How Glory Goes

By Marguerite
Marguerite@operamail.com


Date: Wed, 28 Feb 2001
Rating: PG (language)
Spoilers: Assume everything, especially "Per Manum" and
"This is Not Happening"
Category: Post-ep, extreme angst, Doggett POV. Discussion
   of character death.
Keywords: None. Read at your own risk.
Summary: A night of vigilant mourning.
Archive: You're welcome to link to it at
<http://dreamwater.org/marguerite/glory>
Just let me know where it ended up.

Note: I don't know either the sex or origin of Scully's
baby, or the name of Doggett's wife or what happened to the
couple after Luke's death. Just speculation, not spoilers.

How Glory Goes

***
Only Heaven knows how Glory goes,
What each of us was meant to be.
In the starlight, that is what we are.
I can see so far...

Adam Guettel, "How Glory Goes"
***


The guilt is choking me. My heart has been in my throat from
the moment I saw the tattered blanket. Like my son, like my
little boy, don't need to open it, don't need to have this
worst of nightmares confirmed...

I can't get enough air in my lungs. I fall behind Skinner as
he takes off after Scully, yelling for her to stop, his
voice loud enough to be heard above her anguished screams.
I'd raise my own voice if I could find it. Instead I peer
into the weird shaft of bright light and shade my eyes. Her
silhouette is visible, kneeling, arms upraised to an empty
heaven.

She's still screaming.

"NOOOOOO!"

Skinner flinches as if her cry were an arrow piercing his
flesh. "Dana - Dana, stop!"

All Skinner's pretense of "Agent Scully" is gone and for a
moment I wonder how Skinner earned that right, what private
hell he endured that gave him such a precious liberty. He
wraps his arms around her from behind but she twists and
breaks free, still screaming, still beckoning toward
whatever she thinks can bring Mulder back from the dead.

I elbow my way through a tangle of horrified FBI guys and
fleeing cultists so I can try to help Skinner hold on to
her. She fights us both and there's nothing of Dana Scully
in those dilated eyes, just an emptiness so vast that if I
look into her pupils I would see all the way down to the
baby she's carrying. Finally, she does something worse than
struggling, worse than cursing us, worse than screaming
Mulder's name over and over and over.

She gives up.

Scully goes limp. Her fight is gone, her light is gone,
there's nothing but the dead stare she shares with Mulder.

Skinner takes her from me, not in a proprietary way but
because she'd be embarrassed to come to herself and find me
holding her. He enfolds her the way Cindy wouldn't let me
when I told her about Luke.

"I'm sorry," I gasp, surprised that I can even force three
words out of my tight throat. "I'm sorry we didn't get to
him in time."

Scully looks up at me with eyes so wet that they look like
fresh paint. Fresh pain. "You didn't do this thing. You
didn't take his life. You can't...you can't..." She
dissolves in hiccuping sobs. They hurt her, they tear at
her, and she puts her hands over her belly and falls halfway
to her knees. Skinner catches her, helps her turn her head
as she retches over and over, emptying herself from the very
core of her being.

Some of the FBI agents have spotted us and are standing in
the doorway. Skinner turns on them and snarls: "Get the hell
out of here. NOW!" He's placed his bulk between their line
of sight and Agent Scully's trembling body and I join him to
make the screen complete. No one needs to see this. And she
doesn't need to be seen either.

I didn't need to be seen those first few hours after I found
Luke's body. I was a maniac, howling my anguish to the four
winds, ramming my fists into the wall until my knuckles
opened and spilled blood. Scully may well try something like
that if her body will hold her up long enough. I try to
convey this to Skinner with a concerned look, but he's way
ahead of me, signaling the same fear to me. His eyes are
black behind his glasses, compassionate and afraid.

Scully straightens up with a little moan. I give her my
handkerchief. I let my fingers connect with her wrist for a
few seconds but I can't look into the empty vacuum of her
eyes. She wipes her mouth and sags against Skinner. He puts
his hand on the side of her head, his large palm sweeping
her hair away from her face.

"I'm so sorry, Dana."

She nods and moves away from him just a little, enough so
that she can look at him without twisting her neck. "I want
the body at Quantico by tomorrow morning."

It takes a second for the meaning to register.

Jesus.

Skinner fields it. "No. No autopsy."

"I have to know ...I have to know everything he felt..."

I step in. "Agent Scully, we know how the others were
treated. How Gary died. We've learned all we possibly could.
Let him rest now. Let him rest."

Her spine goes rigid and her mouth hardens into a thin line.
I can imagine her taking a scalpel to Mulder's violated
body, cataloguing his injuries with the same
professionally-coated agony that she showed when she did the
autopsy on Gary. I can also imagine her going home
afterwards and eating her gun.

Skinner stares her down, not unkindly but firmly, and with a
defiant lift of her chin she gives in just a little. "We can
talk about that later," she says. "But for now, he's not
going to stay out here. The morgue. And I'm staying with the
body to make sure that nothing happens."

"Agent Scully," I protest, feeling another wave of bile
melting the skin on the roof of my mouth. "We can post
guards there, anyone you pick. Guys who owe me favors."

"No, Agent Doggett. I won't leave him." A beat of silence.
"I can't."

"Then let Agent Doggett go with you," Skinner says softly.

The edge of her mouth twitches as she nods again. Her
fingers graze the sleeve of Skinner's overcoat. "I'd like
you there, too, sir."

He looks relieved. Honored. But he says nothing, just puts
her arm through his and leads her back to the sad scene.

Monica hovers near as Scully kneels down next to Mulder's
body. Skinner takes off his overcoat and puts it over
Scully's shaking shoulders. She pulls back the blanket and
runs her fingers over Mulder's scarred face. "Mulder," is
her broken whisper. "Mulder." She leans over and kisses the
white forehead and the blue, cracked lips. We don't have to
pull her away this time. She wraps him back up herself,
lingering a moment over his heart, then draws herself up to
her feet. "Let's get him out of here," she says to Skinner.

One of the team leaders, Jerry, is an old buddy from the
Academy. I pull him aside. "I'd like you to be in charge of
the morgue detail, okay?"

Jerry looks crestfallen, hating to lose one of his own,
hating to see a partner's suffering. "Tell her I'll take
care of everything, John. And that I'm sorry."

I give him a nod of thanks and step over to where Scully and
Skinner are staring at the bundle on the ground. Monica
comes with me and tries to hug Scully, but she's rebuffed.
Not rudely, just enough to let her know that this isn't the
right time. And not from a stranger. I pat Monica's shoulder
as I help Scully into the squad car. Monica's a good person
and someday she might be able to help. Just not tonight.

We follow the grim procession to the hospital. Skinner says
something to one of the attendants at the morgue and the man
nods his understanding. Scully stares at the windowless wall
as if she can see the process going on in the other room, as
if she can see the bloody, filthy blanket being removed and
Mulder's cold body being cleaned as well as possible before
being wrapped in a sheet. Toe tag, Mulder, Fox W. A
stainless steel drawer. Cold. Toe tag, Doggett, Lucas M. A
stainless steel drawer. Cold.

I start to shudder. Little movements at first, then I'm
shaking like a leaf. Scully sees me and looks into my face,
concerned. "Agent Doggett - are you okay?"

That she can ask me this at such a time rips my gut apart.
"Yeah, fine," I answer, surprised at how weak my voice is.
I'm having trouble taking in air, dammit, I'm gonna fall on
my ass in a second...

Skinner yanks a chair up behind me and guides me into it.
Shit. This is about her, not about me, I remind myself - or
at least it will be about her when the room stops tipping to
the left. Scully finds the water cooler and brings me a cup.
I remember a cup of water from the first time met, when I
ended up wearing it, and I can tell from Scully's sad,
quivering smile that she remembers it, too. I take the cup
and drink from it, surprised at how thirsty I am as the cold
liquid tickles every inch of my throat.

Scully has her mouth open to ask me what's wrong when the
waiting room door opens. The attendant Skinner had spoken to
earlier greets us with a genuine expression of sorrow.
"We're ready for you now."

I would give everything I own to have a single freakin' clue
what to do right now.

As we file in, he brings in extra chairs for us and tells us
where we can get coffee or something to eat.  A woman pulls
me aside. The name tag on her uniform says "Engracia
Vicente." She's almost as short as Scully and has the same
heart-shaped face only rounder and softer, without the
pained lines that the last few months have etched on her
skin. She points out the drawer where Mulder's body waits
then starts to make her exit, turning around to give me some
advice. "You make sure you keep an eye out for her. She
don't need nothin' else to hurt her tonight."

Skinner gets Scully two chairs, the extra one for her feet,
which she puts up with a sigh of relief. Her ankles are
swollen and her insteps bulge over the sides of her black
shoes.

"You want anything, Agent Scully?" I hear myself asking.

Yeah, she wants something, you asshole. She wants her
partner back. She wants her lover back. She wants to have
his hands on her belly so that she can tell him about her
miracle. She wants that drawer to fly open and for Mulder to
sit up and yell "April Fool!" She wants you to shut the hell
up and let her grieve. She wants you to go away so she can
crawl in there with him and die.

She's too classy to tell me all that in words, so she gives
it to me with a lift of her eyebrow. I feel the sourness
rising again as she dissolves in pain, her military
upbringing at war with her raw grief. Skinner's on his feet
in a flash, his hands hovering over her but not touching.
Even he doesn't know what to do next. We've seen Scully in
command, in full battle armor, in control, but this woman is
someone we don't know and can't help.

Not that I'd be much help, if what happened between Cindy
and me is any indication. In the days and weeks following
Luke's death, she slipped away from me. By degrees, like a
slow cold front edging through our lives, and before I knew
it, winter had frozen us.

Skinner inclines his head toward me, saying out loud, "We're
going to get some coffee. We'll be back in a few minutes."

She looks right through us - we're giving her time to cry
herself out and she's fully aware of it. "You don't have
to," she says in a rough whisper. "I'm fine."

The legend of "ScullyFine" is one of the most widely
reported in the FBI. She was fine the day of her father's
funeral, fine when she was riddled with cancer, fine when
she came back from Antarctica with frostbite on almost every
inch of her body. Her "fine" is any other person's point of
absolute collapse.

"You're not fine, Dana," Skinner says. "You're in shock and
you're in pain." He sets his jaw, removing his glasses and
wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "We need to help
you but we don't know how."

She shakes her head. Strands of hair fall across her face
like bloody slashes. "I don't think anyone can help me now.
I just...I just..."

Oh, God, she's going to break into a million pieces right in
front of us. My face aches with the effort not to join her.
"I think you should get that coffee," she manages to say.

I nod at her, smiling weakly, and follow Skinner out into
the hall. He lets out a heavy sigh. "I don't know how to get
her through tonight."

"We'll have to play this by ear." I regret that statement as
our ears are assaulted by the sound of Scully's hoarse,
gasping sobs. Skinner lowers his head as if the stamp of
guilt and regret is made of lead. His pain is as visceral as
hers, radiating from him in the way he stands, the way he
breathes, the way he grits his teeth and sets his jaw to
keep from breaking down.

We leave the morgue, taking the elevator up to a staff
lounge. The pickings are slim, but we suck it up and settle
on a couple cups of coffee and some sad-looking Twinkies.
The place is deserted at this hour. Skinner starts to leave
but I hold him back. "Give her a few more minutes."

He adjusts his glasses so he won't have to look at me. "I
don't want to leave her down there alone."

"Yeah, me neither. But I think she needs a little more time
to process this."

Skinner stares into the greasy swirl floating on the top of
his coffee. "I wasn't ten feet away from him when it
happened. He was there, and then he wasn't. Just that fast."
He takes a bite of the Twinkie, makes a face, and throws the
remainder into the trash can. "She trusted me to protect
him. I wanted to, Agent Doggett. It meant everything to me
that I should keep him safe, but I couldn't do it."

"We've both been in positions of command, sir. We've both
seen men go down when we'd been charged to keep them out of
harm's way. It happens. It's horrible and it's wrong, but it
does happen." I suddenly wish Monica was here. Women are so
much better at this stuff than men. "Sir, she doesn't blame
you."

His voice is as bleary as his eyes. "I wish I could believe
that."

I make a three-point shot with my cup and start walking out
of the room. "Let's get back," I say without turning around,
giving him a moment to collect himself before he joins me in
the elevator. We don't talk. Maybe he won't notice that I
know his secret.

Too many secrets, I think as we open the morgue door and
find Scully sitting with her chin in her hands. Her eyes are
swollen but dry, and her nose is red. She looks up at us
with a sad smile.

"Their coffee sucks and I wouldn't trust their milk, either,
if I were you," I tell her. "We'll call someone, get
something good. You oughta eat."

Scully shakes her head. "I can't."

"Yeah, well, we'll see about that." I step outside and find
Engracia. "We've tried the staff lounge and there's nothing
decent in there. Know anyplace that'll deliver?"

"Sure thing. This place will send enough stuff to get you
through the night. She should be eating, pobrecita." She
points out the phone and a number scrawled on a note pad.
"Was he the father? The man you're watching over?"

That's a damn good question and I don't know the answer for
sure, although I have strong suspicions. "He was her
partner," I say, trying to be ambiguous, but Engracia sees
right through me.

"Look, it's not my business, but I can ask someone from
ob/gyn to come down and take a look at her. This kind of
stress...you know what it can do."

The world is full of good people but I almost never get to
meet them - and when I do, it's always at a time like this.
"Thanks. We'll keep that in mind. She's a very proud woman
and she'd kick my ass if I got too protective, but she's
also a doctor and she has enough sense to know if she's in
trouble. But I appreciate it."

"That's what I'm here for."

I finish placing the order and return to our vigil. Skinner
is holding Scully's hands and rubbing them gently when I
come back in. "There's some food on the way." I walk over to
Scully, wishing like hell that she'd let me touch her, but
instead I settle for sitting on my heels and looking into
her eyes. "I know you don't want to, but you need to." I let
my gaze flicker to the almost imperceptible roundness of her
belly. She puts her hand there, maybe covering the baby.
Maybe stroking it, it's hard to tell, but she looks at me
with those endlessly sorrowful eyes and nods her agreement.

"Good." I take a chair and pull it up close. We just sit
there in a heavy, sad silence. I flash back to Mulder's
ruined face, so different from the strong, intelligent
images I'd studied. Holes everywhere. They'd probably
drilled his palate, cut open his chest, cut open his gut. I
imagine him lying there, strapped down but awake, terrified,
watching as they tore his flesh apart. He screams, he cries
out for Scully, he dies with her name on his lips, begging
for one last look at this woman who was his whole life. Did
he know about the cells dividing inside her when he said
goodbye and got on an airplane with Skinner?

"He didn't know." For a horrible, guilty second I'm afraid
that I asked my question out loud, but when I look at Scully
I can see that she's just telling me something I need to
understand. "I didn't know, myself. I felt sick. I thought
it was a cold, or stress. It wasn't until afterward..."

"He would never have left if he'd known." I'm telling her
this because I saw how hurt she was when Monica put out her
cult theory. "He'd never've left you."

"I know." She covers her mouth with her hands, shaking,
trying not to cry. "He always wanted to protect me...even
when I didn't want it...he felt so terrible about...what
happened to me...the tests..."

Skinner wraps his arms around her and holds her. "It's okay.
We know. We know."

"We didn't think it worked, the in vitro, but the doctor was
wrong..."

I look at Skinner, seeing shock and confusion that must
surely be mirrored on my face.

"He did it for me, he went in there and signed the papers
and...he..."

Whoa. I don't want this much information. "You don't have to
tell us," I say, trying to ward off future embarrassment.

She comes out of her half-hysterical trance, looking at me
with startled eyes. "I'm sorry. I thought you knew. That
they'd told you when I was in the hospital."

"No. I think they thought that was..." I shrug. "Private?"

"But you're sure. You know now," Skinner says.

"Yes. After the Zeus Genetics fiasco, I fired my doctor and
went to an old med school friend instead. He did an
ultrasound and an amnio and let me check the results myself.
The baby is ours, Mulder's and mine. I did the DNA workup
three times using three different hair and blood samples."

"Boy or girl?" I ask. Inane conversation, keep her talking.

She smiles a little even though her chin quivers. When she
looks at me, the light of eternity is shining in her eyes.
"Girl." Her voice cracks a little. "I think he'd have liked
that, don't you?"

Skinner wipes condensation off his glasses. "Mulder would've
liked a daughter. He'd have spent his every waking moment
spoiling her. Painted aliens on the ceiling and read H.G.
Wells to her." We chuckle for a moment, Scully wiping her
eyes on her sleeve.

"Do you really think he'd have been happy?" Scully asks in a
voice like a frightened child's. She needs to hear this,
needs us to talk about him, needs to stay connected to him
for just a little while longer.

"More than anything, he wanted your happiness," Skinner
answers. "I can't count the number of times he went to the
mat for you, how many times he put his life on the line." He
squeezes her hands again. "Just like you did for him."

"Do you think...he knew...how much..."

This must be ripping Skinner's heart right out of his chest.
His face looks like a martyred saint's. "Dana. He knew. He
lived for you, you know that. And you know that he fought so
hard, so hard to get back home." That does it. He starts to
cry, harsh, wracking sobs that he tries to hide behind his
hands but can't because Scully reaches out to him and they
hold one another, clinging to each other in hopes of
surviving this howling despair.

"Lemme check on the food," I whisper, leaving them behind
for a moment so that they can grieve in private. Sure
enough, Engracia's buzzing the delivery guy in just as I
emerge. I pay him, adding a huge tip in gratitude for the
late hour. Engracia frowns up at me.

"You don't look good."

"Yeah, well, I don't feel so good tonight." I didn't mean it
to come out as roughly as it did, so I open my mouth to
apologize.

Engracia shrugs it off. "I'm just sayin' is all. You two
gonna take care of her now? You need to take care of
yourselves first."

"Good point. Thanks." I open the door. "Food's here."

Skinner has tried to put his granite face back on, but
without his glasses it just doesn't work. He twitches the
corner of his mouth at me in thanks as he takes a sandwich
and a cup of coffee. He follows me outside - even I know
enough not to eat in a morgue -and brings Scully with him.
He touches her elbow, guiding her, tipping his head down so
that I can't see his face. I bet it's been ten years since
he showed anyone that much emotion, and I bet he'd rather
have chewed off his own hand than done it in front of me.

"Thanks, this is fine." Scully's voice is rough, dark, as
she takes the little milk carton but refuses the food.

"Nuh uh." I thrust the sandwich back at her. "You gotta
eat."

"I don't think I can." Her thin fingers tap her lips in a
gesture I remember all too well from Cindy's pregnancy.

"Try, okay? If you toss it up later, big deal. But she's
gotta be starving in there." I point the sandwich at her
stomach, and to my surprise Scully snatches it out of my
hand and opens the wrapper to take a bite.

So that's the route. Just like Teresa Hoese clinging to life
because of her baby.

We don't talk during the meal. What the hell could we say to
each other, anyway? I pick up the trash and toss it in the
big can in the corner on our way back to Mulder. The light
switches are there by the door and I flick half of them off,
subduing the light, softening the shadows on Scully's face.
"Try and get some rest, Agent Scully, okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks." She scoots a chair this way and that,
finally ending up next to Skinner and letting him put her
head down on his shoulder. His arm slides around her,
keeping her from falling, but the hand that's not touching
her is gripping the arm of the chair so hard that I'm
surprised it doesn't snap in two.

I'm surprised he doesn't snap in two.

I lean back against the wall to grab a catnap, something I
learned in my early days in New York. It's not real sleep,
just a slight relaxation of the muscles that gives me a
little extra energy, and I can keep one eye half open to
check out my surroundings.

Skinner's face looks gaunt. I know he didn't get much sleep
last night - I didn't, either, and I was watching her from
my window when I saw him join her under the trees. They must
have been talking about Mulder, because she was crying and
she leaned into his chest and let him hold her while she
wept. After a while he turned her around and walked her back
to her room.

His hand was still in her hair and he looked so sad, so
hopeless, that for a moment I felt worse for him than I did
for her. Even in the dim glow of cheap motel neon, I could
read his face like an open book.

The poor bastard is in love with Dana Scully.

Jesus. And I thought my life was complicated.

Skinner's arm falls slowly away from Scully's shoulders. She
places it in his lap, tenderly stroking his hand, and moves
her chair away so we can talk without waking him. She has
remorse in her eyes.

"I got him up in the middle of the night," she tells me,
taking a bite of her sandwich and a sip of milk without
looking at either one.

"We were all up last night. Think you can get some sleep?"

Her shoulders stiffen. "I don't want to sleep just yet.
I'm...afraid. Of what I might dream."

"I understand that, Agent Scully." Am I too close, invading
the meager space she's putting up between herself and the
insanity that wants to snatch her away?

She raises her head, that sad, pale face somehow luminous.
For an instant I see something in her the way Mulder must
have seen, strong and intelligent and compassionate all at
once. She's reading me, but not the way she did these last
few months.

"How do you understand?"

I shake my head. "Some other time."

"Please." It's not just curiosity, it's a need to connect
with me on some level.

"I don't know where to start." I take in a shaky breath,
then reach into my pocket for the photo. The one I keep with
me constantly. I hand it to her. "This is my son, Luke."

Scully looks at the photograph and smiles. "He's beautiful."

"When I was a beat cop in New York, he was kidnapped by a
pseudo-satanic cult. Taken right out from a group of school
kids at the Natural History Museum."

Cindy screamed, begged me to find him, and I tried, I tried
so damn hard, I couldn't get the sound of her screams out of
my ears, wanted to go deaf, wanted to go blind, too, once I
saw what they'd done to my little boy...

"Oh, my God." One hand hovers over Scully's own baby and the
other flies to her mouth. Above her trembling fingers I can
see her eyes filling with tears.

"I headed the search team. They brought in Monica Reyes to
help - that's where I met her. We never found the bastards
who took him, but we did find my son. I found...my son." I
can see from her expression that I don't need to tell her
anything else. She understands. She knows. And I wish to God
that she didn't.

She gets up, takes a couple of steps forward, and kneels in
front of me, folding my fingers around Luke's photograph. We
share something in that brief flash of time, one moment
where, finally, no one's lying to anyone, no one's
withholding anything. "I am...so sorry," she whispers. "I
didn't know. No one ever told me."

"Don't." She's dropped her forehead onto her hands and is
about to cry, but I can't let her waste her tears on my
account. "Don't be sorry. I thought about letting you know -
but you were so upset already that it didn't seem like a
good idea. Just don't take this on yourself. There's enough
guilt to go around already."

"That's why you were so determined to find Mulder. I
thought...I thought you were in with Kersh, somehow."

"Yeah, I can see why. He sure has tried to reel me in." I
tilt my head down so that my eyes are level with hers. "But
you gotta believe me - I didn't want it to be like this. I
wanted to find him alive. I wanted to get him back to you."

She presses her lips together, forming a dimple in her chin
as she struggles to hold herself together. "I owe you an
apology."

How she can think that with Mulder's cold corpse not four
feet away and the fresh hell of her situation bearing down
on her like a wild animal...it's beyond me. "You owe me
nothin', Agent Scully."

"He told me that once. Mulder. He was wrong, too. Just like
you."


"I wish I'd known him." We exchange glances, Scully smiling
a little at the thought. Mulder must have been something
else, keeping a hold on a heart like hers.

Have been. God. I still can't wrap my brain around it.
Scully straightens up, goes to the drawer, and runs her
fingernail along Mulder's name.

"He's not there," says Skinner, watching us from his vantage
point in the corner. He gets up and crosses over to Scully.
"That's just a shell - his soul's out there, with the stars,
like you told me. He's at peace, Dana."

"I want to believe that so much. I have to." She presses her
little cross against her throat as she speaks. "That last
night in Oregon he told me that our whole quest had taken
too high a toll on me. He felt like he was responsible for
my pain, but he was the one constant I could count on when
it seemed like things were unbearable. He gave me...a
chance...at happiness..." Her hand drifts downward, stroking
her stomach. "But he'll never know, will he?"

"I think he knows," I offer, surprised to hear my own voice.
"I mean, I'm not Catholic or anything, but I think that
somewhere out there that spirit's still around, gathering up
all the Truth he can handle like a kid at Christmas."

"Maybe that's his heaven, Dana. The Truth."

"Even if there's a heaven - do you think he's lonely there?"
She's hugging herself, rocking back and forth, tears
streaming down her face unchecked. "Because I miss him so
much, and I don't want him to feel that way."

"Oh, Dana." Skinner's arms go around her and she has to
stand on tiptoe to put her head down on his shoulder. "He'll
miss you, but only for the blink of an eye. He's in a place
where time doesn't mean anything to him anymore." He rubs
her back and she arches into his touch. "You're alive, Dana,
and that can feel like a heavier burden. It will seem like a
long, long time, but I promise you that you'll be with him
again, and he'll know all about your daughter and will be so
glad, so proud, that you went on with your life."

"I don't know how to go on," Scully sobs. "I don't know what
to do for him, or for myself, or for my baby."

"You let A.D. Skinner and me help you," I offer. "Don't
drown yourself in your work. I mean that." She turns her
head enough to look me in the eye. "Talk to people. Your
mother, your priest, those three guys with the computer
stuff, whoever. But don't shut people out and think you're
doin' them a favor, because that's the worst way to deal
with loss."

It happens again, that bright flame of compassion in her
eyes, and she extends her hand to me. As I squeeze it,
hoping like hell that I'm not about to cry, she says, "Thank
you, John."

John. Damn, here come the tears.

We stand like that for a while with Dana Scully the center
of our universe. I can't imagine how Mulder could be with
her like that and not catch fire from the sheer glory of
her. I don't know how much time passes, but after a while
Skinner's watch beeps six times.

"We need to go," he whispers into Scully's hair. "Do you
want a moment alone?"

"Please." She tightens her fingers around my hand for a
moment while she tips her head up to kiss Skinner on the
cheek. His breath catches but he just stands there for a
moment, staring sadly at the cold place where Mulder's body
lies.

"C'mon." I nod in the direction of the door and Skinner
follows me out. Looks like the day shift is here - neither
Engracia nor the guy Skinner talked to is still here. I walk
over to the new fellow at the desk. "I'm Special Agent John
Doggett from the FBI. I'd like to leave a note for your
superiors about someone who was very good to us last night.
An Engracia Vicente."

"Who?"

"Engracia Vicente." I put my hand at about Scully's height.
"Hispanic, early forties, mole just to the side of her left
eyebrow?"

"Lemme look." He fingers some time cards and shakes his
head. "Nope, no one here by that name."

"But she was here. She helped me."

"Hey, Frank!" The man leans back in his chair and calls out
to someone in a nearby office. "We have an Engracia Vicente
working here?"

An older, heavyset man lopes up to the desk. "Not for a long
time. Why?"

I address him. "She was here last night. I didn't know what
to do for my friend, and she helped me. I wanted to thank
her."

"Son, either you've made a mistake or you'll need a Ouija
board. Engracia Vicente was kidnapped getting into her car
three years ago. Her body turned up in the woods. You know,
where they found that dead FBI guy last night." He shakes
his head. "Damn shame about her. Wonderful lady."

Boy, Scully would love this. But I can't tell her about it.
Not now, anyway.

I turn away, gulping air, just in time to see Scully walk
out of the morgue. Her head's held high and she declines
Skinner's arm. I fall in step behind them.

It's not light yet. There are a million stars in the sky.

Scully smiles up at them. Her lips form a little kiss, a
kiss shimmering with the wetness of tears. She tilts her
head back, letting the starlight wash over her, searching
for something only she can see, and she whispers something
into the eternal brightness.

"Good night, Mulder."

***
End
***

For Barbara D. and Shari, beta goddesses, hand holders, and
ass kickers. <g>