Description: Scully Angst Vignette.
Summary: After Sein Und Zeit, Scully reflects and remembers.
Disclaimer: Scully, and The X-Files are property of Chris Carter and Fox - no copyright infringement intended.
All feedback is greatly appreciated at: Isis_Bastet@excite.com

Mulder’s grief had been almost palpable. I had felt his fragility as if it were tissue paper in my palm. His tears had escaped with deep gulping sobs, with an intensity that only comes from loss.

“She just wanted to take away your pain,” I had heard myself saying. At the moment all I could think about was that I knew exactly how she must have felt. All personal pride had been checked at the front door, and neither one of us was bothered by that fact. We had been here countless times before. Comforting almost came naturally to me now. We have both lost so much in the pursuit of our own personal truths.

In his small apartment last night, I felt at home. I thought nothing of leaving my coat on his futon and sleeping beside his quivering form. Every few hours I would see his skin dampen with salty tears. When I would lay a gentle hand across his back it would ripple, as if emitting shock waves from the rock-hard surface.

“It was a rough night,” had been my words to Skinner. How true that had been. We had both needed sleep, but heartache demands a person to stay awake.

Now, as I sit on my bed inside my spacious apartment, I have the strongest urge is to cry. For the life of me I cannot explain why – has my body not done enough crying? I am too weak to fight, and allow myself to slump and bow my head as the wrenching sadness awakens to once again invade my empty body. I wonder if I made the slightest difference at Mulder’s apartment last night. A nagging voice says no, and that I have never made a difference.

My new, un-tucked blue shirt is so creased that it is barely recognizable, and on another day this would have bothered me greatly, but not today. I feel nothing as the last remains of my mascara drizzle down my cheek. My mussed hair lies limp, and my face is sticky from dried tears in some places and slick in others where the new ones are falling.

I think back to a day when I was twelve years old. I had been walking painfully to the front door after school, suffering from blisters that were the result of a new pair of sandals that I had proudly showed off during the day. After opening the heavy door I saw my Dad in the middle of our living room, looking stricken. After seeing his expression I no longer cared about the blisters on my feet from the cheap sandals. The annoyance, disappointment, and pain I had felt had been replaced by hollow shock.

“Your Grandmom’s dead.” His tone was trance-like, his eyes were glassy, and his disheveled appearance made it look as though he had just woken up from an uncomfortable nap. I had never been more terrified of him. Anger I could deal with. But this… every emotional defense I had was screaming not to try and understand it. In the world of twelve year old Dana Scully, things like this didn’t happen.

My Mom had entered the small room from behind him, her shaky presence barely recognizable. She acknowledged me with a quiet “Dana” before laying a gentle hand on Dad’s strong arm.

I didn’t know how to deal with it then, and I suppose I still don’t know how to deal with it. But then again, does anyone?

My nose is disgustingly watery, and I grab a fistful of tissues to clean myself up. I must not let myself fall into self-pity. Mulder needs me… I cannot let him down. The sharp ring of my cell phone demands answering, and I obey.

“Scully.”

“It’s Mulder… Scully, what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing Mulder, I’m fine. What’s up?”

“I just wanted to thank you. For last night, I mean.”

“Oh Mulder, you didn’t need to thank me-“

“Scully, when will you ever learn to accept a thank you?”

I sigh in annoyance.

“Never, Mulder. You should know that by now.”

He chuckles softly.

“I needed you last night, Scully. And you were there for me. That means a lot.”

It surprises me, to hear him speak the words I long for. Emotion chokes my throat leaving silence as my answer.

“Scully?”

“Yeah, Mulder.”

“I know you hate this.”

“Hate what?”

“Sincerity.”

“Bullshit, Mulder.”

He laughs lightly at my response, trying to ease the tension.

“Your dad would have been proud, Scully. Of you, and what you’ve accomplished.”

I nearly gasp in shock at his words. How could he have known?

“Thank you, Mulder. Thank you.”

“Anytime, Scully. The cell phone’s always open.”

I roll my eyes at his closing quip. “Goodnight, Mulder.”

“Goodnight, Scully.”

The mascara on my cheeks has dried, and it cracks slightly as I lean back into the mattress with a deep smile on my face. I poke a manicured nail at my phone, hitting the lighted END button, before drifting off to a peaceful sleep.

The End.

Isis Bastet

IsisBastet@excite.com

--
"The intuitive mind is a sacred gift and the
rational mind is a faithful servant.
We have created a society that honors the
servant and has forgotten the gift."
- Albert Einstein
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