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carefulfears · 8 months

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the biggest thing about elegy is that it takes all of that unspoken isolation of this arc, and it slowly lets the audience in. the first thing that mulder says about the apparitions, is that they seem to be an "omen." an impending prophecy. and carefully, throughout the episode, both the audience and scully are waiting to see, not who the killer is, but what is being foretold. when they're going over records, and scully's nose starts bleeding, it's the one thing that they can't ignore. she wasn't even there in the previous episode. she was in the hospital. alone. they don't talk about it. she's "fine." she has "always been the strong one." just like in irresistible, years earlier, she does not want him to know how much she is struggling. but she doesn't have any control. it is dripping out of her. the sound of his voice when he says "oh, scully." and how quickly she responds "it's okay. i'm fine."

it's that kind of childlike grimace in him, the same man who flinches away from dead bodies and stares at the ground before his father. and she's so fast to try to restore order. it's okay. i'm fine. don't worry, i'll clean it up. i'll make it go away. when she disappears into the bathroom and sees an apparition there herself...i think she decides to go to the hospital because she just needs space, honestly. she's scared. he offers to drive her, to go with her, twice. asks, "you sure?" and she says, twice, "i'm fine."

elegy builds to two separate climaxes: the first, when mulder comes to scully's apartment. but before that, we see scully in karen kosseff's office, the same therapist that she had gone to in irresistible, and presumably has kept a relationship with in the years since. she tells karen that she's been diagnosed with inoperable untreatable cancer, and when karen asks, "you've kept working?" she answers, "yes. it's been important to me."

she's taken aback when karen asks why, is surprised at the question, and tells her "agent mulder has been concerned. he's been supportive, through this time."

KOSSEFF: Do you feel that you owe it to him to continue working?

SCULLY: (quickly) No. (pauses) I guess I never realized how much I rely on him before this...his passion...he's been a great source of strength that I've drawn on.

KOSSEFF: What happened last night, Dana?

SCULLY: I saw something. I, I don't know what to trust. If I saw it because of the stress, because the image had been suggested to me or if it was a suggestion of my own fears.

KOSSEFF: Your fear of failing him?

SCULLY: (exhales emotionally) Maybe.

this is such a rare admission from scully. first of all, she's being confronted. this is not normal. it is not normal to work to your death. it's like bill tells her, a couple of episodes later, "what are you doing at work, getting knocked down, beaten up? what are you trying to prove?"

(she hadn't even told bill about her cancer. she'd been sick for months. she thought she was going to die in memento mori, she knows she's going to die sooner than later. and she instructed her mom not to tell her brother. from the moment that mulder said "i refuse to believe that," it really was only going to go one way.)

she's being confronted. why are you working? (for mulder). do you feel you owe him? (no, i need him).

she's really alone. she's sick. like, she's really sick. she spent the last case in the hospital. she's having a hard time keeping up. she's thinning, and bleeding, and struggling. but there she goes, every day, at every hour. monster chasing. telling him she's fine.

(so much conflict comes from the way that mulder's ignorance perfectly enables scully's repression)

when he shows up, late, at her apartment, he comes in a mile-a-minute, about how he needs her "help" on the case, before asking her what her doctor said. (her answer, of course, being, "i'm fine.")

he tells her that everyone who has seen an apparition, was dying. every person who reported a premonition, was near death themselves.

SCULLY: Harold Spuller is dying too?

MULDER: Well, that's what I need your medical opinion on.

SCULLY: Well, what if he isn't?

MULDER: I would be very surprised. What is a death omen if not a vision of our own mortality? And who among us would most likely be able to see the dead?

this is one of the most hauntingly isolating moments of the series...he has just told her that she is going to die. and he doesn't know, that that's what he said. she is forced to process it, completely by herself. and she doesn't believe in ghosts, or "premonitions," but she knows that he is right. (when is he not?)

("maybe harold is sicker than we thought he was.")

the second moment that this episode builds to, is the final confrontation between mulder and scully. after the murder is solved. after harold dies.

SCULLY: I saw something, Mulder.

MULDER: What?

SCULLY: The fourth victim. I saw her in the bathroom before you came to tell me.

MULDER: Why didn't you tell me?

SCULLY: Because I didn't want to believe it. Because I don't want to believe it.

MULDER: Is that why you came down here, to prove that it wasn't true?

SCULLY: No, I came down here because you asked me to.

MULDER: Why can't you be honest with me?

SCULLY: (defensively) What do you want me to say? That you're right, that, that I believe it even if I don't? I mean, is that what you want?

MULDER: Is that what you think I want to hear?

SCULLY: (softly) No.

they come really...close here? to talking about it? she almost baits him several times this season. she spends so much of this arc thinking...maybe, this will be it. maybe if she fucks off on assignment, gets a tattoo with another man, he'll say it. maybe if she calls him out for never celebrating her birthday, he'll acknowledge why this is the year he did. maybe if they spend a friday night with a bottle of wine, they'll talk. maybe if she tells him, those things you believe are death omens? i saw it. he'll know.

i can't remember which one of you said that all of their arguments are just how to love each other. she doesn't want to believe. but she's there, because he has asked her to be. even in all of their repressed denial, there is no escaping what's happening. it hangs over both of them.

i love the moments in this arc where she just snaps. in this scene when she says, what do you want from me? do you want me to just believe you? and her quiet resignation, when he makes her answer her own question. no. she knows that's not what he wants.

MULDER: (his voice softens) I know what you're afraid of. I'm afraid of the same thing.

SCULLY: The doctor said I was fine.

MULDER: I hope that's the truth.

SCULLY: (whispers) I'm going home.

"i know what you're afraid of. i'm afraid of the same thing."

except, no, he doesn't. and no, they are not.

but she knows what he's afraid of, just as her therapist had known what she's afraid of ("your fear of failing him?") and so she dodges his admittance with reassurance. she's fine.

that last scene, when she goes out and cries in her car, and she sees harold's ghost in the backseat. she is so alone. she's working on her deathbed. they don't talk about it. she's afraid, and she's not fine, and she is going to "fail" him because she cannot keep herself alive for him, and she can't avoid it. it's in the backseat. it's in the bathroom mirror. it's bleeding out of her.

#here trish #txf.txt #elegy #DANA LOOK OUT!!! YOUR ELEGIES ARE EULOGIZING YOU!!!!!!!!!!#i was saying last night how much i love ‘gethsemane’ as an episode title #and i think that may be my favorite one #but i love ‘elegy’ a lot too #‘a lament for the dead’#this whole episode is sorrow for the dead and dying #how we cannot catch up to them #and our dying girl at the center. seeing the omens. knowing what’s coming. crying alone in her car.#this show was always so so so resonant and impactful when it came to themes of grief and loss #anyway. there is no beyond the sea etc etc #also i noticed last night that scully mentions how long they've been together a lot during this arc #'in the four years i've known you' in tempus fugit #'i would think after four years' in elegy #'everything that we've done over the past four years' in reduxii #she's taking stock

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lifewithaview · 4 months

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Gillian Anderson in The X-Files (1993) Elegy

S4E22

Mulder and Scully investigate a series of deaths after reports that people are seeing the victims' ghosts just before they die. All of the victims were young women and in the most recent case, a bowling alley owner saw the victim's spirit floating above the pin setting machine at the end of one of the lanes. When they examine the bowling lane, they find the message 'she is me' etched into the wood. Harold Spuller works at the bowling alley and is slightly autistic. He lives in an institutional setting and to the local police, he is the prime suspect. Mulder begins to believe there is a psychic connection between the victims and the people seeing their ghosts. It bodes ill for Scully who is still having nose bleeds and then sees a victim's spirit with the 'she is me' message in a bathroom mirror.

*John Shiban was inspired to write this episode after his wife's father, who was dying, professed to see visions.

#The X-Files #1993 #1997 episode #Elegy #S4E22 #Mulder #Scully #Gillian Anderson #She is me #apparitions #ghosts #autistic #victim`s spirit #investigation #crime #drama #mystery #scifi #just watched

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lilydalexf · 4 years

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Hello. I have noticed everybody comes to you for fic recommendations. The thing is I watched that scene in Elegy where Mulder confronts Scully and I desperatly need a good fic. Do you know of any? Thanks for your time

Here are a bunch of very good fics involving the episode "Elegy." Enjoy! Anagnorisis by Nicole Perry Continues the final scene of "Elegy"; a sequel of sorts to Lydia Bower's "Incomplete" Another Swim by Joann Humby Mulder Scully romance or something? This takes us from Elegy to Demons in a way that the show is unlikely to depict. This is not a heart and flowers story, it's dark in here. The Bar Scene: Untimely Frost by Michelle Kiefer It had been a little more than a week since Harold Spuller's death, and Scully was losing ground. He wondered sometimes if she'd just disappear one day, leaving a faint but indelible smudge on his life. Break, Break, Break by starsonfire (@saintbellamys) Mulder finds Scully with her toes in the surf. Perhaps if he holds her long enough, love will drive her sickness away. Elegy by scullywolf (@scullywolf) Missing scene Family Matters by Sheryl Martin Melissa Scully ponders her sister's future... The Hardest Battle by Rebel Scully agonizes over her cancer. Harold's Gift by Donna After she saw Harold in her rear view mirror, what did she do? Importuning Life for Life by Circe Invidiosa (@invidiosa) He’d said enough out loud and made it real. Incomplete by Lydia Bower Continues the final scene of Elegy. Mulder loses his cool. The Pale Moonlight by Steph Lutz Scully's cancer worsens and Skinner cashes in his end of the deal. roaring like the ocean by skuls (@ghostbustermelanieking) Scully deals with her worsening cancer as tensions run high between her and Mulder. Transition by Meredith Mulder and Scully investigate a very different sort of witness to a series of murders -- and eventually discover they are more connected to the killer than expected. Or are they? Fourth-season brand UST. (This story is second to The Favor in Meredith's "Redemption" series, but each story stands alone.) Tricks of the Light by Elizabeth Rowandale (@rowan-d) What the author would have liked to see happen immediately following "Elegy" Up the Ladder by rivkat (@rivkat) Marita comes through for Mulder, giving him what he wants most. But twenty-five years haven't brought as many changes as he might have thought, and her gift might be more dangerous than anything he's faced to date. And what's up with those bees? A potpourri of Conspiracy elements with many old favorites present. White Flag by sixpences (@thetwoguineabook) There's a building burning. Post-ep for 4x22, 'Elegy'.

#new post #fic rec #roundup #elegy #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #anon #asks #thank you for coming to me with your question!

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greekowl87 · 4 years

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Fic: Elegy for the Dead; Hope for the Living

A/N: I’ve been playing a lot of the X-Files in the background as I’ve been working the past few days. I just rewatched Elegy and got some major cancer arc angst inspiration. And I can’t sleep with anxiety again. So, cancer arc angst anyone? Lucky you! @today-in-fic @suitablyaggrieved @baronessblixen No beta. Sorry

She is me.

Scully awoke, gasping for air, remembering the blood-stained letters in mirror reflecting back at her. Her nose bloody, unable to stop it or the cancer that was slowly killing her. She remembered Mulder telling her that only those close to death would see the ghosts. She had seen those dead spirits. That probably meant her own mortality wasn’t that far off.

She touched her nose, feeling the coppery blood. Turning on the light, she reached for a tissue to stem the bleeding. She pinched her nose and jogged to her bathroom. The stream of blood seemed never-ending. She pinched her nose tighter and leaned her head back. It had been two weeks since her last treatment and she was beginning to reconsider even doing them at all. She grabbed a new tissue and closed her eyes, feeling sudden pain.

She walked quickly to her bedroom, blindly grabbing her phone. She dialed Mulder’s number and he answered it on the first ring. “Scully? What is it?”

“Um, can you get over here as fast as you can?”

“Are you okay?”

“Can you just get over here?”

“I’m on my way.”

Her pulse was racing. She is me. See the dead girl and the apparition of Harold Spuller. She had tears as she rushed back to the bathroom. The nosebleed had slowed as she grabbed another tissue. Scully sat on the edge of her toilet seat and tried to take a few breaths. Not only was she trying to stem her nosebleed but she was also trying to curve the panic attack that was threatening to rise in her chest.

She checked the tissue, seeing that bleeding had finally stopped but now she could feel bile rising up in the back of her throat, stomach twisting. Her pulse spiked and she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Then, she couldn’t handle it... nausea. She flipped open the toilet, got on her knees, and braced herself as the panic wrecked the rest of her body.

* * * * *

Mulder sped into Georgetown on the empty Beltway. He managed to find a parking spot right in front of her building. He looked up to her apartment and saw the lights turned off. He rushed up the stairs and unlocked her door. Darkness greeted him as he stepped into the apartment. His heart stopped. “Scully? Scully!”

“I’m in the bathroom, Mulder.”

He could Scully’s shaking voice and in a few long strides, he went to her bathroom. She was sitting on the floor with her knees to her chest. Her hair was askew, her eyes bloodshot. “Scully? What happened?’

She lifted her hand and he saw tremors. “I can’t get my hand to stop shaking, Mulder.” She held up her other hand. “My hands won’t stop shaking. And my heart, it feels like it’s about to burst on my chest. I can’t stand. My head is swimming. I’ve been dry heaving for the past hour. I’m sick to my stomach.”

“Is it cancer?”

“I don’t think so.” She shook her head, tears in her eyes. “No.” She strangled a laugh. “It’s a panic attack. I have all the classic signs of a panic attack.” But her weak laughter turned in a sob and Mulder bent down in front of her. “I’ve never had a panic attack, Mulder!”

Mulder placed his hand against her breast bone and wrapped his arm around her. Carefully, not breaking contact, he sat next to her and pulled her against him. She cried harder and tried to curl into him. “I’m right here, Scully.” He kissed her hair and held her tighter. “I’m here.”

“I can’t breathe.” She began to hyperventilate and she pulled back in alarm. “Mulder!”

“Scully, it’s your panic attack. You have to calm down.”

“I don’t want to die. I don’t want to.”

Her tears were coming faster and he frowned and pulled her into between his long legs. He wrapped his arms around her and tried to surround her like a blanket. He took a deep breath and held it and breathed out slowly. “Scully, you need to breathe. Breathe with me.” He took another deep breath, held it, and slowly exhaled. “Do you feel it, Scully? You have to breathe with me. Come on, let’s take another breath.”

Scully clutched his hands and tried to slow her breaths to match his. After about five minutes of repeating their breathing cycle, she could feel her world become a bit steadier.

“You okay?” She nodded, closing her eyes and leaned back against him. He tightened his arms around her. “Do you think you can stand?”

She shook her head. “I’ve been feeling light-headed and from throwing up...it really takes it out of me, Mulder.”

“Okay. Give me a second then.”

He stood up first and held out both of his large hands. Scully stared at them, her eyes trying to focus on them despite her swimming head. She grabbed his hands and he helped her stand effortlessly. “Are you okay?”

She swayed slightly and kept her eyes closed. “I think so...I don’t know what happened. I woke up from a nightmare and then I had a nosebleed. I don’t know what possessed me to call you. I probably wasted your time.”

“I wouldn’t call this a waste of time. You had quite the panic attack from the looks of it.” He was silent, gently caressing her cheek. “Let’s get something to calm your stomach.”

“Mulder, I’m fine.”

He growled in frustration. “Scully, what did I tell you? The sooner you stop denying it, the more I can help you. Hearing you say you didn’t want to die tonight was the closest you’ve come to telling me the truth in the past seven months.”

She lowered her gaze, remembering her conversation with her therapist. “I don’t want to disappoint you.” Her confession was barely a whisper but loud enough for him to hear. “I’m sorry.”

Mulder sighed, shaking his head. “Don’t be.” He wrapped his arm around her neck and pulled her into a hug. “Aw, Scully. I can never be disappointed with you.” She nodded silently into his chest. “But let’s try to get some food into you. Do you have anything you think you might be able to stomach?”

She nodded. “I’ll get it…”

“No, you will sit on your couch. I’ll make it for you.”

“Mulder, it was just a tiny panic attack.”

“No, it wasn’t.” He rubbed her shoulder. “As a psychologist, I am telling you it was a bad one.”

“And I’m a doctor.”

“And together we make one hell of a team.” She looked up and smiled slightly. “I’ll take care of it. Why don’t you go lay down and I’ll make you something to eat.”

He lead her to to the couch and began to dig through her cabinets. Scully took her Afghan and wrapped around her shoulders. She watched him. “I have Lipton noodle soup above the sink. During my first rounds of radiation, that was one of the few things I could stomach.”

“Okay,” he smiled, “we got somewhere to start. So, I know Chef Mike personally who’ll do a great job on this.”

“Chef Mike,” she whispered. He saw her smile slightly. “Who’s that.”

He tapped her microwave proudly. She chuckled and nodded. “Chef Mike.”

Mulder quickly filled a microwaveable container with water and the soup mix and put it in for 12 minutes. He went to the sink and poured her a glass of water. They sat in silence for a bit. “So,” he began, walking to join her on the couch, “You want to tell me what happened?”

She drew her knees close. “A nightmare. She is me. I woke up with the nosebleed and then one thing led to another.”

“What did we just talk about, Scully?”

She cleared her throat, trying to organize her thoughts. “After I left tonight, I saw Harold Spuller’s apparition in the back of my car, Mulder. Just like I did with the murder victim. What you said about them being a fetch...an omen of death…” her voice trailed off and she wiped away fresh tears. “I don’t want to die, Mulder. I’m not ready to die. But I’m afraid. I am so afraid.”

“Is that what caused the panic attack?”

“Part of it and this nosebleed, I was afraid it wasn’t going to stop. I mean I’m a doctor but a part of me thought of the illogical possibilities.” She reached for the water Mulder had brought her. Her throat felt raw and the water soothed it a little. “I’m scared, Mulder. I’ve tried so hard to be strong and keep my faith but I have never felt more lost. I know I’m dying but I can’t accept it.”

He reached for her hand and held it. “That’s the first time since this all started you’ve told me how you actually feel.”

She cringed and hide her face in her other hand. “Sure you aren’t disappointed in me?”

“Why would I be?”

She shrugged. The microwave timer went off and he held up a finger to fetch her a mug of soup. Scully watched him, feeling so touched by his signs of affection. He returned with a steaming cup and handed her a spoon. She nodded and sipped the scalding liquid slowly. “Thank you.” She looked up to him and shrugged. “I don’t know. I feel like even after four years, I still have to prove myself to you.”

“You have nothing to prove to me, Scully.” He sighed. “I just wished you would have told me sooner. So you saw Spuller’s fetch huh?” She nodded. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe because you’re so close to death right now...you’re a pathologist…”

“Mulder,” she whispered, “We both know what it is. It’s the cancer.”

“That doesn’t mean you won’t get better,” he said. She ate more of the soup. “I refuse to believe it.”

“Mulder, I’m getting worse, not better.” She sighed. “I went to the doctor after my previous nosebleed and things were fine. I am not lying about that; I do feel fine. Most days but my treatments...I’m not responding to them anymore. It’s getting worse. We need to have this conversation. We’ve both been avoiding it.”

“You aren’t going to die from this, Scully. I won’t let it happen.”

“Oh, Mulder,” she whispered fondly “If I only had the strength of your beliefs.”

“I’ll find you a cure, Scully. I swear to God, I’ll find you a cure.”

The tone and seriousness with which he vowed to her made her shiver. Maybe this was a conversation for another night. “Mulder,” she tried to downplay it. “Maybe...maybe this is the wrong time.”

“When will there be a time, Scully? I’m not going to let you die.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “I promise you, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

She had tears in her eyes. “I’m not going to be able to eat all this myself.” She wiped them away. “And it’s late. I don’t want to see you driving home this late. Do you mind staying here tonight?”

Mulder titled his head. “I would be happy too, Scully.”

She gave a small smile as he got up to get the rest of the soup. They ate in silence, finishing it off. Somehow, unspoken communication did more for them compared to when they used their words. They finished the soup and Mulder washed out the mugs. Scully stood up on unsteady feet. He came to her side and she grasped his hand, leading him to her bedroom. Mulder felt his heart race. This was the stuff of his fantasies, but right now, those dreams took a back seat in favor of the present. “Stay with me, please, Mulder?”

“Whatever you want, Scully.”

He took away the Afghan and helped her into bed and gently tucked her in. He went to the other side of her bed and sat next to her. “I am sorry for not telling you the truth before,” she whispered.

He lay down on top of the covers next to her, kicking his shoes off in the process. “It’s okay. But you have to trust me when I say we’ll get through this together.”

Scully recalled the fetches. He turned onto his side and held out his arm. She snuggled against him. “I hope you are right,” she whispered.

“We will.” He hugged her tightly. “I’m glad you called me.”

She closed her eyes as he nuzzled her hair. “So am I.”

#xfiles #xf fic #txf #txf fic #post ep elegy #cancer arc #angst #mulder and scully #mulder #scully #msr #msr fic

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purrykat · 5 years

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how about Mulder finding out Scully lied to him about something as a prompt?

I love this idea so much. Particularly the thought that it tore her up to lie to Mulder in Elegy. I really want to give this the attention that it deserves at some point. But for now, there's this.

@today-in-fic

×××

The strobing of red and blue lights are of little comfort, tears clouding your vision as the spirit of Harold Spuller fades from your mind and mirror. You'd tried so hard to remain strong and steadfast—to continue working as your symptoms worsened. You'd ignored the looks, the pain written clear as day all over your partner's face. The longer you kept him from knowing the truth, the longer you could go on without facing it.

You'd lied. The tests had confirmed your suspicions, your fears. And yet, you couldn't bring yourself to admit vulnerability—to admit you'd failed him. The thought alone is more than you can endure, and the heels of your hands press into your eyes, soothing an ache as the tears spill through the cracks of your fingers. You know he cares. You've seen it, felt it radiating off of him in waves. The concern, the fear, that other thing you refused to give a name to, as if acknowledging it would be as good as conceding to your own arduous emotions.

It's all too much, and you're left gasping, struggling to breathe through the lump in your throat. The quiet snick of the car door barely registers until strong, capable hands are tugging on your own. You can't help but watch, hands that hold up the weight of the world, so strong yet so tender, so loving.

He's shushing you, lips against your frozen hands, against tear stained cheeks, against your forehead, as if the heat from his mouth could sink into your skin and shrink the very intruder that threatened to be your demise.

His murmured reassurances turn into desperate pleas, as though his anguished cries could will you back to perfect health. Your fingers swipe beneath his eyes, and you're not sure who is comforting who at this point, but then his lips meet your own, wet with tears and hot with passion and it doesn't matter anymore. Here, in front of God and Harold and the devil himself, you make the choice to not let this thing beat you.

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sigritandtheelves · 5 years

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It started after the first incident with Pfaster, after she broke down for the first time. Every time things get bad--like, really bad--they both change into comfy clothes (pajamas, sweaters, whatever), and they just hold each other on the motel bed. Or on a couch. Even on her bed once or twice, later on. Afterwards, they don’t discuss it. They fold it up and put it into the drawer (fuller every day) of unspoken things.

“Get changed,” he’d say. “I’ll be here,” and wait for her to come out of the bathroom in her robe or a t-shirt or sweats.

It’s why those moments in the Allentown hospital seem so natural: she in her robe, he in soft leather. Fingers at her temples or on her ears while she breathes him in.

Even though he isn’t kind to her on the case (he is so scared, so angry, so unintentionally cruel), it happens after the dead girls and Harold Spuller. Wary at first, she knocks on his door. But when he sees her face, he pulls her into the room. He whispers “I’m sorry,” into her hair, and then they are quiet while she cries, wrapped under the covers, wrapped in him.

It happens after the Temple of the Seven Stars, in Tennesse, for Mulder. It would happen after Roche, but Scully is afraid to come to him. She hasn’t done that before, shown up at his apartment to offer him comfort. Not yet, anyway. But she comes to him after the New Spartans spare his life. And after his mother. And Samantha.

It happens after Emily, of course, even though she said she wanted to be alone. Hours later she appears at his motel door. She shucks her sensible suit right in front of him--doesn’t even walk into the bathroom to change. No words, just dry red eyes while she clings to him like a barnacle and stares at the cotton of his shirt under her face.

After the IVF, it’s for the both of them. Every time after that, the comfort is for the both of them. Or probably it always was. They cling in quiet, and they feel not so alone.

#a headcanon #of sorts #it kinda turned into a fic?#but not really

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baronessblixen · 7 years

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Prompt: When Scully thinks she's dying of cancer she asks Mulder to make love to her because she doesn't want Ed Jerse to be the last person she ever slept with.

Tried another angst piece. Probably just so I could tag @always-angst! It kinda ended up as a post-ep for “Elegy”.

Also tagging @fictober and @today-in-fic

If she could, she’d close her eyes,pretend not to see. She dares a few glances in the rearview mirror as shedrives and there’s nothing out of the ordinary. Just light and cars, trafficand life. At home she leaves lights off in hope of being left alone, ofescaping. But the shadows dance around her and when she walks into thebathroom, despite the absence of light, she swears she sees Harold Spuller’sface again among the ghostly shades. Gasping in anger she throws her hairbrushagainst the mirror. The glass splinters at the edge but refuses to break apart.

Scully knows she can’t stay in herapartment tonight. She doesn’t think, grabs her key and leaves. Outside thecold air breathes life back into her. She gets in her car, still refuses tothink about it, puts the key in the ignition and steers her car towards theonly place she wants to be right now.

At 1 am the knock on Mulder’s doorsounds intrusive, noisy. Scully startles, wonders if this was the rightdecision. It doesn’t take long for Mulder to come to the door and her doubts disappear.His eyes are clear, attentive; he wasn’t asleep. The expression on his facechanges from surprised to happy and finally to concerned.

“Scully? Is everything allright?” No, she wants to say. Nothing is all right. She’s dying; she feelsit deep in her bones, cutting through her skin. The revelation, even just toherself, makes her vulnerable; tears spring to her eyes, hot and angry. Lookingat Mulder, though, his concerned eyes, his hand that’s suspended in the air,frozen in time, uncertain if she wants him to touch her, energy flows throughher.

“Scully, please talk tome."

"Can I come in?" Shecame here without agenda. Her only need was to get away from the pictures inher mind, from the truth lurking behind every corner.

"Of course.” Mulder opens thedoor to her and she slips past him. The TV is on but muted. Scully expects tosee some cheap skin flick and not a colorful Disney movie. She turns tohim.

“Yeah, I thought I should broadenmy horizons.” Mulder tells her, chuckling. He picks up loose papers andmagazines off his couch to make space for her. Scully, however, doesn’tsit.

“Do you want anything to drinkor…” Mulder trails off.

“No, I-” But she can’t sayit. If she tells him what she keeps seeing, what keeps following her, thenshe’s accepting it. Believing it. She’s dying. She looks at Mulder, wonders ifhe can tell what she’s thinking. Can he see it in her eyes? Is he tooin denial about this? She can’t stay in the shadows forever, alone,hiding.

“If it’s about what I saidearlier, Scully-”

“It’s not, Mulder. Or maybe it is.You told me that if I didn’t tell you the truth I was working against you andmyself. I- when I sat in my car earlier, when I got home, I saw…”

“What did you see, Scully?”

“Harold Spuller. I saw him. Idon’t know what to believe or maybe… I refuse to believe what it means butMulder,” she sighs, swallowing the tears that still threaten to spill,“I couldn’t, I didn’t - don’t - want to be alone.”

“You’re not alone, Scully,”he closes the distance between them and crushes her to him. His hands roam overher back before they settle on his spot, right over her tattoo. The contact,even through her clothes, burns her. Reminds her. She closes her eyes,unafraid, and buries her face in his chest. His scent, like earth, like home,covers her in safety. “You’ll never be alone. You just have to let mein.” Mulder’s voice tickles her skin, her ear and she squirms in his arms.Rubs her body against him slowly, carefully, just trying it out. Her own handstake liberties, wander over his spine and he sighs into her hair. She wantsthis. This need, raw and urgent, surprises her, tackles her and makes her weakin the knees. But she’s in Mulder’s arms, safe and sound. Scully’s done thisbefore, recently. Threw herself into the arms of a man, a stranger, to feelalive, to forget. Today she wants to forget again; about her mortality, aboutwhat happened months ago in another bedroom.

“Mulder.” She murmurs hisname into his chest, feels his strong heart beat against her lips.

“I’m here, Scully."

"I have a question…a request,really.” There’s nothing to lose now. Yet everything to gain. Mulderloosens his hold on her so that he can look into her eyes. They’re soft, wetwith unshed tears, glancing at her, willing to give her just about anything.

“I want to… need you to makelove to me." He furrows his brows and bites his lip in search of theright words. She sees his answer before he utters a single syllable.

"Scully.” Her name is a sigh,pure desperation.

“Mulder, please.” She kisseshis chest, longs to taste him. She doesn’t beg, not never, but tonight she’lldo anything. When she dies, there is no if, she doesn’t want her last memory oflove, of skin rubbing against skin, to be of Ed Jerse. A throw away fuck, aone-night stand, that was never meant to mean anything.

“I- I can’t, Scully. I’m notsaying goodbye to you like that. I can’t.” He buries his face in her hairas his arms wrap around her so tightly that he almost takes her breath away.

“Mulder, I need this. We both needit. I can’t… the last time I… that can’t be the last time.” Shestrains to get to his lips but he stops her. Puts a finger on her lips tosilence her and her fears.

“It won’t be the last time.There’s plenty of time left.” Tears stream down her face. There’s not. Whycan’t he see that? His finger starts tracing her lips, the rough texture ofhis skin kissing her.

“There’ll be another time for us,Scully. I promise you. This is not it.” His voice is insistent and Scullycloses her eyes. She doesn’t believe in premonitions. Seeing the dead girl,seeing Harold Spuller, what if there’s another explanation? Mulder’s finger onher lips, her body in his arms, her heart in his hands. His voice in her ear.All she’s got to do is believe him. Trust him.

“You promise?” She whispers againsthis finger.

“I promise,Scully. I promise.” She believes him.

#i apologize that my angst stories are always kinda pathetic #funny thing: pathetic means something different in English than it does in German #both descriptions fit for my writing though #i'm sorry #maybe something will make sense #fictober #msr #xf fanfic #my writing #my fic

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ghostbustermelanieking · 7 years

Text

roaring like the ocean (1/2)

summary: Scully deals with her worsening cancer as tensions run high between her and Mulder.

spoilers for elegy and demons. part of my series i rewrite as i rewatch txf. warning for major angst/mention of suicide/slight suicidal thoughts.

Scully has dreams of the college girl's smooth throat being severed, her pleading eyes in the mirror. She fights off a nurse in the bathroom and wipes the blood off of her hands with scratchy paper towels while Mulder hovers nervously. He tells her, later, that Harold is dead and attributes his visions, his death to the lack of his medication. “Well, Harold Spuller wasn't dying, Mulder,” she says. “He-he was killed as a result of what that woman took away from him.”

“Is that your medical opinion?” he asks, and something in his tone hits her the wrong way, stiffens her spine. It has been a long few days.

They stop on the ramp and she turns to face him. Her hands are slick with cold sweat over the patches of dried blood. “I saw something, Mulder,” she says.

“What?”

“The fourth victim. I saw her in the bathroom before you came to tell me.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” he says, and the annoyance in his tone surprises her. Suddenly she is twenty-nine again, telling him that she followed the words of a psychic and he is mad at her for endangering herself. But at least that had made sense. At least he'd had a reason.

“Because I didn't want to believe it. Because I don't want to believe it.”

“Is that why you came down here, to prove that it wasn't true?” he asks, tension in his tone.

At the time, over four years ago, she'd been disappointed that he hadn't been proud of her for pursuing a supernatural lead, but now it just annoys her. Her life does not revolve around pleasing Fox Mulder. Except maybe it does, because she is here instead of doing other things, things that maybe she should be doing with her remaining time. “No, I came down here because you asked me to,” she says wearily.

“Why can't you be honest with me?” he asks, and she stiffens even more.

There are things she wants to say, harsh things, but she settles for snapping: “What do you want me to say? That you're right, that-that I believe it even if I don't? I mean, is that what you want?”

“Is that what you think I want to hear?”

She hadn't thought so. “No,” she says softly.

“You can believe what you want to believe, Scully, but you can't hide the truth from me because if you do, then you're working against me... and yourself,” he says.

There's more, she thinks, but she doesn't hear it. There's a roaring in her ears like the ocean, a kind of fury and incredible sadness combined inside her. He says something about being afraid of the same thing she is, and she swallows hard. She cannot do this, not now. How dare he. “The doctor said I was fine,” she says.

“I hope that's the truth,” Mulder says, and her stomach clenches.

Her eyes sting, her nose burning. She whispers, “I'm going home.”

Mulder doesn't follow her to her car and she's glad. She's going to cry and she hates crying and she hates crying in front of people. She climbs into the front seat of the car and clutches the wheel but she can't bring herself to start the car. She trembles, dissolving into brief, soft sobs. She can't put into words what she's crying over. The college girl in the mirror, maybe. Her doctor's appointment, the fact that she is inching closer and closer to inevitable death. She doesn't want to die. The fact that her best friend accused her of lying to him, of working against him. She sniffles.

Ahead of her, the ambulance carrying Nurse Innes springs to life, wailing as it pulls out onto the street. Her eyes follow it until they land on the rear view mirror. Harold Spuller stares back at her from the back seat.

Jolting in place, eyes widening, she turns around quickly. The back seat is empty. God, she thinks, trembling. I don't believe in ghosts. I don't. But she is dying, and she has seen the recently deceased. Just like Harold, just like Angie Pintero. She is dying.

Somehow she manages to drive home. She doesn't remember the trip; she just remembers staggering out of the car, unlocking her door and crawling into bed. She doesn't dream. She wakes up to blood sliding out of her nose, pain reverberating through her skull, and calls in sick. It's Friday. She can have the weekend to regain her dignity.

Mulder notices. Of course Mulder notices. He calls her near the end of the day, when she's wrapped up in blankets on her couch with a book her mother recommended. She answers without looking, and the all-too familiar, “Hey, Scully, it's me,” makes her stiffen from head to toe. “Are you okay? You were out of work today.”

“I'm fine, Mulder,” she mutters, setting the book face-down on her lap.

“Are you sure?” he asks, and his ton is exactly the same as last night. She closes her eyes, resting her head against the side of the couch, and resists the urge to snap at him. “You don't seem fine. Last night, this morning…”

She sighs heavily. “I don't want to talk about this right now, Mulder. I'll see you Monday.” Her thumb goes towards the button to hang up.

“Scully, wait,” he says, and his voice is urgent enough that she doesn't hang up. Silence for a minute before he says, “Look, I… I know I screwed up. I'm sorry. I just… There's a lead I'm following this weekend, and I wondered if you'd want to…”

“I'm not particularly interested,” she snaps, more viciously than originally intended. “And I'm not sure why you would want my help. Not if you can't trust me. Not if I'm working against you.”

Silence again. She can hear his breathing, can hear the hurt in his inhales and exhales. “I'll see you later, Scully,” says Mulder finally, quietly. Defeated. He hangs up before she can decide whether or not she wants to say anything.

She puts the phone down on the coffee table. Wipes her eyes and opens her book.

---

She should've expected the phone call summoning her to Rhode Island at five a.m. Sunday morning. Things are never simple with Mulder, and she can't just go the weekend without seeing him and go into work on Monday. The sound of his voice--disoriented, feverish--is enough to sway her, but her mind is made up when he says, “I've got blood all over me.” His blood or not, something bad has happened and she is the only one who will come.

She forgets the fight on the way up there, forgets almost everything of the previous weekend. She finds him in the shower in the hotel room, wraps him in a blanket and checks him for injuries. He doesn't remember anything after their conversation Friday. His gun has been fired.

They track Mulder's movements to Amy and David Cassandra, to the Mulders’ old summer house. Mulder has something like a seizure outside and they find two bodies inside. Mulder is arrested for murder. It happens too fast for her to stop any of it.

“I'm going to get you out of here,” she tells him, and she means it. She finds ketamine in Amy Cassandra and in Mulder. She works all night, autopsying, gathering intel on the Cassandras and a dead police officer. Her phone rings sometime around eleven; it's her mother, wanting to know where she is. She can feel the disapproval leaking through when she explains. Maybe she should feel the same way her mother does, maybe she should be upset at another weekend lost to some crazed goose chase. “I have to, Mom,” she says instead, stubbornly white-knuckling the phone. “Mulder needs me. No one else is going to help him.”

Her mother sighs on the other end of the phone and she pretends she doesn't hear it. “Just don't overexert yourself, Dana,” she says quietly. “And come home soon. I miss you.”

Scully clutches the phone so hard it hurts. “I will, Mom,” she whispers. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” her mother says sadly. “Goodbye, sweetie.” She hangs up and tears spring to Scully's eyes; she wipes them away firmly. After this is over, she'll spend as much time as possible with her mother. She puts down the phone and picks up the scalpel.

Finally she finds what she hopes she knew all along: proof of Mulder's innocence. A murder-suicide. By the next morning, Mulder's reached the same conclusion and is determined to track down the truth with no signs of stopping.

She's seen this look of absolute determination, of closing everything else out on his face before; a few months ago, she saw it in Allentown as he hunted down answers to why she was sick. He had wanted to keep going with the investigation, had brought it up for weeks ago, had a running file and everything, but eventually she shot him down. (The answers may be out there but they are unattainable, just as they always have been. And she knows better than to believe that there's a cure for brain cancer. She was too exhausted to look any further.) Maybe the reason he's plunging into these wild causes is because he needs a pursuit, and if it can't be her illness it might as well be the usual. Maybe it's a distraction. Or maybe it's just the way he is and she can't expect any different. He barely speaks to her on the ride to Warwick, and she can't tell if it's the fact that he's sick or because of everything that's happened between them as of late. She's not sure he's entirely forgiven her for what happened with van Blundht.

She starts to understand at Goldstein’s office: Mulder walked away from their conversation on Friday (from the things she said) and did something insane. She doesn't understand, she doesn't fucking understand. “Why would you do that, Mulder?” she demands as they leave the office. “Why would you undergo something as crazy and dangerous as this?” He doesn't answer. As soon as they step out into the sunshine, Mulder groans sharply, his hands to his head. “Mulder?” He crumples, nearly bent in half. “Mulder!” She's at his side in a second, touching his arm. “Mulder?” He's groaning and convulsing, hot and quivering under her hand. He finally stills, on his knees on the pavement next to her, and she strokes his forehead, prodding gently, “Mulder?”

“I'm fine,” he says, getting to his feet, and irritation courses through her. She's starting to understand why Mulder gets so mad when she says she's fine. He is not fine. Not at all.

“No, I am not going to take that for an answer,” she says fiercely as he walks away, right on his heels. “You do not belong at work. You need to be somewhere where you can be monitored.” No response. She tries, “You are a danger to yourself and a danger to me.” She thought if anything would get through to him it would be a threat to her, but he shows no sign of having heard her. “Are you hearing me?”

“Give me the car keys,” he says stubbornly.

“No, you're not driving. You're not doing anything until these symptoms go away.” She should have fucking come with him on Friday. Anything is better than this, this fucking mess.

Mulder turns to face her, says, “Scully, I don't want these symptoms to go away. Whatever's happening to me, whatever treatment I've received, is allowing me to go back into my unconscious. The truth is in there, recorded, and I've gotten access to it. What happened to my sister--the reason she was taken--is becoming clear to me, and I need to know that.” She exhales; there's nothing she can say to him that would change his mind. She knows him. “Now give me the keys,” he adds firmly.

She inhales, exhales again. “To go where?”

“To my mother's, in Greenwich.”

She should say no. She should demand that he go to a hospital, tell him they'll pursue this later. She should demand that he stop putting himself in danger, goddamnit, because she'd do anything to have a few more years, to live to see Christmas. But all she can hear is his voice saying, You're working against me. He'll go either way, whether she gives him her approval or not. The least she can do is make sure he's safe.

“Okay,” she says, wearily. “But I'm driving.”

---

It's a fucking cycle, she should've seen this coming. The Mulders disappear into a side room, and a few minutes later, Teena Mulder comes bursting out of the room where she and Mulder were talking, not giving Scully a second look before storming up the stairs. Thinking maybe she can comfort Mulder, Scully draws closer to the room, nudging the curtained doors open gingerly, and immediately sees that it's empty. She hears the clunk of a closing car door and comes to the window just in time to see their car speeding away from the house. “Fucking bastard,” she hisses through her teeth. “Goddamn fucking bastard.” She knows exactly where he's going, what he's doing.

Anyone else might say that she should leave him to himself, that he clearly doesn't care for his health or wellbeing. She can't. The tug in her stomach is too strong. She has no idea what he'll do, who he'll hurt--be it someone else or himself. She calls a taxi to a rental car place--her car is still back in Providence--and waits at Teena’s door anxiously, hands clenched around her elbows.

“Are you going to find him?”

She turns to see Teena Mulder standing on the stairs, looking distressed. “I hope so, Mrs. Mulder,” she says quickly. “I'm sorry for… I've called a cab, it should be here any minute.”

Teena nods. Her eyes travel over Scully’s face before she says, “You're bleeding, Miss Scully.”

She feels the trickle of blood too late. “Damn,” she mumbles, hand traveling fast to her nose. “Do you have, um… may I use your washroom?”

Mulder's mother shows her to the bathroom and stays in the doorway as Scully cleans up. She studiously avoids eye contact, feeling more and more uncomfortable by the minute. “Whatever Fox did to himself,” says Teena suddenly, “did you do the same thing? He was bleeding, too.”

A combination of irritation and worry comes up to the surface. Of course Mulder's mother wouldn't know. “I'm ill,” she says behind crumpled Kleenex. “Not the way Mu--not the way Fox is.”

Teena nods. “I slapped him,” she murmurs. “I am sorry for that, no matter how mad he made me. Will you tell him that?”

She slapped him? Scully stares at herself in the mirror, too pale, a wad of red-stained Kleenex held to her nose. She swallows hard before turning to Teena. “Yes, I will.”

The other woman nods, face unchanged, before turning and heading back down the hall. Scully can hear her footsteps on the stairs. When she exits the bathroom and goes back into the corridor, she can see the taxi waiting on the curb.

---

The police are already at Goldstein’s when she arrives. The police car is pulling away as the detective who headed Mulder's investigation looks on. She runs to him, demanding, “Where's Mulder?”

“He's not here,” the man says.

“Did you ask Dr. Goldstein?”

“Goldstein wouldn't say one way or the other.”

She focuses in on the police car and determination suddenly courses through her like a drug. “Hey, stop the car!” she shouts, running after them. She catches up to the car as it stops, as other officers crowd the car with her. “Open the back door,” she tells one of the officers. As soon as it's open she leans in, demanding, “What did you do to him?”

Goldstein turns his face away, closing his eyes as she continues harshly, “Look, I know he came back here. This is the only place he would have gone. Did you treat him?” Nothing. She seizes a handful of his shirt and yanks him up go meet her. “Damn it! Answer me!”

“Yes,” he says quickly, fearfully.

“Where is he now?”

“I don't know where he went,” Goldstein scrambles, shaking his head wildly as he looks worriedly up at her.

She shoves him back on the seat with disgust, watches as he gasps for breath, for composure. “What was the last thing he said to you?” she snaps.

“He said he was going to exorcise his demons.”

She knows where he's going to go. She turns away from the car, shoes clicking on the pavement. “Agent Scully.” The lead officer, Curtis something, is following her. “Where are you going?”

“I'm going to find Mulder.” She rummages in her coat pocket for her keys. “He needs medical attention.”

“That man is armed and dangerous,” Curtis snaps. “His actions are unpredictable. You're putting yourself and others in danger by refusing to reveal his location.”

“Mulder would never hurt me,” Scully says stubbornly. “He's hurt and he needs help. I can calm him down, convince him to go to a hospital. He doesn't need the calvary swooping in, it'll agitate him.”

“If you're certain he wouldn't hurt you,” says Curtis, in a way that suggests he doesn't believe her, “fine. But we don't know that he won't hurt others. We need to be prepared for the possibility that he will. We can't sacrifice innocent lives for one man.”

Scully bites her lower lip. She'd like to say she can take care of this entirely on her own, but she isn't sure. “Quonochontaug,” she tells him, feeling like a traitor. “His childhood vacation home. He'll go back there.” Curtis nods, satisfied, and she takes a step towards him, eyes hard. “I'm coming with you. I'm taking care of this. No arguments.”

Curtis nods absently, turns away from her, pulling out his radio. “It's an hour away, we’ll never make it. I'm going to send the local police on ahead of us.”

“Tell them not to go in!” Scully says quickly. “Tell them to wait outside. I don't even know if Mulder's there yet, I don't know how much of a head start he had. But they can't arrest him. They can't let him know they're there. Tell them to wait for me and I'll talk him down.”

Curtis studies her for a moment before sighing and saying, “You do seem to be the only person who can get through to him.” He turns and heads toward his car, calling, “Ride with me, we'll get there faster,” as he goes.

She can't relax the entire way up there, even with the added benefit of the siren for speed. Her fingers drum restlessly on her knee and she watches out the window, looks at the blur of headlights ahead. She can't stop picturing Mulder hurt, Mulder dead, Mulder gone before her. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. She thinks back to when Mulder had held her in the hospital and kissed her forehead, when he'd smiled goofily at her over a pink birthday cake and given her a key chain. Maybe it's selfish of her to want him to be that Mulder all the time, but she needs him. Needs his support. But god, crazy drilled-a-hole-in-his-head Mulder is still Mulder and she can't lose him.

She instructs the waiting police not to shoot before entering the house alone. She opens the door quietly, cautiously, and goes for her gun before she changes her mind, mentally berating herself. It's Mulder and he would never hurt me, she tries. But the statement feels void as she moves through the dark house like a character in a horror film. Two people died here while Mulder watched. A murder-suicide, and Mulder did the same thing to himself that Amy Cassandra did before her death. She hopes history doesn't repeat itself here, tonight. “Mulder?” she calls.

“Leave me alone, Scully,” he calls back harshly from somewhere upstairs. He sounds angry, on edge, unpredictable, but he is still alive and that's all she needed to know. She follows the voice.

She finds the room, finds him sitting in it, head tipped back and eyes closed, rocking slightly. “Mulder, it's me,” she says quietly.

“Scully, leave me alone.” He doesn't stop his motion, trembling in place, and he makes a sudden sound somewhere between a choke and a gasp. She sees the gun in his hand as she draws closer, as he shakes and rocks. He is falling apart right in front of her. “It's… all falling into place,” he says.

“Mulder, put down the gun,” she says calmly.

“No. Don't try to stop me.”

She thinks of Amy Cassandra and murder-suicides, and no, damnit, they are both walking out of this house alive tonight. “Please, Mulder…” she pleads.

He trembles and trembles. His hand suddenly shoots out to the gun, clenching around it, and he turns furiously and points it at her as if she is a criminal, shouting, “Get away!”

Modell in a hospital room and he's fighting against it, shaking with the force of not shooting her, telling her to get away but in a different context. Icy Cape and he wants to trust her and he's only doing it because she pointed the gun at him first. “Are you going to shoot me, Mulder?” she asks, evenly, and she never, never expected him to nod so determinedly like this. He's sick, she reminds herself, he doesn't know what he's doing, but that doesn't stop it from feeling like something inside her has shattered. Mulder, it’s me, she wants to say. It’s me. “Is that how much this means to you?” she continues. She is picking her way through the shards. She hears herself say, Mulder would never hurt me. “Mulder, listen to me. You have been given a powerful hallucinogen. You don't know that these memories are yours.” He doesn't lower the gun. Her eyes are burning and, oh god, she is going to cry. She cannot cry here. “This is not the way to the truth, Mulder,” she says softly, forcing her voice to remain steady. She's shaking her head a little, partially out of disbelief. Murder-suicide, murder-suicide. He may not shoot himself now, but if he shoots her she knows he will eventually follow. It's her biggest fear in her impending death, what will happen to him. “You've got to trust me,” she tries. The same thing she said to him all those years ago in a rainy hotel room; maybe it'll get to him.

“Just shut up!” he roars.

“Put down the gun,” she says. He doesn't move. He's looking at her and not really seeing her. For a second, she wishes he would pull the trigger. Her head hurts and she is dying and she wants it to end. Make it stop, Mulder, just do it. Would he end her pain by shooting her if he asked? Maybe she won't have to.

“Let it go,” she says. His fingers tighten around the gun. She closes her eyes and readies herself for the gunshot.

The loud sound is startling but she feels no pain. Her eyes fly open, terrified she'll see Mulder dead on the ground, but the shots continue and Mulder is standing, facing away from her. He is emptying his clip into the wall. She watches. She is going to cry. She swallows hard and thinks of her mother. Whatever happens to lead to her death, she needs a chance to say goodbye.

When he's finished, he crumples in on himself. She approaches him slowly, touching his arm. He doesn't move. She gives in to it for once, her unexplainable need for him, and wraps herself around him, resting her cheek on his back. He is warm and she wants to sob. “It's okay, Mulder,” she whispers. “It's over. It's okay.”

Feet pound the steps angrily. It's the calvary. She pries the gun out of Mulder's hand and throws it across the room before leaning back over him like a shield. The police burst in, guns drawn, scanning the room. “Don't hurt him!” she calls to them, tightening her awkward hold on him. “He's sick. He needs help. Call an ambulance.”

A few of the men lower their guns, but most do not. The leader stares at her incredulously. “Call a goddamn ambulance!” she snaps.

Someone pulls out their phone and starts dialing. The bundle of officers disperse, rattling around the room looking for evidence. “You're not going to arrest him,” she snaps at a few who draw closer, and they leave them alone after that.

Mulder is still unresponsive, stiff as a board under her embrace. He's hot and feverish. She sniffles and smooths his hair, rests her head on the strong surface of his back until the paramedics come.

She won't let them touch him; she coaxes him onto the stretcher herself. “We just want to help him, miss,” says one.

“I'm riding with him,” she tells them firmly and they don't argue. She lets them carry the stretcher, following right on their tail.

Ambulances always remind her of Leonard Betts now. She answers the paramedic’s questions as she takes a seat beside Mulder, gripping his hand in hers. “He doesn't know what he's doing,” she says again and again. “He's sick.”

“Are you okay, miss?” the paramedic in the back with them asks kindly. “You're bleeding.”

She clasps her free hand to her nose and feels the trickle of blood. She suddenly feels the exhaustion in every part of her body, in her bones. “I have brain cancer,” she mumbles. “This is normal. It's nothing.”

“I think maybe you should let someone check you out at the hospital, miss,” says the paramedic. “Along with your friend.”

Scully nods, barely knowing what she is saying.

Mulder's fingers tighten around hers. “Scully?” She looks down at him; he looks terribly confused, but responsive. He's actually responsive. His free hand comes up to touch her face. “You're bleeding. I didn't… I didn't shoot you, did I?” he says unsteadily.

She drops his hand. “No, Mulder,” she whispers. Tears are springing up to her eyes, finally. Murder-suicide, but they are still alive. They are still alive but she won't be. Not for much longer. “You didn't shoot me.”

The paramedic doesn't comment when she dissolves into sobs behind her hand.

---

The oncology department at the hospital recommends that she see her personal oncologist when she gets home. “And take it easy,” they recommend. Somehow, she doesn't foresee that happening. They tell her she can see Mulder, that they have him on sedatives while the ketamine leaves his system, but she doesn’t. She gets a hotel room and sleeps until the next evening.

Scully doesn't think of the backlash from the Bureau until Skinner calls, demanding answers. She explains warily, cross-legged on the bed and rubbing her temples. She leaves out the part where she really thought Mulder was going to shoot her. Skinner doesn't seem very satisfied with her explanation, but then again, it's the truth. “I'm sure Agent Mulder can explain it to you more fully, sir,” she says, palm pressing into her forehead.

“I expect a full report from you, Agent Scully. In writing,” says Skinner sternly. She wants to protest that it wasn't even a case, not officially, that Mulder just did something stupid and she had to track him down and pick up the pieces. As usual.

After hanging up with Skinner, she is in no mood to go to the hospital and check on Mulder. She orders a pizza and manages two whole slices, lies in bed and watches rerun after rerun of I Love Lucy to clear her head.

She goes to the hospital in the morning simply because it is unavoidable. The nurses tell her that he is fine, that the ketamine is out of his system and the wound on his head is healing fine, that the seizures have stopped and so has his irrational behavior. They wave her on back and she tries to ignore the worry knotting in her stomach. The uncertainty.

Mulder is sitting up in bed while the TV plays quietly in the background. He looks up when she enters and she sees the shame spreading over his face before he looks away, quickly. “Hey, Scully,” he mumbles.

She's torn between hugging him and hitting him, so she settles for a neutral (if not slightly hard), “Hey, Mulder,” as she goes to sit in the chair beside his bed. He won't look at her; he picks at the hem of his blanket, brow furrowing. He's embarrassed. She's hurt. “What do you remember?” she tries. Maybe conversationally, maybe confrontational--she's not entirely sure.

“I don't… I don't know.” He rubs his face in distress. “I remember my mom and Samantha and… the smoking man… but I can't give any context to it all. Now that it's all stopped.”

“No,” she says, her hands fisting in the material of her coat. “I mean, what do you remember from the past few days.”

“Oh.” He swallows, staring at the blanket. A laugh track plays in the background. “I… I remember everything.”

She looks down at her hands curling in the dark material of the coat, at the pale, freckled backs of them. Remembers how they'd held Mulder not even two days ago, how she'd held his hand and wouldn't let anyone else touch him. He didn't know what he was doing, she reminds herself. He wasn't in his right mind. He wasn't…

“And how do you feel about… about everything that's happened?” she asks her hands.

“Are you kidding me?” His voice is sharp in the empty hospital room. “I feel like fucking shit, Scully.” He's still not looking at her but his shoulders are rigid, his hands clutching the blanket in the same way hers are clutching her coat. She thinks about taking his hand. She thinks about confronting him about the emotional roller coaster this past week has been.

She clears her throat instead, running her thumb over her fingernails. They're gnawed practically to the quick; when did that happen? “Are they discharging you today?” she asks.

“Yeah,” says Mulder bitterly. “Apparently I'm not a danger anymore. Any charges against me are cleared; I guess I should thank you for that.”

She gulps, squirming in her chair. She can't tell if he's madder at her or himself. “I'm planning on driving on back today,” she says. “Do you… do you want to…”

“My car’s still up here,” Mulder says. “I need to drive it back.”

“Oh.” She's caught a loose thread between her fingers; she pulls at it, frustrated. “Yes. Well… I should head on back, I guess.” She doesn't know why she's saying this. She's never left him alone in the hospital, not once, before now, but. She can't stay here and awkwardly talk to him. She can't do this. She is a coward and she is running.

She looks up at him and he doesn't look back at her. “Get well soon, Mulder,” she says softly, hating herself for sounding like a Hallmark card. “Drive safe. I'll see you at work.”

Scully drives home in a daze, listening to talk shows on the radio until the voices blur into a motionless rhythm. She doesn't go home right away; she goes to her mother's house. “Dana,” her mother says with surprise when she opens the door, like she wasn't expecting her. Of course she wasn't expecting her. “What a lovely surprise.”

Scully hugs her mother tightly and lets the weekend fall away in her warm embrace. She is not dead yet.

#fictober #sort of #i wrote this #xf rewatch #xf fanfic #todayinfic

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