From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: Fri, 24 Oct 2008 22:22:53 -0500 (CDT) Subject: Scars by Seulement Moi Source: direct Reply To: SeulementMoi101@hotmail.com TITLE: Scars AUTHORS: Seulement Moi RATING: PG-13 CATS/KEYS: XRA - X-File/Romance/Angst, M/S SUMMARY: Some things can't be duplicated. SPOILERS: Post The Truth. DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Just amusing myself with them. FEEDBACK: If you enjoyed it, let me know! I love feedback. seulementmoi101@hotmail.com NOTES: Still in love with this show, with the characters and with all things "spooky". *~*~*~* "That's breaking and entering". Scully turned to the voice as she lifted her gun on one hand and the stiletto on the other. She couldn't see anyone in the dark. She could make out the couch, thanks to the dim light coming from the window. The soft light reflected on a piece of glass, which she soon gathered to be the fish tank, now empty. The fish had died a long time ago. Elsewhere, everything was dying. She stood still, her eyes darting in all directions, trying to make out a form, a silhouette, anything that would give away the person standing in the shadows. A small movement made her turn to the other side of the couch, towards the door. Her eyes had now adjusted to the darkness and she could see him. It was Mulder. Her body stiffened and she pointed her weapons to Mulder. "I'm warning you...", she began. But she knew just then she had no chance. The aliens had been sending bounty hunters to get her. In the clinic, some people volunteered to keep watch, training themselves to detect aliens in different forms. They needed time. Time to administer the vaccine to as many people possible. The aliens knew, so Scully became 'the most wanted'. Twelve had come so far. All in the form of Mulder. They had information. Things they had shared together, lived together. Information carefully gathered up by scrutinizing their X-files reports. The best ones, the last two, had even recited some intimate conversations held between them. Bugs and surveillance cameras had provided the material for those. Every time, Scully knew it wasn't Mulder. Even if she wanted it to be him. When she, or one of the volunteers, managed to stick the stiletto in the back of their necks, Scully would shudder at the sight of the green goo. One question pulsed through her brain: what if it was really Mulder? How could she know? Sticking a stiletto on a neck would surely kill anyone, alien or not. They talked like him, looked like him and walked like him. They knew things only Mulder should know. Just six months ago, she had burnt every journal she had ever owned. The last one being the notes she had written for Mulder when she was dying of cancer. Killing the first clones had been difficult. But it had only gotten harder. Every time it was more like Mulder. Once it even smelled like Mulder. Those hazel eyes had haunted her for a long time. That Mulder stared straight at her as one of the volunteers successfully dug the stiletto on his neck. Scully cried even after the green mass had decomposed. For now she was sure. It was not Mulder. She hadn't killed Mulder. This new Mulder was number thirteen. It had been almost four months since the last one. Scully thought they had finally given up the strategy. But she was wrong. Mulder # 13 didn't move or made any attempt to grab her or run away. He just stood there, staring at her. As if haunted by a vision. His breath was quick, short. "It's me, Scully." She sneered. Of course it's you, Mulder. She was too far away to use her stiletto, and even if she could get closer, he'd have her first. Using the gun was no option: the acid in his blood could make her sick before she had a chance to run. "Really, Mulder? What are you doing here?" "Same as you. Documents under the floor boards." He waved them at her. "Isn't that what you came for?" "How did you find me?" "That's irrelevant, Scully. We need to move." "Do you think this small talk will prevent me from shooting you? I've done with a dozen of you. Care to be number 13?" "We're wasting time." "My thoughts exactly." She aimed at him with fearless determination. There was no one to help her now. She had to do it herself. If she was about to die, she couldn't let him live, for he had found the files. She would kill him before he killed her. Maybe someone would go looking for her and they would find the files and there would be hope. "They will have a fieldtrip with this one, Scully. Us killing each other. Doing their job." He smiled sardonically and started moving towards her. "Stop pointing those things at me, please." She took a step back and tripped on exposed floorboards. She hadn't been able to survey the scene before he had come in. He had already ransacked the whole place and left a nice hole in the floor where their hiding place had once been. That place held the copied documents of the long lost tape they had gotten from the Thinker. In Mulder's last quest for the truth, he had gotten a hold of it and all the truths in it. Including the project about making a perfect alien-human hybrid. Their only hope for surviving the alien holocaust. How sadly ironic her doom had been falling into that hole. "Damn it." She cursed, her eyes hot with unshed tears. DAMN IT. Of course, he couldn't miss the chance. He quickly stepped towards her. In a swift motion, she had painfully freed her right foot from the broken wood and taken a step backwards. But his steps were always much longer. He grabbed her by the arms. She twisted in his hold, trying to free herself from it. She had lost the stiletto in the fall, but she still clutched her gun in her hand. She tried, unsuccessfully, to point it at Mulder. She now feared she might end up shooting herself in the struggle. Not like this, she thought with a sudden impotence. What a sick joke to die in the hands of Mulder. To succumb in fear under the same eyes she had held onto so dearly for so long. He repeated her name, over and over. Urging her to listen, urging her to trust him. As if casting a spell over her. It sounded so like Mulder. Why wasn't it Mulder? "No! Just shut up!", she screamed at him. The hope of ever seeing Mulder again faded, giving way to a new dying wish to be fulfilled: kill him before he kills you. Give Mulder a chance to live. Give the world a chance to live. To William. Please survive. As she fought her way off his grasp, her shirt lifted up slightly, exposing her lower back. In that moment, he let her go. She collapsed on the floor. She quickly composed herself and half-kneeling, held her gun point-blank at his heart. "Scully, it's really me. I'm as real as you." He spoke softly. She glared at him in incredulity and defiance. "You've already got what you wanted. That's as far as your luck will take you tonight." She crouched away from him slowly, searching blindly for the stiletto she had dropped. He guessed her intentions and quickly snatched the stiletto from her reaching fingers. "Are you using this against me?" Mulder examined the weapon. His expression changed. Something seemed to have dawned on him. "They've sent bounty hunters, haven't they? That's why you think I'm some kind of clone?" Scully breathed heavily and simply stared at him. It's not Mulder, she told herself. Don't fall into his game. "Who else would it be? Mulder's dead". That was the rumor. It was the first time Scully had said it out loud. Her body shook as it hit her. If Mulder was dead and she was about to be killed, this was the last of Mulder she would ever see. The foe, not the friend. He nodded sadly. She stared at him, waiting for a response, ready to shoot. She didn't want to shoot. She still wanted to have a chance to run, to survive, and to save the world. She wasn't sure what the drone was thinking, but she certainly was using the time to consider her options. Jumping out the window was not the best option. Four floors down could do a lot of damage. She measured the space between herself, Mulder and the door. Maybe she could make a run for it. Even losing the files and surviving could be a better shot than dying and just hoping the files would be found. He moved slightly and her focus came back to him. Maybe he was onto her already. Scully's skin began to crawl in expectation. But he was intent on her hip and the surronding skin, a small portion of her tattoo visible from the angle he was standing in. Lost in a memory he had never had. Was it just a new strategy to win her trust? Have her eating on the palm of his hand just to kill her off? Maybe they needed her to make sense of the files. If Mulder was really dead, she was the only one. They needed her alive. After what seemed to be the longest minute in silence, she finally ventured: "If you're about to recount all the details on how this tattoo came to be, save me the trouble. It was all in the X-File." Mulder sighed, and his eyes met hers. The dark green drowned her. "Was it really because of the desk?" "What?" "You said it had nothing to do with me, the tattoo. But I never knew for sure. We never talked about it again. Was it really that important for you to have your own desk?" Every muscle on her body wavered at his question, but her mind was strong, fighting the impulse to believe him, to go to him. Fighting the feeling that it was really Mulder. That he was alive and well. That they were there together. That they would fight the future. Undaunted by her obvious mistrust, he continued. "Everything in that office was yours as much as mine. I never questioned it or thought about it, actually. It just happened. The X-Files became yours; the quest and the truth. It was you and me fighting. It had been you and me for a long time. I thought you knew that, too." He waited for a response, but didn't get any. "It's always been you and me, Scully." Scully's tear slipped unannounced and unwanted. God, if she could just let go. Damn war, damn aliens. Damn everything. She held the gun up towards his face. "You know I will kill you." "Please don't." Mulder placed the stiletto carefully on the table beside him in a sign of truce. Scully shivered as he stepped closer. "To be fair, you've been the best so far. You almost had me." She released the safety lock in her gun. He stopped moving towards her when her gun was an inch from his heart. Slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt. As he did so, between his beautiful hands and the fabric, she could see his chest. A big scar right above his heart clamored at her in hope, in fierce truth. He opened the shirt wide enough for her to see. And even in the dark and through the tears, she could. "Can you clone a scar, Scully?" He whispered. She moved towards him like in a trance. If it was just an illusion she no longer cared. Why she was there, why she had been so afraid, she had forgotten. She pressed her fingertips to his chest, moving them along the uneven lines of the scar. A reminiscence of torture and of truth. Of undying love. Of death. And once more, life. Her tears hit the warm skin and she dared not wash them away. Would they break the spell? Could she die in this dream? He guided her hand towards his shoulder, where an older scar lay. "You." A soft, round brownish circle. It had healed nicely. Almost invisible now. So long ago, in a moment of panic and sadness, she had proven to him that even by hurting him she was saving him. "Mulder", she beckoned. He pulled her to him before she even had a chance to breathe. He pressed her against him as if his life depended on her. Because it did. And she clung to him as if he were her lifeline. Because in every way, he was. Whatever weakness and hopelessness Scully had felt, an ethereal solace vanished the grief and revived her spirits. We will survive. We will fight. And we will win. The human race will prevail. With all its weaknesses and absurdities and wonderfulness. Every bit flawed and every bit perfect. It had to survive. The life, the lessons, the heartache and the love. Every tiny scar imprinted in the skin. Marking passages, keeping track. Every little scar so personal and inimitable. So unique. So human. Some things just can't be duplicated. *~*~*~* The End.