By DanaK
DanaK35@yahoo.com
URL: http://danak35.tripod.com
Archiving: sure, let me know where though, so I can visit
Rating: PG-13
Classification: Short story
Spoilers: up to One Son
Keywords: Scully Angst, UST, Scully POV
Summary: The world is safe once again, but hers is crumbling
Disclaimer: 'The X-Files' and all 'The X-Files'
related
characters and situations are the intellectual
property
of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and the FOX
network. The following material is not intended to
infringe on the above copyright in any way. Which
means, they aren't mine, yak yak yak...you know
the drill!
Empty
By DanaK
I leave AD Kersh's office without turning back,
without returning Skinner's farewell and blindly
hurry down the stairs, too impatient to wait for the
elevator, not wanting to have to look at him once
more.
I don't wait up and I don't look back. I just want to
get away.
The world might have been saved, but my world lies
in shards.
At home, I drag off my coat in the hallway,
carelessly letting it drop on the floor before
slipping
off the rest of my clothes in the bathroom, where I
fill the tub with hot water, dump in scented bath oil
in abundance, light candles and grab the radio
from my bedside table.
Tonight, soothing classical music won't do. I chose
a radio station that plays rock and gratefully glide
into the hot water, the bass drumming in my ears
already.
For a whole week, I have been acting purely on
autopilot, sifting through remains, comforting
distressed family members, writing up reports.
Anything, as long as I don't have to face my
feelings.
Now the case is closed, we have the X-Files back
and there are no more distractions.
Hurt, anger and humiliation come back with a
vengeance.
My heart races, just as it has raced since I left the
Gunmen's lair in anger, just as it has raced every
day, every night, robbing me of my sleep.
My mind is sick and tired with exhaustion.
Just as I am sick and tired of those weeks of
meaningless assignments, sick and tired of loosing
the X-Files in the first place.
Sick and tired of the fact that Diana Fowley came
into our lives. Or back into our lives.
The physical and emotional rollercoaster of
everything that has happened since the X-Files
burned down has left me drained. Empty.
Now, for the first time in weeks, months, I am alone,
broken and lonesome.
As I lie there, lavender scented mist wafting around
me staring unseeingly into the flickering light of the
candles, I finally allow myself to feel.
To face up to a truth I have buried deep inside me
for a long time.
I am jealous, something I haven't know myself to be
because I love Mulder. I am in love with my partner.
That is the quintessence of the pain that I am
feeling right now, the core of everything that has
gone wrong.
There have always been moments. Other women.
Different opinions.
Phoebe Green, Bambi Berenbaum, Detective
White, Melissa Ephesian, they have been mere
intrusions into our world, disturbances that left me
wondering about his past, his motivations, about
what made him tick, about whether I knew him at
all.
And while we found ourselves growing closer every
day, suddenly agreeing on so many things, finally
seeing eye to eye about his quest, about what I had
experienced with and without him, one little
sentence brought my world crashing down.
"You know what to do."
Just one sentence but enough to make me realize
that while we have become so close and he knows
almost everything about me, I know nothing of him.
Not really. Not of his past. Not of his motivations.
Not anymore.
He wouldn't tell me and I got only hints out of the
Gunmen.
It had felt like a betrayal then, but I decided to
ignore it.
True to form as always.
The destruction of the X-Files, our consequent re-
assignment and Antarctica almost made me forget.
In fact when we survived Antarctica, Mulder and I
survived stronger than ever.
And we *were* stronger, even faced with re-
assignment, with ridicule and humiliation.
But then ˆ like a malicious ghost ˆ Diana Fowley
came back.
Haunting me. Taunting me.
For whenever she returns, the cards are mixed
anew, the loyalties challenged. His loyalties.
Now, it seems quite clear.
Something died in me that night at the Gunmen's,
when he dismissed my misgivings about Diana and
her motives before he even listened to what I had to
say.
"You are making this personal."
Yes, it was personal, still is personal but I didn't
drag the Gunmen into it for female bitchiness.
Everything concerning Diana Fowley is personal
and just a bit too calculated.
She shows up, just when we're about to make a
significant breakthrough, the boy who turned out to
be living proof vanishes on her watch, she shows
up when we find him again... there is a pattern there
and I cannot fathom rationally why Mulder just
doesn't want to see it.
Emotionally I can. He is still involved. Whatever
their past, it is enough to make him throw away six
years of friendship and trust. To rock the fragile
foundation of something that had been growing
steadily.
That alone is enough to cause disappointment, the
fact that I am also in love with him makes it painful,
so painful.
My stomach is a tight knot and still that sickening
feeling won't go away.
So when exactly did I give him the power to hurt
me?
To make me feel empty and deflated, unloved, even
worthless?
To say I fell in love with him during my illness, when
he was closest to me, closer even than my family,
would be too easy.
No, I fell in love with him gradually.
It is little things really, the way he notices when I
change my hair, the way he knows how I drink my
coffee and what kind of breakfast I like.
The way he is not afraid to cry in front of me.
The way he bares his soul to me and the way he
can get fiercely protective.
I know he looks good, I know his body, I have seen
him naked.
But so many times that was with the eyes of a
doctor, a concerned friend and colleague.
Then one night changed all that, one surreal night,
amidst a cheering crowd, a real-life "monster" in
tow, a friend asked me to dance, but a man, an
damn good-looking one at that, took my hand and
pulled me close, making my cheeks flush and my
heart beat faster. Out of sheer excitement.
That night, I started seeing him with the eyes of a
woman, instead of a doctor and a friend.
Now, I am wondering how it would feel to touch his
full lower lip with my index finger, to run my hands
through is hair. To feel his taut stomach under my
bare hands.
Now, I notice how his eyes change color, how his
whole body mirrors his feelings. Tall and upbeat
when he is happy, sloped and deflated when he is
not.
In the end the vivid memory of that magical night
brings forth the tears and for a while my racked
sobs drown out the music.
When I can cry no more, I crawl out of the cooling
water, wrap myself into my soft terry cloth dressing
gown and hide under the covers.
I am empty of tears, empty of anger, of thought and
finally, finally my stomach unknots, my heart slows
down and sheer exhaustion makes me fall asleep.
I will make it through this. I have to.
End
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