feedback: msnsc21[at]yahoo.com
Feedback: always welcome at above email addy
Distribution: Yes to Ephemeral, Gossamer, but if you haven't
archived my stories before, please drop me a line and let me
know, and leave headers, etc. attached. I thank you!
Spoilers: En Ami, and other eps to be named later (I'll tell you at
the end)
Rating: PG
Classification: Vignette
Keywords: MSR, angst. Major angst. Not sallie-safe!
Summary: An alternate ending to "En Ami."
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, they belong to Chris
Carter, TenThirteen, and Fox Broadcasting. I am using them only
for recreational purposes, I mean no infringement, I'm making no
money.
Note: The title comes from Shakespeare's Sonnet LVII. This is
for Toniann, thanks for Beyond the Sea!
=====
"Though you do anything, he thinks no ill"
by ML
He thinks he's never felt such anger, never in all his life, as
he feels in this moment.
Scully can't even look at him. He feels like Samson, sapped of
his strength, pushing futilely against the door frame. He's afraid
if he moves his hands, he'll pick something up and throw it, break
it, and he won't be able to stop.
*Does she even realize?* he thinks as he watches the Gunmen try
something else that he knows will be as pointless as the other
attempts.
There's nothing there. There probably never was, and her whole
trip was for nothing. She put her life in jeopardy for an empty
CD. The only science it holds is the technology that made it.
He knows she's suffering, too. She wanted so badly to give him
something, anything, to hold on to.
The only thing he really wants to hold onto is Scully, now and
forever.
The Gunmen finally pack up and leave, glancing apologetically at
Scully as if the whole thing were their fault. Frohike gives
Mulder a wary look, as though he's afraid Mulder blames them,
too.
He doesn't. He blames himself. He recognizes the root of his
anger is self-directed.
Scully stays put after they leave, and Mulder doesn't move,
either. She won't look at him.
Finally, he moves. She flinches, but still doesn't look at
him.
Very slowly, afraid he might scare her away, he sits on the
chair facing her.
The clock ticks. *It's not the end of the world,* he thinks.
*Not yet. She's still here, we're both still here.*
"Scully," he finally says gently. His voice feels raw and ragged,
as if he's been screaming for hours. In a way he has, but not so
anyone could hear.
She sits a little sideways on the couch, her head turned so that
her short hair hides her face from him.
He clears his throat and tries again. "Thank you," he says, his
voice still rough and unfinished sounding.
This gets Scully's attention. She finally turns toward him, and
as he suspected, she's been crying silently for some time. "What?"
she asks, her voice the mirror of his.
How long has she been screaming inside? Since he told her? Or
since they've been partnered?
He rests his arms on his thighs, hunched over in defeat. "I'm
not mad at you, Scully," he says to the floor. "I'm afraid for
you. This is why I didn't want to tell you."
"How do you think I would have felt if I found out when it was
too late?" she says hotly. "At least I'm trying."
"What's that supposed to mean?" he nearly shouts. "Do you think
I haven't been trying? It's all I've done for months! Just
because I didn't tell you doesn't mean I wasn't doing everything
I could --"
"You never would have told me, would you?" she accuses him.
"If I hadn't started asking questions --"
"If you hadn't followed me, you mean," he interrupts.
"I didn't know what you'd gotten yourself into," she said. "It
could have been anything. Skinner couldn't tell me, the Gunmen
had no idea. And besides," she adds in a softer tone, one that
nearly breaks his heart, "don't you think I would have noticed
something sooner or later? Especially now."
He nods to the floor, raking his hands through his hair, back
and forth. "I'm sorry, Scully," he mumbles. "I was selfish,
letting this happen. And I guess I thought at first that it
would pass..."
He hears the squeak and sigh of the leather as Scully rises and
approaches him. She kneels in front of him, and places her cool
hands on his head, kissing him. "I'm so sorry," she says tears
thickening her voice again. "I really wanted this for you. I
really hoped..."
"I know you did," he says, looking up at her so she can see the
tears swimming in his own eyes. He pulls her up and hugs her
close, his forehead against her stomach as her fingers stroke
over his hair. *If touches could heal, I'd be cured,* he thought.
*Oh Scully, what am I going to do without you?*
He gathers her closer, and she ends in his lap, arms around his
neck and head on his shoulder. He can feel the slow warmth of
her tears soaking through his sweater.
"Hey, Scully," he says. "Remember what I said before? `Never give
up on a miracle.' It still applies, you know."
She moves against his shoulder, but he's not sure if she's agreeing
or not.
"Besides," he says, "I still have a few leads to follow up on.
It ain't over till it's over."
"Anything I should know about?" Scully asks, raising her eyes to
his.
"Let's just say I'm looking into some alternative medicine," he
said. "I'll let you know if it pans out. I promise, you'll be
the first." He tilts her chin a little and kisses her softly and
slowly until she yields entirely to him.
For a long time, they hold each other together against the
gathering dark.
end.
=====
Author's Notes: you've probably already guessed: the other eps
are Per Manum and The Gift. I didn't want to give too much away
in the headers. The premise here is that Scully knew of Mulder's
illness, and wanted to help. I just couldn't think of anything else
desperate enough to make her want to go with Spender, honestly.
I guess I've been chewing over this for a while. The sonnet was
the inspiration, though I started out writing an entirely
different fic! Which I may still finish...
Here's the sonnet in its entirety:
Sonnet LVII by William Shakespeare
Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend
Nor services to do, till you require:
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu:
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But like a sad slave, stay and think of nought
Save, where you are, how happy you make those; --
So true a fool is love, that in your will
Though you do anything, he thinks no ill.
Thanks for reading!