From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: 13 Oct 2003 14:36:29 -0000 Subject: Wake-up Time by Li\'l Gusty Source: direct Reply To: lil_gusty@hotmail.com Title: Wake-up Time Classification: VAR Keywords: Scully DAL for Mulder Rating: R for one little word Distribution: if you wish, just let me know Disclaimer: these characters don't belong to me, they belong to Mr. Chris Carter, lucky bastard. Thanks: to realb, Karri, and Liam Spoilers: um, no, not really. Knowledge of Requiem is helpful, though. Note: this story follows "Forever and a Day," but it's not necessary to have read that one to understand this one October 13, 2003 Mulder, It seems ridiculous to lay flowers at a headstone with no body beneath it. My mother says it gives me closure, a place to cry, a place to come when I want to feel close to you and talk to you. She stood there with me and asked if I had anything I wanted to say, if she should leave. I shook my head and turned back towards the car. She was wrong. A headstone doesn't give me closure. It doesn't make me feel closer to you. It makes me feel like I'm giving up. You're legally dead now - no credit rating, no social security number - and this is the testament to it. But you're not dead, not really, and standing there at that silly headstone was like praying to a God I don't believe in. It was time that I could've devoted to looking for you, and instead I went along with everyone else and cried and mourned and regretted, and went home. I feel close to you when I sleep in your t-shirts at night. I feel close to you when I try and remember what it felt like to sleep beside you. But I feel so far away when I search and search for you, and only find that time has slipped by. You always found the good stuff anyway. You found this journal, even when I didn't want you to. I didn't know you kept it. I was always a few seconds too late; I always just miss things. Happy Birthday, Mulder, Scully. October 13, 2004 Mulder, Sometimes I wonder how the sun can continue to rise without you here. Every morning, the world turns and there it is. And people get up and go to work and come home and it sets, and they know that it will be back in twelve hours and they can do it all over again. Their lives and the world continue, despite you. It makes me angry that these people can just continue on with life when something so tragic and unfair has happened. It makes me so angry that the sun still dares to rise. It should rest and mourn, and so should the world, because it hurts so much to see happiness and love when you can't share it. The world should stop without you in it. At the very least, it should recognize your absence. I shouldn't have to pretend that everything is fine, because it's not. But the sun still rises every day. There is life after you, I guess. Happy Birthday, Mulder, Scully. October 13, 2005 Mulder, I finally had your will read. Thank you for everything, though I don't know what I'll do with those houses, that money, or that stock. The X-Files were closed a few years ago. I've been working at Quantico again, but now I guess I don't have to work at all. My mother suggested that I take some time, see what you'd left me, and try to get my life back on track again. "I won't be around forever, you know," she told me. I know. No one stays forever. No matter what they say, they never do. My father left, my family left, and you left. I should really learn not listen to people when they promise forever. She was hinting that I needed someone else to take care of me; she still thinks that women need a man to do that. I smiled politely and looked away. She never tires of fixing me up with men from church or the sons of friends. I should really tell her not to bother, that I don't need anyone to take care of me. More honestly, I could never convince her that I would forever be comparing him to you. "If he were Mulder, he would..." "Mulder would never..." "That's not what Mulder would say..." And then, what would happen when you came back? Happy Birthday, Mulder, Scully. October 13, 2006 Mulder, Sometimes, I hate you. Daniel asked me to marry him, and you know what I said? No. He promised to give me everything I always wanted: love, companionship, devotion, stability, safety, normalcy, and I said NO! Do you know why? Because of YOU, you arrogant, self-serving BASTARD! He asked me why I said no and I told him that if I knew for sure that you were never coming back, I could say yes, that I wanted to say yes, that I loved him and wanted to spend the rest of my life with him, but you still might come back and I couldn't do that to you. He got angry - can you believe it? He actually got angry that I still had faith in the man who'd left me six years ago after he promised he never would. WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO ME? DO YOU EVEN CARE? YOU'VE DESTROYED MY LIFE! Even if you came back, I wouldn't let you stay. You'd only leave again when you saw the next light in the sky. You're so selfish. I hate you for what you did. I hope you are dead. I hope you never have to see what you've done to me. I can't move on; I can't forget. Because of you, I'm forever living on an empty dream. I'll always have faith in a lie. Sometimes I think it would be so much easier to just curl into a ball and die: no more pain, no more pity from others, no more dwelling on what could've been and isn't. But then I think of the look on your face when they tell you I'm dead. I couldn't do that to you. I couldn't do to you what you did to me. Happy Fucking Birthday, Mulder, Scully. October 15, 2007 Mulder, Our little boy would be learning to read now. He'd be playing baseball and learning to swim in the ocean and complaining because his sister was following him around, like little sisters do. She'd be four or five, maybe, and you'd be forty six. We won't discuss how old I'd be. The people on the Vineyard are very friendly and neighborly; I'll have to get used to all the hospitality and caring of strangers. I know they look at me and wonder why one little woman needs such a big house. It's for my baggage, I'd say if they asked, but they never do. Your couch and poster and books and files and fish and yes, videos, and in one of the upstairs bedrooms. It's an office, but it's your office, if you ever need it. There are four other guest rooms all decorated plainly and simply. One I call our son's, the other the daughter's we never had. Our bedroom is at the end of the hall, the one with the big window. I lay in bed and watch the snow fall and think, Mulder would love this. No, wait, you hated snow...didn't you? I've forgotten details. Like what kind of coffee you liked and which of your books was your favorite and what your voice sounded like in the dark. I forgot your birthday this year. I'm sorry. I haven't forgotten you, though. I never will. Happy late Birthday, Mulder, Scully October 13, 2008 Mulder, Mom died in August. I drove down to Baltimore to watch her ashes be scattered and then drove to Washington to visit you. It doesn't hurt like it should. These past few years we so rarely spoke, and when we did, we fought. I didn't feel that I knew her at all, or that she knew me. Seeing my brothers and their grief made me feel even more alienated. That's how I should've felt: the tears, the feeling of mortality, that nothing stood between me and death now, the loneliness. I felt none of that. I felt: this isn't what it was like with Mulder. When you left, I felt like I couldn't breathe. Colors dimmed, days blended into each other, numbness set in. Nothing had any meaning anymore. I cursed the sun when it rose and refused to go out and see that the world continued, because it shouldn't have. But with Mom, I didn't feel any of that. I know intellectually she's gone, and I feel that void, but it doesn't hurt. It doesn't make me wonder why the world keeps turning. It just...pales in comparison to what I felt for you. But everything does. Love, anger, sadness, hate, disappointment...everything pales to you. You know this means that I'm alone now. Mom never got her wish; I never found anyone to take care of me. It's just me, your fish, and all these memories. Remember that time you told me how much more there was to life than this? You promised that things would be different? Things aren't so much different, now. I'm still alone. I'm still one step behind you. If there is more to life, I've never found it. Happy Birthday, Mulder, Scully. January 30, 2010 Mulder, I forgot again. I was driving home from work when I realized it and I had to pull over at a gas station. I thought I would cry, but I didn't. I gripped the steering wheel and gritted my teeth, but no tears came. Maybe that means it's getting better. Maybe I'm thawing. Maybe Mom was right, that life eventually goes on even when we don't want it to. It doesn't mean that I don't miss you just as much as I always have. I think it means that it's easier to wake up and know, before I open my eyes, that you won't be there. How did you do this for thirty years? I'm sorry I forgot, Mulder. Happy late Birthday, Scully. October 13, 2010 Mulder, Forty nine years. One more year and you'll officially be old. Almost half a century - how does it feel? Don't look at me like that. I know I'll be able to feel it myself in a few more years, you don't have to remind me. I always wondered what you'd look like as an old man. I know you probably wonder that about me, too. I don't look much different than I did, just a few more lines around my eyes. You could still recognize me. You'd still know I was your Scully. It's been ten years, and I'm still your Scully. I always will be. I've been going back through this journal and I think you should know something: I don't hate you. I'm not disappointed in you. I still believe in you. Part of me still believes you're coming home one day, but part of me knows that's almost impossible. It's okay. I know if you could've chosen the path for your life, it wouldn't have included this. You probably still would've gone to Oregon just to see it for yourself, but you wouldn't have wandered off from Skinner and you would've been on the next flight home to see why I was having dizzy spells and fainting. I know what our life would've been like, and I still think of it sometimes on the bad days. The bad days are less and less frequent. It still hurts, but it's a dull ache instead of a stabbing pain. Most of the time, I can think of you and smile. It's a sad smile, but it's a step in the right direction. I still love you, and I always will. I still remember you, and I always will. Happy Birthday, Mulder, Scully. <><><><><><> Feedback is nice to lil_gusty@hotmail.com