I did not write this. Any feedback can be sent to
severini@atmos.ifa.rm.cnr.it or I will be happy to
pass it along.
TITLE: Never More 1/1 AUTHOR: Olivia Severini E-MAIL ADDRESS: (severini@axrma.uniroma1.it) DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Anywhere, just tell me! Okay for
Gossamer. SPOILER WARNING: Up till FTF and rumors about season six. RATING: G CLASSIFICATION: S/X/A/UST SUMMARY: Scully's reached bottom, will Mulder arrive in time to stop the
inevitable? Can the outcome of the mysterious email from the future be
changed?
Autors Note: I'm neither American nor English. I hope you'll forgive
me for eventual mistakes and inaccuracies and you'll send me your
opinions about this work, either bad or good. You can e-mail me at:
severini@atmosf.ifa.rm.cnr.it
This one is for Patty. And for Tim, who read my stuff *voluntarily*.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Never More (1/1)
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Scully's apartment,
24 December 1998.
Outside, it was snowing again.
Snowflakes floated in the darkening sky. She used to love
snow once. Its shining whiteness brought back memories of sled
races, snowball fights and old fairy tales. But it was just
cold and meaningless now. The old memories were lost and the
new ones seemed empty and didn't bring any joy.
It was Christmas Eve.
Scully had wished she could've been able to just forget
about the families' traditions. Christmas Eve was just day,
like all the others. A good day to finish off a report for
work. But the snow had brought reminders of past treasures,
making her apartment seem colder and even more silent.
Any Christmas tree that year.
What was the use of a glittering Christmas tree in a house
always empty? There was no one to make it for but herself, and
she didn't feel willingly to do much for herself lately. Despite
all this, despite her fear to be left alone, she had refused to
go to San Diego with her mom. No matter that it was the place
where she grew up, Bill's house would have just brought back
memories about Emily now. It was mean, but she wasn't ready to
face Bill and Tara's happiness. They had plenty of good reasons
to make a Christmas tree, to buy presents, to enjoy the snow.
They had each other and Matthew; they had a future.
She knew that both her brother and her mom loved her, but
she couldn't help noticing the way they looked at her sometimes.
The poor Dana who has suffered so much, who was to die with
cancer, who has thrown away her potentialities to follow her
spooky partner, who can't have children because of something
that someone did to her. Who *survives* just thanks to a chip
under the skin of her neck.
* * * * *
Scully squeezed her eyes closed, expecting to feel the
warmth of tears on her cheeks, but her eyes were dry. She'd
never felt so empty, so sterile. Watching the tube of sleeping
pills over her desk, she thought how simple it would be. Just a
few pills more and everything would be done. No more nightmares,
just a quiet deep sleep. She reached for the pill bottle, but
the sight of the sheets scattered on the desk stopped her. She
was supposed to finish the report of their last case, that
night. She couldn't leave that work for Mulder; he'd always been
a failure in compiling reports.
Mulder.
She wondered what he was doing in that moment. She imagined
him sitting in the dark, maybe watching some of his tapes. They
were both surrounded with darkness and Scully was afraid that he
wouldn't be able to fight his demons alone.
Scully needed to hear his voice.
The phone rang only three times. "Hello?"
She had to take a deep breath before answering. "Mulder,
it's me."
"Scully, what's up?"
She clutched the receiver. Nothing really, it just so
happens that I've reached bottom and I was thinking of cutting
my losses and checking out. "Nothing, I just wanted ... Merry
Christmas, Mulder." The last words came out in a whisper.
Silence. "Where are you?"
"At Bill's place." Why couldn't she tell him the truth? She
wanted to ask for his help, wanted to say him how much he meant
to her. Mulder was the last good thing in her life, he was the
fire that had warmed her coldness, but snow was putting out that
flame too now. Her dispair screamed inside her, but it couldn't
reach the surface.
"Is everything okay there?" Mulder insisted.
"Yeah." Scully closed her eyes. "I have to go now. I'll
see you at work."
"Sure. And have a great Christmas, Scully."
Eyes still closed, she hung up. Leaning her head on the
back of her hands, she wondered how it would have been to have
Emily here. To have a family. She imagined Mulder at her door
with a bag full of presents, she dreamed of Christmas carols, of
tiny coloured lights.
She couldn't go on like this. She needed to understand what
she wanted, what she could still expect from life.
After the events of Antarctica, the X-Files had been
reopened, but they'd been assigned to Diana Fowley and Jeffrey
Spender. Mulder had gone mad about this, they both had hunted
high and low for the reason of this boycott, but of course no
one had given them an answer. An order from the top, had been
Skinner's only comment.
Then Diana had told Mulder how little Spender cared for
that work. She believed he was ready to give up Mulder's
precious X-Files at any moment and that Skinner would've been
willing to reinstate him in Spender's place. Mulder had replied
that he didn't want his old work back without Scully, but she
knew how much that choice had cost him.
Mulder hated their routine assignments and Scully couldn't
help thinking that if it wasn't for her, he would have had his
X-Files back now.
Maybe it was time to step aside for him. For both their
sakes.
A weak trill interrupted her thoughts . Raising her head
toward her computer monitor, she saw she had an email. She
barely remembered leaving the computer on. She was about to
switch it off, but when she caught the date and the subject line
of the message, she frowned. Her old computer had to have gone
nuts, since it seemed she had just gotten a message from
herself. She clicked to open it and the first words she read
sent a shiver down her spine.
-----------------------
From: D_Scully@FBI.gov
Date sent: 25 August 1999 23:25:04, -0500
To: D_Scully@FBI.gov
Subject: Before it's too late.
He's gone.
He was gone without I could tell him goodbye. Our last
words on this world were harsh, but how could I know that it was
my last chance to tell him what really mattered that day? I was
angry then. And jealous. Such feelings have always scared me,
but just now I see how selfish I have been. Still now, I'm only
able to think of my own grief. I grieve because I'll never hear
his voice again, but I wasn't there when he most needed me. I
know I'll miss him forever, but I was the one who left him.
There was a lot of snow that night. A white Christmas. God,
it seems it happened yesterday. If I close my eyes, I can still
remember every single word he said. I need to remember, since
memories are the only things I've left. I have to remember
because I don't have a picture of him and I'm afraid that
otherwise, I'll forget his face.
I didn't hear him opening the door. I must have fallen
asleep.
"Scully, what are you doing here?"
"Go away, Mulder."
In answer, he switched the light on and stood right in
front of me.
I bowed my head, unwilling to let Mulder see me in that
state.
He took the bottle of sleeping pills in his hand. I could
clearly hear his deep breathing. "What is this?"
I didn't answer and he grabbed my shoulders, shaking me.
"Scully, did you take them?"
Then I deigned to shake my head.
But Mulder tightened his grasp, finally obliging me to look
at him. "What happened?"
I thought that he had no right to enter my house and
torment me. "Nothing. Please Mulder, just leave me alone." I
said firmly.
Mulder stared at me for a long time, then he switched the
light off and sat on the floor beside me. "Well, I can't force
you to talk. I'll stay here till you're ready."
We remained in silence for a long time.
The window framed the snowflakes now falling down more
heavily, white pearls against a too dark sky.
At a certain moment Mulder took my hand. I didn't squeeze
it back and he began to rub it gently with his thumb.
I enjoyed the feeling for a moment, then drew my hand away.
Even in the darkness, I could feel his gaze. I was hurting him
meaninglessly, and part of me was sorry; but I felt too broken
to care for him then. "How did you find me?" I whispered,
expecting to see him standing and leaving.
"I felt that something was wrong, so I called your brother
and he told me that you were here." His own voice was detached
now.
"I couldn't go there, Mulder. Not after last Christmas."
"I know. I wish I could say something to make you feel
better."
But I wasn't listening to him. "I let her die. I let my
daughter die and I'm still here, useless ..." I left the
sentence unfinished, shaking my head.
Mulder grabbed my wrist. "Don't you dare think that for a
second, Scully! You saved Emily. And you saved me. Actually, you
are the best rescuer I know."
I closed my hand around his. "Mulder, I think you should
seriously consider Agent Fowley's offer."
Evidently, he hadn't expected me to take that subject.
"We've already talked about this, Scully. I won't let them to
divide us."
I left his hand, staring at him deeply. "I'm not sure I
want the X-Files back."
He stared back at me, his hazel eyes lost like those of a
little child. "What do you mean?"
"I'm so tired, Mulder. I think need some time to understand
what I want. After Emily's death, I feel like my life is
meaningless. I'm losing every contact with my feelings and I
can't go on like this. I would be no use to you or the X-Files
like this." Speaking, I felt that something inside me was
breaking.
"I see." Mulder stood and went to the window.
I followed him. "I'm sorry. It's not your fault, Mulder;
it's just me." My voice had lost a good part of it's firmness.
He remained still for a moment, then turned to face me.
"Don't be."
"I'm so sorry." I repeated, sniffling to fight back tears.
Mulder put his hands on my shoulders. "Whatever happens,
I'll always be there for you, Scully."
Deep inside, I knew I was saying goodbye to him. Once back
at his work, Mulder would throw himself into it. The X-Files
were his life and he lived everything with an intensity that I
couldn't handle. That was probably the reason I didn't finish
what Mulder had begun months ago in his hallway. He'd taken the
first step, making his feelings clear, but I'd withdrawn,
scared. I returned his feelings, of course I did; but I wasn't
ready to be loved in the way I knew he would have loved me. I
wouldn't be able to give him back the same passion. How could I
even try, broken and empty as I was?
But I thought that maybe Diane could. She had the fire I
had lost and this was probably why I hated her so much. They'd
already been partner; he would have been fine with her.
* * * * *
So I broke the promise I'd made him and quit. I took back
my old assignment, teaching at Quantico, and Mulder had his
X-Files back.
Time passed slow and uneventful and for a while I strove to
enjoy my *normal* life. I missed him sometimes; actually, I
missed him rather often, but I convinced myself I just needed to
get accustomed to that new routine. I had to get accustomed to
the thought that he was with Diane Fowley, and that I'd deserted
him. He and the X-Files were always my last thought before
falling asleep. What was he doing at that moment? Was he fine?
Was he happy? Did he miss me at least a bit? In spite of this,
my insane stubbornness prevented me from calling him for three
long months.
I focused all my energies on my new job
and though I never succeeded in loving it, last April I got a
promotion. They offered me the job of chief coroner at the FBI
office of Boston. Big stuff. I should have been proud of myself,
but I wasn't. I had given up my search for the truth, betraying
my dreams and ideals.
* * * * *
Walking along the narrow corridor of the basement, I could
hear my heart echoing my steps. This was the first time I'd
been back since the fire and I'd often wondered how the new
office looked. Hearing Diane's voice, I stopped a few steps
before the door. I knew I would have found her there, but for
some reason my knees weren't willing to sustain my usual
confident bearing till that door, and I had to lean against the
wall. Diana's muffled voice came closer and I deduced that she
was approaching the door, straightening myself just in time.
Seeing me, her eyes widened. "Agent Scully."
Realising that I had nothing to tell her, I managed a weak
smile. Actually, I was genuinely happy to have the chance to
have some moments alone with Mulder.
She smiled back nervously and after a moment she turned her
back and left.
I entered without knocking.
Mulder was bent over some book and, hearing the door,
raised his head. "Diane, I was thinking that ..." Then his eyes
locked on me and I saw too many feelings crossing them to work
them out. "Scully."
I drew a deep breath, smiling shyly. "Hey." His gaze made
me feel uncomfortable, so I shifted my eyes to the wall behind
him. It was white and bare, like the rest of the room. "What
happened to this place?" I strove to keep a casual tone.
At first I thought he hadn't heard me. He kept on staring
at me, in a way that I'll never forget. I was ready to swear
that he could read my thoughts. Then he simply looked away.
"You remember, Scully. Someone burned down all my stuff. But
the boys upstairs gave me these chairs." He grinned, gesturing
toward the armchair in front of his desk.
I took a few awkward steps in what was now a strange place.
I had loved our office and now ... everything seemed so cold and
impersonal. Watching the white spot on the wall where once hung
the infamous, I Want To Believe poster, I felt a pang in my
heart. He asked me how was I doing and I gave him my standard
answer, I'm fine. I remember I could barely hear my own voice
giving other 'politically correct' replies to his questions. I
couldn't help thinking back to the old office, to the moments we
had shared there.
"Scully, what's the matter?"
Mulder's sudden question brought me back to present. Our
eyes met and again I found something I didn't know there. I
needed to know who this man in front of me was. "I didn't like
this place." I murmured, whitout any precise reason.
He smiled sadly, nodding slowly as if that was what he was
expecting me to say. "Time passes, Scully. Maybe it's time for
the monster-boy to grow up."
A tide of emotions stirred inside me. Please Mulder; don't
do it. You are the most wonderful person I've ever met. Hang on.
But once again I kept everything inside, and the only evidence
of that tide were the tears I felt burning in my eyes.
"Scully?" Evidently, Mulder wasn't willing to let that go.
I closed my eyes, trying to focus on why I was there. I
told him of my promotion.
His reaction hurt me. He seemed genuinely happy and what
he told me once resounded in my mind.
'Go be a doctor, Scully'
Suddenly, I felt I couldn't live with that doubt, I had to
know what he really thought. I think I interrupted his praises.
"Mulder, the truth is that I spent these months wondering
whether you were fine, if you had found your answers, if you had
gotten yourself into some mess...I couldn't help thinking that
if something bad had happened to you, maybe I wouldn't have know
for months!" Overwhelmed with tears, I bowed my face, biting
my lip to win the sobs.
After a few moments, I heard him standing and drawing near.
He knelt in front of my chair, taking my hand. "I promise that
the next time I end up in hospital, you will be the first one to
know."
I smiled, wiping away my tears with the back of my free
hand. "Hell, I didn't want this to end so." I managed. I
couldn't know how his worlds were destined to be a dark prophecy
then, so I decided to ignore the shiver that ran down my spine.
Mulder just shook his head. It doesn't matter, Scully; It's
okay. His eyes were talking to me again and in their hazel
deepness I found the Mulder I'd known. The monster boy. I told
him that I'd missed him, that I didn't want that job, that
those three months had helped me to understand a lot of things.
Deep inside, I knew it was too late, that the X-Files didn't
belong to me any more, but I wasn't ready to face that truth, so
I selfishly kept on hurting him. "I don't like my new life." I
concluded, like a naughty little girl tired of her new toy.
He closed his eyes.
I'd give my own life now to have the chance to go back to
that moment and act differently, but the fear of losing him had
made me blind, unable to understand that I was destroying
everything. "Tell me that you don't want me to go. Just tell me
this and I'll stay."
"I can't." He didn't even try to justify himself. I think
he believed that too, was his fault.
I stood, pushing the chair back. "I understand." I fumbled
with the door handle, the tears blurring everything. I felt
humbled. It was easier to believe that I hated him then, but the
truth was that I hated myself; and from that very moment, I
still do.
"I missed you too, Scully." His voice was so sad.
I turned a last time. Mulder's own eyes were red. Oh God,
two simple words of mine would have been enough to save both of
us. 'I know'. It was the truth; I knew he hadn't forgotten me,
that he was doing what he was doing just because he didn't want
to spoil my fucked normal life, but ... all that sounded like a
defeat. I stared at him for a while, then slammed close the door
that had been opened for six years.
* * * * *
Mulder kept his promise till the end. Skinner called me
from the Bethesda Naval Hospital and from his voice I understood
it was bad. I left Boston less than two hours later, and I spent
the whole flight clutching in my hand the Apollo11 keychain that
Mulder had given me a long time ago. He will survive, I
kept repeating to myself, he always does.
In front of his room, I was approached by Skinner, who
brought me up to date on his condition. He was saying that the
bullet had pierced his right lung; I knew what it meant, but I
refused to believe it was really happening. It had to be a
mistake, not him, not Mulder. "I want to see him."
Skinner tried to stop me, but I had already entered his
room. The only noise was that of his respirator. Diane was
sitting near his bed, tenderly stroking his hair. He was still,
pale, far. Where had all his restless vitality gone? Please
Mulder; don't. It was unfair; he had so much to give.
It was unfair, but I had already witnessed that scene a
hundred times in my nightmares. But even in my worst nightmare,
I was always at his bedside, whispering to him mushy nonsense
among tears. More often just holding his hand.
I felt sick.
'The bullet pierced his right lung'
Diane turned. She was crying. "The doctors say he won't
wake up."
I stayed on the threshold, unable to take a single step,
unable to say anything. Then a sudden wave of nausea hit me, and
I had to rush outside.
Out of the bathroom, I found Skinner watching concerned at
me. "Any better?"
I nodded, vaguely embarrassed.
He took my arm and gently guided me to a row of chairs. I
sat silently for a while, trying to regain my bearing. "How did
it happen?" I finally asked. The basic part of me hoped it had
been Diana's fault. I needed someone to blame, someone to hate.
Skinner stared in the distance. "He was pursuing a suspect,
a man he and Agent Fowley had been investigating and he got
shot. The tests revealed presence of alcohol in his blood."
I haven't clear recollections of what happened in the
following hours. I just remember the echo of people's voices,
the buzz of the machines that breathed for him, the piercing
smell of disinfectant and the Apollo11 keychain tight in my
hand.
I had to have fallen asleep at a certain point. I have a
weak memory of a dream about the sea. I was on a shore with
Mulder, but I couldn't hear what he was saying to me because of
the waves.
Then Skinner awakened me. He was gone.
I couldn't cry at first. I just staggered away and sat on a
bench outside the hospital. It was a bright dawn of Summer and
for a while I lost myself in the soft shadows of the sky, slowly
sliding into the blue of morning. The new day was a hymn to life
and nothing seemed to prove that Mulder was no longer part of
that world. The show must go on. That clear sky seemed suddenly
too wide and indifferent, and I felt the sudden need to have him
at my side. It was just then that I really understood that he
was gone. For ever. Never more spooky theories to debate, never
more late phone calls, never more truths to believe in. The
tears rolled down my cheeks freely now, but it was too late.
They couldn't bring him back, or change things, or anything.
I spent the first two weeks of my life without Mulder among
tears and memories; wishing that I could find a meaning, the
shadow of a hope to which to cling to. I tried to blame destiny,
to hate the world; but it didn't work.
We choose our own destiny and nothing happens if we don't
want it to happen.
-----------------------
Scully felt dizzy.
How long had she been staring at the computer monitor?
She strove to clear her mind. The mysterious E-mail was still here,
but ... how could she know that she hadn't typed it herself?
Everything was blurred. The world outside was blurred by
her tears, her memories by what she had just read. Somehow,
Scully felt as if she'd actually lived that nightmare. She
wanted, needed to find a rational explanation for that long
letter that she herself seemed to have written from a
nightmarish future; but that strong feeling of deja-vu· clouded
her mind.
'Mulder is dead.'
She couldn't get rid of that thought.
'Mulder is really dead and I've just written that letter.'
No. She'd just talked with him by phone; it couldn't have
happened more than ... Scully went to the window. The snow shone
pearly under the moon. It was still Christmas night.
Leaning her burning brow against the cold window, Scully
thought that she shouldn't take this episode lightly. It was
still possible that she'd written those words, and her inability
to remember could be the symptom of something serious. Maybe
her brain cancer was coming back ... or maybe that E-mail had
really been sent from a possible future to warn her. It was
dated 25 August 1999 and the computer put the date line
automatically, but hell, it wasn't possible to get warnings from
the future! She wasn't Scrooge and her life was pretty far from
being a Christmas tale. The doorbell rang, starting her. Holding
her breath, she slowly approached the door. Then there was a
lock click and a moment later she was facing Mulder.
Seeing him, Scully couldn't help smiling. She would find an
explanation for that strange letter later; all that seemed to
matter now was that he was fine, that it was still Christmas and
that outside the snow was still falling.
'Nothing happens if we don't want it to happen'.
Meanwhile, Mulder had drawn near her. "Scully, what are you
doing here alone?"
Scully glanced at her computer. "Working."
"Tomorrow is Christmas Day; you should be with your family.
I just talked with your mom, she's worried for you."
"I'll call her."
Mulder shook his head impatiently. "No, you have to reach
her and your brother at San Diego. They need you and you need
them."
Scully buried her face in his chest without warning. "I
need you."
Mulder held her lightly. "Scully, what's wrong?" He was
clearly puzzled by her unusual behaviour.
"Nothing."
"You are trembling."
The very same words he'd said to her that far away night
in Oregon. What other man but Mulder would have done his best to
*just* reassure a scared new partner that had shown up at his
motel room in only her underwear? Overwhelmed by that sweet
memory, Scully slipped her arms under his jacket and held him
tight.
"Hey ..."
Feeling Mulder's hand gently stroking her hair, Scully
closed her eyes. Everything was so 'intense' with him that she
was almost scared. "Mulder, I ... I'm sorry about the X-Files, I
just would like to do something ... for ... us." That was neither
a crumb of what she would have wanted to say, but maybe it was
the first step toward ... toward a different future.
* * * * *
Because nothing is written.
THE END
"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood. I took the road less
travelled by, and that made all the difference."
