From: XXandie@aol.com
Date: Thu, 23 Sep 1999 11:19:26 EDT
Subject: *new*  Time Never Ends
Source: direct

Title:  Time Never Ends
Author:  Ali Harrett
Reply to:  XXandie@aol.com
Rated:  PG-13
Category: S
Keywords:  MSR, character dies
Spoilers:  None
Summary:  Dealing with death
Disclaimer:  They don't belong to me.  I swear!  Damn, why 
is it no one believes me?  They belong to Chris Carter, 1013 
Productions and FOX, Inc.  Well, maybe they do belong to me.  
Haha, just joking.  
Author babble:  This is a little bit different than what I 
usually write, which always turns out to be smut or 
something with sex in it.  There is none of that in here.  I 
am hoping for a masterpiece, so let the story begin.  Enjoy!  
All responses are welcome, including flames.  
Archive:  Gossamer. Anywhere else, please email me.  I would 
like to know where my stories are going.


OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Time Never Ends
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO



The wind blew in gusts across the highway just outside 
of Boston.  The sea breeze was heavy with moisture, and the 
sky was becoming dark and cloudy.  Night was moving in, and 
this increased the volume of the dark, and made the impeding 
storm seem worse than it really was.  The street was not 
empty, but it was not busy, either.  Rural routes tended to 
be that way, less crowded, but slower, too.  
In a blue sedan with government plates drove two 
people.  One was tall, muscular, and good-looking.  He had 
short, slightly unkempt brown hair, and hazel eyes that 
spoke of great intelligence.  Behind those eyes lurked a 
beast of burden, a great sadness, and maybe more, that 
troubled the man's soul.  Under his black duster he was 
dressed in a dark gray suit with a red tie, nothing that was 
too outlandish, but smart and fashionable at the same time.  
Beside him in the passenger side, for he always drove, sat a 
woman who was considerably smaller when compared to her 
partner, yet her demeanor said she was anything but.  She 
wore pride like a badge, and strength across her like a 
banner, but her eyes, although matching the man's for 
intelligence, held the same sadness, the same unspoken 
trials and losses that his held behind their sparkling blue 
lenses.  Her red hair was cut short, just above her 
shoulders, and under her black duster she wore a burgundy 
skirt and cream blouse.
Anyone seeing the pair would either think of a 
successful couple, sharing in business what they shared in 
life, but anyone who knew them knew differently.  The man 
was Fox Mulder, and the woman Dana Scully.  They were 
partners working for the FBI in Washington DC in the X-Files 
division.  They had been working together for 7 years, and 
today was not unlike any other day.  The highway was one 
they traveled frequently, and the weather was anything less 
than ordinary.  Classical music played softly in the cab of 
the car, and both were quiet, lost in their own thoughts.  
Scully sighed.  It was deep, and held a tint of 
helplessness, but it was also one of boredom.  "Mulder, 
let's stop and get something to eat."  She tapped her 
fingers restlessly against her thigh, and Mulder caught the 
movement out of the corner of his eye.  He was sharply aware 
of her sitting there, with her duster hanging open, and the 
silk blouse slightly disarrayed  to show off a little creamy 
chest, and the white lace of her bra.  Sometimes driving was 
too boring for him, so he thought of naked women, large, 
voluptuous women, and often times they were Scully, although 
she was not large, nor voluptuous.  It was only natural, he 
had to remind himself, that men think of their women 
counterparts that way.  Or was it?  
He shifted in his seat, and moved to adjust the radio 
dial.  A rock beat came over the airwaves, and Mulder leaned 
back into his seat, happy with the change, happy with the 
little glare his partner gave him.  "A couple more minutes, 
and we'll be in town.  Is that OK?"  He gave her a lopsided 
grin, and pushed back the hair that fell into his eyes.  He 
really must get a haircut.
She looked out the window at the passing scenery, at 
the trees that were shadowed into one dark mass against the 
darkened sky.  It started to rain.  "Mulder?"  She asked, 
her voice distant as her thoughts.  "If a tree falls in a 
forest, and no one is there to see it, does it still make a 
sound?"  She continued to look out the window, at the 
setting sun, and he was suddenly concerned about the change 
in her mood.  Where did that comment come from?  Only one 
who was depressed would concentrate on that old proverb for 
long.  
He thought about what she could possibly mean, and all 
he could picture was a beautiful woman surrounded by evil 
and corruption, falling, to have no one even look at her, 
but continue on their way without a care.  Like a tree, she 
had years when the environment favored her, but she also had 
years where she had to endure extreme hardships just to 
live.  But in both instances, she grew.  But did she think 
that he was one of the ones who killed her, or who didn't 
pay attention to her?
"I do think it still makes a sound.  She will not go 
down quietly."    She turned and looked at him.  She smiled, 
a huge grin that stretched from ear to ear, and started 
laughing.  Embarrassed, he looked the other way, at the cars 
passing to his right.  He had no rebuttal to her joke, and 
he was aghast that his partner would think something so 
funny.
"I just thought that you were talking about you, being 
alone and unappreciated and I don't know.  You aren't 
though."  She continued laughing, and he pulled his eyes 
away from the highway to look her in the face.  Tears were 
streaming down her cheeks, and he could almost see that her 
face was red from her laughter in the dimming light.  "I 
would never forget about you."  She sobered a little at 
that.
"Mulder, I never knew you loved me so much.  Kiss me."  
Her eyes shined, and he looked back at the road only to see 
the darkened form of a parked car that had died in the 
middle of the road.  Maneuvering to miss hitting the car, he 
swerved into the center of the highway only to see 
headlights from the opposite direction glare at him from 
around an approaching corner.

He had never heard anything so loud and terrible in his 
life.  The sound of metal on metal, the crunching and 
grinding of steel, the popping of plastic, and the breaking 
of glass.  The bone-jarring crash left him pinned against 
the steering wheel, the seat trapping him from moving.  His 
legs hurt from the position he was in, and he was certain 
that some of his ribs and possibly one of his legs was 
broken.  He could smell the fine powder that covered him, 
and he realized that the airbag had deployed, only to be 
useless after his body had plunged into it.  Oh, how his 
chest hurt.  He tried to move, but couldn't.  Pain radiated 
from the center of his body, from his legs down to his feet 
and his head pounded.  It was then he became aware of the 
sirens and the people around him.  He shook with the 
adrenaline that rushed through his body.  He was alive.  
A man dressed in fireman's gear pried at his door.  
Other uniformed persons came over.  The door creaked and 
sighed with the effort of it's removal, and finally, the 
hinges gave way.  Carefully, very carefully, they restrained 
his neck and head, which had no power of their own, and 
streaks of electrifying light flickered across his vision as 
the pain almost overcame his senses and made him pass out.  
He missed the sensation of rain brushing his face.  
He didn't remember how they got him out, but he was 
laying flat on the ground on a plastic gurney.  An EMT was 
at his feet, pulling something from his medical caddy.  He 
was covered with blankets, but he shivered anyway.  He knew 
he was in shock.  He tried to focus on the wreckage that was 
strewn across the road.  His eyes failed him.  So he stared 
up at the sky, waiting for darkness to come once again.  It 
was then that he recognized the body of his partner from the 
corner of his eye.  She was on a metal gurney not so far 
away, and he made his eyes focus as they pulled the black 
plastic around her and zipped her body up.  
"No!"  He screamed, and kicked the EMT at his feet in 
the jaw, knocking him backwards, then hit the one about to 
tape his body to the board.  "No!"  He screamed as he 
struggled to get up, people rushing to him, trying to 
restrain him.  His body couldn't handle the pain, but he had 
to see his partner.  Not Scully.  Everything was blurry, as 
he half dragged himself the 10 or so feet to the gurney 
holding the body bag.  He could feel the stares, feel the 
immense agony of his body on fire, but he struggled to unzip 
the bag and look at the contents inside.  
He had no need to pull the zipper further than the 
length of her torso to see the damage done to her.  Her 
face, which looked serene in death, was cracked and bleeding 
from the right side where the skull had been smashed.  No 
one could of survived that kind of trauma, he knew, and 
became aware of the wetness on his face, and the words 
"NoScullynoScullynoScullynoScully" repeatedly croaking from 
his throat.  Against his better judgment, he kissed her 
face.  He kissed her forehead, he kissed her nose.  He could 
feel  her blood sticky against his lips, as he kissed her 
everywhere.  He kissed her lips.  The rain that had been 
falling lightly now came down harder to mix with his tears.  
"NoScullynoScullynoScullyno."  She would never know how 
his quest would end, she would never know the pleasures that 
life was still meant to give her.  She would never know how 
he felt about her.   Never.  
"NoScullynoScullynoScullynononono."  And then the world 
passed into oblivion as hands restrained his body once 
again.


The nightmare was never-ending.  It was always the 
same.
First the picture of Samantha, talking to him in that 
fuzzy radio-voice, telling him no, and then his father.  
Then he saw his sister's body floating into the incandescent 
light, floating away from him.  He was helpless; he couldn't 
move, just watch and call for her.  Then the light changed 
and became the bright headlights of a car, shining through 
the darkness of night and storm. The sounds of the crash 
rung true in his memory, and then he saw Scully, the way he 
had seen her before the crash, with her eyes bright and 
shiny, her face glowing from her taunting of him.  Then she 
floated away, away from him, his arms outstretched, calling 
for her to come back, the way he called for Samantha to come 
back. Then he would turn and look at his hands when she was 
gone, only to hold a lock of her brilliant red hair between 
his fingers.  And then they would float away too.
This nightmare repeated itself many times, over and 
over, until finally he awoke.  The glare of a light to his 
right make him squint, until his eyes adjusted to it.  His 
mother sat on a chair next to the bed, and she was now 
bending over him.  The light wasn't as bad as he thought.
"Fox, dear, oh Fox." His mother trilled. She looked 
tired, but not ragged.  He had already guessed he was in a 
hospital, and by his mother's looks, probably not for more 
than a couple of days.  And then the blinding reality of 
what had happened to him came into effect, and he started to 
cry uncontrollably.  The sobs racked from his chest, and the 
pain was almost enough to make him stop; but the pain of his 
partner's death hurt him more. Tears fell down his face, and 
he knew he probably looked stupid, but it didn't matter.  
His mom held him as best as she could, much the way she did 
when he was younger and the other boys bullied him around.  
She rocked him softly in his bed until he was spent.  
"Oh, God, mom.  I can't believe she's gone."  He 
croaked.  She looked down at her son with a knowing look, 
and he turned away. It was his silent message to tell her to 
go away.  She exited his room, the door closing softly 
behind her.  He struck the bed with his fist, again and 
again, until the rage subsided long enough for him to fall 
back asleep.

Of course he had never noticed the heavy cast that 
covered his leg from above the knee to the end of his foot. 
Nor the fact that his chest was wrapped tightly. The doctors 
and police officers claimed it a miracle that he had 
survived with so few injuries, considering that most people 
died from head-on collisions.  So, it came to be that one 
week later he left the hospital with a cane, a cast, a hard 
time breathing, and a depression that he was told, and knew, 
would eventually pass. 
But he couldn't stop thinking about Scully.  After 
working 7 years with her in the bureau, on the X-Files, she 
wasn't there anymore.  Permanently.  He always knew the day 
would come that one of them would be transferred, or one 
would quit, or be fired, or just separated, but he never 
guessed that the separation would be from the result of one 
of their deaths.  Death for either of them had never really 
occurred to him, although since working with Scully, she had 
had her brush with death twice. And he was devastated.  She 
had died because of him not paying attention to the road, 
and paying attention to her.  But she had needed the 
attention, he thought.  He never got to tell her good-bye.  
His thoughts went around in circles, much the same as 
the nightmare had, endless, draining.  He wanted to work, 
but AD Skinner told him he was in no condition to work.  He 
needed to grieve.  He need to work, to break the circles of 
thought and dream that threatened to drive him crazy.  
People called to offer condolences, and soon he stopped 
answering the phone.  He spent hours staring at the ceiling 
in his living room, picturing Scully, in ever way he could.  
His apartment became as distraught as he, and some days he 
didn't even get up off the couch, except to relieve himself.  

One day, a couple of months later, when he went to his 
doctor to check up on the healing of his leg, he stopped by 
Evergreen Mortuary and found Scully's grave.  He sat in 
front of the cross with her name engraved on it for hours, 
even after it started raining, and he could no longer make 
out the words "Dana Katherine Scully."  When he started to 
leave, he saw a light start to illumine around the cross, 
and there, standing in front of him, he saw Scully.  Her 
face was crisp and clear, although white, shaded in white 
from the light, but her body was filmy, as if it wasn't 
fully there.       
"Mulder." She said to him, a smile coming across her 
face.  "Mulder, you need to accept that I am gone."  Her 
smile faded.
A tear slipped down his cheek.  It seemed to him that 
he had an endless reserve of these.  She was so beautiful, 
more so than he remembered.
"But, Scully, how am I supposed to do that?  I never 
even got to tell you good-bye.  I never told you that I love 
you."  More tears slid down his face.
"Mulder, I already knew that."  The smile returned.  
"When I asked you to kiss me, I meant it.  I wish that I 
could go back and not say that, but just remember that we 
will be together once again, and also know that I love you, 
too, and I will be waiting."
A warmth surrounded him, one that he hadn't felt in a 
long time; the warmth of life.  He let the warmth fill him.
She started to become misty.  "Now, I want you to get 
better and return to work.  Your sister is still out there, 
waiting for you to find her.  Just don't forget me."  And as 
her image faded into the dimming light, he heard her whisper 
"I will be waiting."
"I will never forget you."  He whispered back.  He took 
her words to heart, as he started his life from that point 
without her, knowing that they would be together once again.

Fin   

If you are ever going to love me, 
Love me now, while I can know
The sweet and tender feelings
Which from true affection flow.
Love me now
While I am living.
Do not wait until I'm gone
And then have it chiseled in 
marble
Sweet words on ice-cold stone.

If you have tender thoughts of 
me,
Please tell me now.
If you wait until I'm sleeping,
Never to awaken,
There will be death between us
And I won't hear you then.
So if you love me, even a little
bit,
Let me know it while I'm living
So I can treasure it.
-Unknown