Title: Hickory
Author: Jenn Perry
Email: jenn7747@yahoo.com
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Sein Und Zeit, Orison
Keywords: Implied MSR, Scully POV, ScullyAngst
Distribution: Ask me first
Disclaimer: "The X-Files", Dana Scully, Fox Mulder and any other
character you recognize belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions,
and Fox Television.
Summary: post-Sein Und Zeit. Scully thinks while watching Mulder
sleep.
You know you love someone when you can spend the night just
watching them sleep.
I don't know where I heard that phrase, but after tonight I know
it speaks the truth. As the dawn creeps in his window, I realize
it -- I've been sitting at his desk all night, watching him sleep.
He looks peaceful, with one arm hanging toward the floor and the
other laying across his stomach, but I know this serene scene will
be over soon and he will wake up. He will begin his life again,
this time as a man whose mother has committed suicide. Every day
for the rest of his life, he will have to come to terms with that
fact -- a so-called preventable death that he had not been able
to prevent.
The guilt. I can't even begin to imagine the guilt that must be
coursing through his body. I, of course, am not without guilt.
Being raised a Catholic, guilt was taught right along with the Ten
Commandments. I've had my bouts with it as much as the next guy,
most recently about the death of Donnie Pfaster. But this guilt
that Mulder must feel? It's unfathomable to me. This could be
the thing that throws him over the edge that he's been so
precariously perched on all his life. I hope I can catch him
before he falls.
His eyes twitch now, although I'm on sure if it's from REM sleep
or if he's waking up. I hope it's not the latter -- he needs just
a little more solace before facing reality. I'm not sure what to
say to him when he does awaken. No greeting seems appropriate.
'Good morning' sounds hollow. 'How are you doing?' is ridiculous
-- what's he going to say? 'I'm doing just peachy, thanks for
asking.'
The sofa creaks as his body changes position, turning his head to
face me. His eyes are still closed and his lips are slightly
open. I can hear the air move in and out of his mouth keeping
time with his arm, rising and falling on his stomach. I hear a
siren in the distance -- it cuts right to soul. My stomach twists
in knots as my mind recalls his sobs. I try to stop the images
and sounds from coming, but they flood my mind's eye, unrelenting
in their power. I had been helpless. The only solace I could
offer him was in my arms and my words, trying to ease his mind.
While he gratefully accepted that, I wanted to do more. I wanted
to go back to Skinner's office and be able to wait when Skinner
told me to because the news I had wasn't vital. It wouldn't be
earth-shattering. I wouldn't have to tell him that his mom was
dead. I wouldn't have to come to his apartment and to confirm
what he had wanted to deny -- his mom had indeed killed herself.
That was the worst thing I have ever done and I just wanted to
undo it.
That scene plays over and over again in my mind, taunting me and
pushing me closer and closer to the edge myself. Listening to him
rationalize what he had believed to have happened to his mother
broke my heart. I didn't want to be the one to tell him the
truth. I desperately wanted to buy into the lie, to protect him
from the reality. But I couldn't -- I couldn't lie to him, not
even about this. As the words of his mother's illness tumbled out
of my mouth, I didn't hear them. I only saw the pain and anguish
that they caused and his face twisted from hopefulness to absolute
despair. When the words sunk in, I wanted so badly to take them
back, to fix the hole in his heart that I had just caused. But it
was done. The only thing I could do was hold him while he cried.
So I did. After much coaxing, he finally fell asleep on his
couch, with me standing guard, hoping to keep the demons away, if
only for an hour or so.
The apartment is still again except for the sound of the heater
cutting on. Its gentle hum comforts me the way his breathing
does. I scold myself for that thought. I'm not the one in need
of comfort -- he is. That's why I can sit here all night,
watching over him. I pray that God will give him the strength to
keep living.
"Scully?"
My gaze is drawn away from the window and down to his hazel eyes,
dull with sleep and grief. "Yes?"
"What are you doing?"
I rack my brain for something intelligent to say, a rational
explanation for why I am sitting in his deak chair in the middle
of the night, but none came. "Watching you sleep."
He nodds slightly, as if he expected that response. "My mom used
to do that sometimes too. After Samantha disappeared, I used to
wake in the middle of the night to see her standing in my doorway,
just watching." His voice is gravelly from sleep and the emotion
that memory brought forth. He pauses and turns his head toward
the ceiling. "You know, Scully, you're all I've got left. I have
no family anymore. All I have is you."
"I love you."
"I know." His eyes close again, hoping to return to the slumber
from whence he came.
I lean back in his chair, content to watch his sleep.
The End.
Author's Notes: I know there will be many, many post-SUZ pieces
dealing with this lost scene, but I felt compelled to write this
one. I have experience with Mulder's newest trauma and I needed
to write about it. I'm sure that I have not done justice to this
ep, that scene or the emotions that SUZ brought to the surface,
but I tried. The quote at the beginning comes from a recent
episode of "Dawson's Creek". Grams says that the smell of hickory
reminds her of her late husband and that every night he would fall
asleep while he read to her. She spent many nights sitting by
the fire, watching him sleep, a true test of love. It's a
beautiful scene and I hope I did it justice. Let me know what
you think: jenn7747@yahoo.com
