From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: Tue, 6 Jun 2000 11:25:27 -0500 Subject: Walk Away by Birdie Source: direct Reply To: Spookychic1@excite.com Title: Walk Away Author: Birdie (spookychic1@excite.com) Spoilers: big fat one for Requiem- so read no more if you haven't seen it. (By the way, if you haven't seen it- do you live under a friggin' rock!?) Summery: Scully reflects Classification: MSR! Yea! Disclaimers: right now I'm very mad at all the people who 'own' these characters, so they can all kiss my bum! Mulder owns Scully and Scully owns Mulder, and they own the baby. So, SUGAR MUFFINS TO you, you big mean corporation people!! And I'm sure Bree Sharp, being the big X-phile that she is, wouldn't mind her song being used in my story. Authors notes: Okay, first of all, I don't really expect anyone to read this 'asides from my buddy Lizzie =) Anywho, I really didn't think I was going to write a post-Requiem fic. That episode was just SO huge, I wasn't going to touch it with a ten-foot pole. But I was sleeping, and all of a sudden these lines just started coming to me, so I scooted out of my bed and down to my computer! =) Hope you enjoy. 'The moon is pulling at me the moon is pulling at you you swear to me it's the sun that's shining through it's hard to push for the truth when lies are easy to find I'm left with, I'm left with this trouble in mind I'm left here counting the days While my life drifts away.' -Bree Sharp 'Walk Away' I'm sitting her on my Mother's couch, watching a blank T.V screen at two in the afternoon, waiting for her to come home from the grocery store. The clock on the back wall of the living room is incessantly ticking the seconds away from me. I wish it would stop. There is a silent tally mark etched into my soul with every flat and heartless tick of the clock. How many seconds have you been gone? How many times have I heard my cell phone ringing and forgotten momentarily that it couldn't be you? How many apologies have I gotten from nameless faces whose eyes jump between my growing stomach and their own shoes? I add up all these things in my mind and all that it can amount to is how very much I miss you. When I fall asleep I dream of a little girl with dark hair and blue eyes. I dream of you holding her in your arms, and rocking her to sleep. I see a small straight nose scrunching up, and a three year olds arching eye brow at the suggestion of "a little more broccoli, sweetheart." I hear a voice I can recognize as my own, singing an Irish lullaby I remember from my when I was small, to a sleepy child. I hear a second voice, one that I will remember past the day I die, telling his little girl a bedtime story- A prince who traveled to a far of land of snow and ice to rescue his princess from the evil trolls. I smile while I am sleeping. That is good, because all I can do upon waking is struggle not to cry. I'm months along, and all by myself. I live with my mother who won't let me lift a finger without giving me a stern look and a "Dana, think of the baby." Still, she's not you, Mulder. As she lectures me on the various 'child-proofing' technologies, I smile as I imagine you frantically "baby-proofing" everything in site- ah, to live in a foam rubber world. I all ready have a mountain of stuffed animals and various other baby toys (most of which will have to be donated to Good Will, unless I rent a warehouse for them) given to me by the Gunmen, who come to visit me every chance they get. But they're not you, Mulder. When they hand me each new toy, I smile because I can see you clearly in my mind, coming home with a simple teddy bear, one that she would give a ridiculous name to and hold dear for the rest of her life. AD Skinner's doing all he can to "make sure you and you're baby are safe." I'm on a leave of absence while everyone else works to find you. It kills me, Mulder. Kills me. I smile and smile, until they are gone and I am alone with my fantasies of our family- then I cry like I have never cried in my life. Unconsciously, I grab for the tiny gold cross around my neck. It isn't there. I gave it to you right before you boarded the plane to Oregon. As I placed it around your neck you looked at it, and then at me and said, "I'll be fine, Scully. I'll come back to you, I promise." I gave it to you, and you're gone. I gave everything to you, and you're gone. You made me a promise, Mulder. Me and the dark hared baby in my dreams are here waiting for you to keep your promise. And Mulder, the clock on the back wall is still ticking. I wish it would stop.