ever want to work with your Scully again." The voice was even-toned, but the threat hung in the air after the call was disconnected. Mulder thought hard. It could be a trap. It was very likely a trap. He would kill them both. He had nothing to lose but to take them both down with him. Mulder cast the die. If he called for backup, he'd have a fighting chance. He punched another number and worked out the details with the FBI branch office in New England. Mulder saw Margaret Scully on a white bench. A policeman was taking her statement. He came closer to her and managed to whisper in her ear, "It's under control, Mrs. Scully. I'm going to make sure she's fine." Margaret Scully swollowed hard and searched for some hint of confidence in his eyes. It was there, and she felt comforted. "Be careful, Fox". At Pier 66, everything seemed dark and wretchedly still. The boards creaked under his weight as he moved in closer, gun drawn and eyes darting in the far corners. He whispered something into his shirt collar and two sharpshooters took their positions on the roof of the adjacent warehouses. The weather was chilly but Mulder felt hot inside. Feverish with anticipation. He caught sight of his partner, drawfed by the emptiness of the space within. Her head hung low and he couldn't be sure if it was Dana. Her hands were tied and there was dried blood caked to the left temple. Could she be dead? His eyes widened at the sound of approaching footsteps. His voice reverberated in the hollow warehouse. "Let her go." Mulder didn't mince his words. Scully groaned. Her arms and legs were bound and her mouth was taped. She wasn't dead. She was groggy from the concussion and struggled to lift her head up. She heard Mulder's voice and her body willed itself to awaken. Every fibre of her being strained and pulled against its better judgement. A dark skinned man stiffened in the shadows ten feet behind Mulder. In his hand he held a revolver aimed at Mulder's head. "Let her go? You give me the papers first." Mulder took out the manila envelope and waved it in the air. You want it, you come and get it. Nobody took a step forward and nobody said anything. An eternity passed before cancerman opened his mouth. "Leave it on the floor and walk away." "Let Scully go. Now!" Cancerman took out a knife and inched towards Scully. Mulder flinched, arms numbed by the position of his extended firearm. He gripped his pistol tighter and aimed at his head should he try anything stupid. He bent down to cut the twine which bound her ankles. Scully got up slowly and walked towards Mulder in agonizingly small steps. Twenty steps lay between them. Fifteen. Ten. Eight. Seven. Four. Scully focused on Mulder's firearm but a glint caught her eye ten feet behind her partner. The barrel end of a metallic weapon. She dashed forward with all her remaining energy and caught the bullet meant for Mulder. Mulder dropped his left arm and caught her swiftly as he pulled the trigger and released its lead toward the shadowy figure. Gun shots rang out and shattered glass rained from above. Mulder shielded Scully with his back and caught a nasty glass in his thigh. The police materialised in the warehouse from all directions. Cancerman lay crumpled like a puppet. The other shooter sprawled in the shadows. Mulder pulled the tape from Scully's mouth and scanned the blue eyes that focused from behind. "Scully. Hang in there. You're going to be fine." Mulder's voice quivered and hugged her closer to his body. His hand was crimson red and glistening. Her life blood, so red, so very warm was oozing out into a large puddle soaking his coat, his pants, his shirt. She offered a smile as he bellowed for the paramedics. "I'm going to be fine, Mulder. I'm not going anywhere. I promise." The whisper was so gentle and so assuring, Mulder smiled. County Hospital, New England Valentine's Day 1:40 am. The sterile hallways. The harsh lights. The booming sound of sirens and the lingering look Scully gave him just before she was wheeled into the operation room. Mulder sat in the wheelchair spinning into a different direction he couldn't control. His thigh hurt and he felt a deep throbbing from within the gaping wound. When he woke up, it was 5:20 am from a commotion that came from another room. He fought the pain stiffening in his limb and forgot where he was momentarily. He looked down and saw his leg, a gauze wrapped tightly across the middle. Hospital. Scully. These two words became symbiotically entwined. Skinner peered in and opened the door. He didn't say a word. He didn't have to. Mulder didn't speak. The question could never come out of his lips. Silently, Skinner wheeled him into the ICU. Margaret Scully held her daughter's hand. Deja vu, Mulder thought, too many deja vus. There were silent trails of tears that stained her motherly face. Dana had a tube going in her mouth and the respirator that breathed for her made a bubbly noise. "Scully?" Mulder heard his voice, alien and far away. Mrs. Scully pushed her chair and offered the space for his wheelchair. Where were those shy blue eyes and those lips that bantered words of wit with him? The stillness of her body frightened him. He never knew when Skinner or Mrs. Scully left and he leaned into her partner's once forbidden personal space. Her hands were soft and cold and moist and some strong medicine stung his nose. A drip clung into her arm as did his. The New England weather turned a steely shade of grey. The monitors beeped, and hummed and hissed. Mulder thought of the time she was first found after Duane Barry took her. Against all odds, she had survived. Her immune system was decimated, Byers had said, but she proved the world wrong. Dana Scully has an iron will. Mulder remembered his hypothetical question for her Valentine's wish. "I want a man who loves me, to spend the day with me. Is that too much to ask?" "I am that man, Scully." his words were barely audible. He took her left hand and touched her knuckles. These professional hands that guided a scapel into a corpse never smelt sweeter. Mulder pushed himself closer and buried his face in her hair. There was smell of gunpowder and there was a distinct smell of rust. No, blood. 6:44am, Valentine's Day Scully's spirit stirs in her sleep, a rude awakening since she was so at peace. Where am I? She saw Mulder holding her hand, his head buried in her hair. She smiled a smile that Mulder would've liked to see. She stretched her arms and found the shackles loose. They were light and seemed to gravitate toward the ceiling. Drifting without sound, she instinctively looks down. Her face, ashen white and deadly cold. She blinks her eyes and looks at her hands. She saw right through them. Mulder jolted and sat upright; the tearing searing sensation in his leg insisted he was alive. Had he fainted or did he fall asleep? A stinging "Eeeee" sound bounced from the walls. People pushed their way in; strangers in white coats with funny equipment. They pushed him aside and did their job. Mulder watched like a third person in a dramatic play that was being acted out for him and him alone. Ten minutes pass and the act is over. A cover is pulled and Scully's face is now hidden. It is like a dream in which he is an involuntary actor. He screamed but no sound penetrated the eerie vacuum. He felt a spirit beckon from above. He glanced up and watched the furthest corner a hazy vision of a woman. His eyes clouded releasing their hot tears and silent fury. Dana watched from an eagle's point of view, her fading from behind glazed eyes. Terror spiralled from deep within him and drowned the man with tears of uncontrolled grief. The next few moments, Fox Mulder entered his own dreams with his eyes wide open. He sees images and people. Frohike, Byers Langley, Mrs. Scully and Skinner. They look like still life portraits, tinted blue, as blue as Scully's eyes when she wakes in the morning. Yesterday was the last day she will wake to a morning. "Scully, you promised, you promised-" February 23 Scully's birthday. Fox Mulder sat in his office. The calendar had today's date circled in red. Scully did that so that he wouldn't forget. Now he was afraid he might remember nothing else but that. On the calendar hung the keychain, a single key swayed on the ring. The Apollo keychain he gave her for her last birthday. He took the key and went to her table. It slotted in neatly and the desk drawer released the stubborn lock. He sat on the chair and rested his weight onto his other leg. Slowly he opened the drawer. A photo of him and her. The same one he asked Frohiki to reprint for him he found Frohiki had reprinted one for her as well. He turned the glossy and a scrawl revealed Frohiki's admiration and mirrored his own-"To one classy lady." it said. Beneath the photo was a diskette with his name partially obscured. He lifted it out and punched her computer to life. He slipped the diskette into the drive and words came from beyond the grave. Quis separabit? Do not stand at my grave and weep. I am not there, I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow. I am diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain, I am the gentle springtime rain. When you awaken in the morning's hush, I am the swift uplifing rush. Of quiet birds in circled flight, I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there; I did not die. The glowing words gave him new strength. Scully was talking; Mulder- listen. No tears flowed, no sniffles, not even a sob. He knew how and where he wanted to spend her birthday. He drove for miles into the murky afternoon. The grassy cemetary was small but two Scullys lay within those confinements. The headstone was her pillow and he would share it with her tonight. He lay the roses by the others, and put his hand in his coat pocket. Despair drove a man to painful desperation; he pulled out the photo of him and her. He closed his eyes and his memory sourced for a happier Scully. Her girlish smile. Her brilliant mind. Her self-control. Her compassion. Her dancing eyes that danced too little. Her serious look; her wire rims that framed her pretty, pretty face. Her simple voice, her cupid mouth. That dimple. Her lab coat and latexed hand, small fingers that could crush a man. It dawned on him that his heart slowed from the crushing weight of her absence. He sank to his knees and lay on his side and welcomed the yawning chasm that swollowed him whole. "Dana, Dana, Dana, Dana, Dana. Scully." The deeper he fell, the lighter he danced. His arms reached to touch a star in the sky. He swam and drifted, floated towards a boat in the middle of a stream that flowed somewhere. It moved not but no visible strings held it to its place. Soon he faced a woman he thought had broken a promise. She smiled and dimpled and held out her hand. His heart leapt and clasped its ethereal palm. Looking down, he saw his tired and worn out body frozen by the grave. His fingers slipped and dropped the photograph he held to his fluttery heart. Together they sat across from each other, toward a light that beckoned both. The waiting boat bobbed and buoyed both passengers safely aboard. The line which bridged a darkened rift; Released its grip to let them drift. Mulder never felt death's cheating hand. Without his Scully, he would die a truly broken-hearted man. The end. Read it and weep your feedback: shirlock@pacific.net.sg