Disclaimer: Based on characters and situations owned by Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting Company. No copyright infringement is intended.
Introduction: OK, so no one can accuse me of being prolific -- my last piece, a vignette called "Interlude," was posted back in December 1994! And now this has been sitting and simmering since May 1997, but I think I can finally let it go... I first started this piece after watching Demons. Then after seeing Gethsemane, I realized that it still worked, and stayed up until 4:30 in the morning finishing the first draft. I don't believe for a second that we've seen the last of Mulder, but if he *really* did himself in, here's my take on what went through his mind and how Scully dealt with it. Once the fifth-season premiere airs, of course, this automatically becomes "alternate universe."
Warning: Lots of Mulderangst and Scullyangst! Fourth-season spoilers - Demons and Gethsemane. References to Tunguska, Pusher, Memento Mori and Zero Sum.
Dedicated to Gail Gross, gone but sorely missed -- and the rest of the amazing ladies of the DDEB2. See, I'm even a mushbag in public... :-)
"He said that the men behind this hoax, behind these lies, gave me this disease to make you believe."
Mulder stared, slack-jawed, at Scully, then turned away.
"I can't believe that, Scully," he said in a low tone.
Scully's reply was soft and even. "I believe Kritschgau. Mulder, it all fits. As fantastic as it might seem, it all makes sense."
His reply was even softer. "Then everything I've worked for...is a lie."
Scully gently laid a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off, stepped back. Turned to look at her, his eyes bright with unshed tears. "I...Scully..."
She reached out and touched his shoulder again, pressed and held it lightly. This time he didn't turn away, but a tear escaped the corner of one eye and slowly tracked down his cheek. He squeezed his eyes shut, covered them with one hand. A long minute passed. His hand came down. Eyes opened. What she saw there was despair, but his voice was firm. "I need some time, Scully," he said. "I'm going home. I'll, uh...I'll call you."
She nodded. "Talk to you tomorrow?"
He turned and left. She watched him go. It wasn't until later that she realized he hadn't replied, hadn't even nodded.
When she stood in his apartment, insides frozen at the sight of the body covered with a sheet, she remembered the conversation with almost clinical detachment. How could I have missed it? she thought dully.
She tensed when the detective lifted the sheet and her world stopped for a moment as she saw. "Yes," she said, and turned away. Her eyes filled. Suddenly she had to get out of there as quickly as she could.
"Agent Scully?" the detective called, halting her retreat.
She dashed a sleeve across her eyes, hoping he wouldn't see the tears that had leaked slightly, and turned back. "Yes?"
"There's an envelope here addressed to you. We haven't dusted it yet, or opened it, and under the circumstances, we can't release it to you yet, but you can have a copy tomorrow. Call me at this number." He fished in his pocket and pulled out a card, which he extended to her.
She nodded mutely. Took the card and stuffed it in her pocket. She caught sight of the sheet again over his shoulder, and a sob-turned-squeak escaped her throat. She fled before she lost it completely.
That night, she lay awake long past midnight, going over and over the events of the past few days and weeks. Clearly, Mulder had been in a downward spiral since Providence, otherwise...
Why hadn't she insisted he see a counselor? For that matter, why had she given in to his insistence that he didn't need medical treatment after Providence? She still wasn't exacty clear on what had happened, what Dr. Goldstein had done to Mulder. He'd come so close that time...
....and it really wasn't even the first time, now that she was thinking of it. That time with Modell, Mulder hadn't even hesitated then, when, with the gun to his head, the pusher had pressed him to pull the trigger. Only when Modell had made him turn the gun on her had he fought.
This time, he'd been alone. She hadn't been there to stop him.
Was that it? Could she have stopped him again? The despair in his face that night had been palpable. Why hadn't she done something about it? Had she given up on him, too?
And now he was dead. Intellectually, she knew it wasn't her fault. But her heart said otherwise. Four years they'd been together -- as partners. Never lovers. Despite the rumors they both knew swirled about them, they'd never crossed that line. But their partnership had brought them closer than lovers, closer than if they were married. Connected by the umbilical of their cell phones.
Had she loved him? As more than her partner? She supposed she had. Had it been enough? She didn't know.
The salt in her mouth was bitter, the salt of the tears that she hadn't shed in front of the detective, that she had refused to shed in front of Skinner when she'd told him. That she now shed for herself, for the cancer that had mestasticized in her blood, that was killing her. For the loss of Mulder from her life. She would have to go on without him. But she didn't know how. Or where.
She called the detective the next day, made an appointment. Skinner was understanding, let her go without questioning. She arrived without not quite realizing it, and knew with certainty that she had been driving on autopilot. She wasn't even sure what route she had taken. The detective handed her a photocopy of the note, and she took it numbly. He showed her into an empty office, and she sat down and began to read.
I don't know what to think anymore.
I always told you that the truth was out there -- and you once replied, "But so are lies." I didn't realize then how right you were. The truth IS out there -- along with so many lies that I despair of finding my way to the truth again. What was it Krycek said once? -- "The truth? There is no truth. These men, they just make it up as they go along." He was right, too. Jesus god, he was right.
You helped me once to find the faith to keep looking. My faith is waning again. No. What a weak word. My faith...it hasn't waned. It's gone. Gone.
I've accused my mother of something so monstrous, I can hardly believe that I could think of such a thing. She slapped me, but she never answered me, not really. Scully, I never told you about the memories that came back to me in Providence. Providence. Ha, what an ironic name for a place to have recovered such memories.
When you came to me in that house, and found me with my gun to my head, and stopped me...I almost shot you. Oh, god, I almost shot you. You once shot me to save me from myself, and I almost shot you that time...for what? I'm not even sure myself. You asked me if the truth, if my memories were worth dying for. I'll tell you the truth, Scully: I don't know. I thought I knew. I thought I knew the night that you found me with my gun in my hand.
And now...now, I think I know the answer...
It wasn't worth it, none of it -- losing Samantha, Dad...you losing Melissa -- none of it. Not when it's come to this...
The memories, you're probably asking yourself, what about the memories?
Oh, god.
I was 12 again, and Samantha was there, telling me to be quiet. We were hiding upstairs while our parents were having a fearful argument below. About what, I don't know. I never really heard what they were saying, even though they were yelling, not actually not talking. Just screaming at each other. Samantha said, "Shh, they'll hear you." And then I saw *him*, the Cancer Man...in a cloud of smoke wreathing his head, one of those damn Morleys in his hand. He told me, "You're a little spy."
Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god...
Scully, I thought I knew what memories had come back to me. I thought I understood what it meant...I accused my mother of betraying my father. I asked her who my father was. That's when she slapped me. I deserved it. I deserved it. How could I ask her such a question? But I believed it, I believed it...Scully, I don't think I am who I thought I was...jesus god, Scully, from that night till this, I thought *he* was my father...!
I didn't think I could live with that knowledge. I'm glad my mother didn't answer the question. I don't think I could take it. But I thought *that* was bad...this is worse, so much worse...
It seemed so real to me, that memory...but it was also mixed up with visions of Samantha being abducted, floating out the window...and, well...I don't know anymore what's real and what's not...they could have planted it, all of it...and I don't know who they are, or who they've co-opted in their quest to discredit the evidence, *all* the evidence. It's all of it tainted, you know. All of it...
We're surrounded by betrayal...my father, the CSM and his cronies. Deep Throat -- you were right, Scully, I'm sure of it, he was part of this. And they even killed *him*, Scully, all to convince me that I was on the track of the truth...I wonder if he played along willingly, or if he even knew. Or if he was a pawn...like me...
We're surrounded by betrayal, Scully, we're drowning in it -- oh, god, I see it so clearly now How could I have been so stupid? Betrayal everywhere -- Krycek, probably my mother...even Skinner...
That's not to say you can't trust Skinner...I'm pretty sure you can. But how do I even know that for certain, anymore? But still, but still...he's not all he seems to be, even so. I *think* he's on our side, or at least I thought so. I'm not so sure now...but then I'm not sure of anything anymore. But be careful what you say to him. Don't trust him with everything.
Trust. You're still the only one I can trust, Scully. But now...when you took me to Kritschgau tonight...Scully, I lost my faith in you. Oh, it was only briefly, but just long enough to convince me that...it almost doesn't matter...when you told me about your cancer tonight, I realized how foolish I was to doubt your trust. I should know better. But having lost my trust...even for that very brief moment...I realized that I don't deserve your trust. How could I do that to you?
What you told me tonight, Scully -- it made me realize, finally, just what lengths they'll go to bury the truth. The truth *is* out there, Scully, I still believe *that*. But I'll never find it. Never find it. No. I don't know what to believe any more, where to start, how to go on. I've ruined everything, I have nothing. When I looked in your eyes tonight, what I saw was...pity. I don't want your pity, Scully. I want your respect. Your belief. Your trust. But I've screwed that up too.
And I don't know how to get it back. I don't even have the slightest bit of a clue to know how to start over again. I've lost, Scully. They've beaten me at last.
And what did it cost? God, Scully. Only my work. Only Samantha. Only my father. Only Melissa. Only your respect. Only your life.
God, they must be laughing it up tonight.
And here's another thing you can laugh about: I love you. Oh, I know, I know, and it's not exactly what you think. I'm not sure when it happened, when I stopped thinking you'd been sent to spy on me, to debunk my efforts, and when you truly joined me as my partner, bent on uncovering the same secrets that I did. But you crossed that line and joined me, and oh, how it cost you...! Yet you are still with me, despite all that you've given up for me, all that you've lost...because of me.
Scully, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.
You're my partner, and I love you. And I can't have you. And even if I could, and was lucky enough that you might feel the same about me...how could we have happiness? We couldn't even have children. Because of *them*...and the lengths they've gone to dupe me. My fault. My fault. My grievous fault. Mea maxima culpa. I failed you, and it's my fault you can't have children...my fault you have cancer. My fault, my fault! I'm so sorry, Scully, so very sorry...
I've failed everyone around me. I was totally taken in. My whole life is a lie. And I can't live with that knowledge, Scully. I can't do it. I've lost everything, everything that matters to me -- my faith in you, my belief in my work, it's all a lie. All a lie. I'm a fool, Scully.
There's only one way I know to end this. I have to finish the job I started in Providence. I'm sorry, Scully. It's the coward's way out, I know, but I have no courage left, nothing left to fight with.
I'm tired, Scully, I'm so tired.
Oh, Dana. Can you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?
It ended there. Not even a signature. But the handwriting was unmistakeable.
Mulder, she thought. Fox...! She went back to the detective's desk.
He looked up at her expectantly. "Was it...?"
"Yes," she said. "Yes, that's his writing. He wrote it, I'm sure of it."
He was holding something out to her. A tissue, she thought, and then realized she was weeping. She took the tissue. "I have to go." She realized he was saying something about calling again, or something about the autopsy, something she wasn't quite hearing, but she left without a word.
She almost made it to her car before the nausea overtook her, and she bent over, and vomited in the parking lot.
"Oh, Dana. Can you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?"
Forgive him. She wanted to, wanted desperately to forgive him. But she didn't think she could even find it in her heart to forgive herself.
END
Send feedback to redshoes@ix.netcom.com