From: mercury_number_one@my-deja.com
Date: Mon, 01 Jan 2001 15:55:07 GMT
Subject: NEW: xfc Vigils

Title: Vigils
Author: Mercury Number One
Rating: PG-13
Category: Angst, Scully/Mulder POV
Summary: In the dark heart of night, in the cold
unforgiving light of day, we each keep a vigil.
Disclaimer: All characters herein belong to Chris
Carter and 20th Century Fox and are used without
permission. No money is being made from this story.
The Beach Boys song "God Only Knows" is also quoted
from without permission, but please don't sue! I only
did it because I love it.
Feedback: Praise, abuse, constuctive criticism. Round up the usual
suspects and send them to mercury_2000_1999@yahoo.com
A special thank you to Tara for giving me the idea,
and Katie for her support and feedback.

          Vigils

In the dark heart of night, in the cold unforgiving
light of day, we each keep a vigil.

Mulder lies on his bed, his body coated with sweat. I
can see this because he has kicked the covers off.
They lie on the floor beside the bed. He rests
peacefully. No moaning, no crying out tonight. His
breathing is slow and steady.

I sit watching him, as I have every night for the last
six months. It has become routine. Once I am sure that
Mulder has succumbed to his body's need for rest I
come to him. I do not try to speak to him, or touch
him. Just watch. Examine with my eyes every inch of the
face and form I know and love so well. Then before he
wakes I slip out of the apartment, leaving no sign
that I was here.

And when night has given way to day Mulder will come
to me. From a distance he will keep watch over me, he
will keep his own vigil. When day has changed back
into night Mulder will go home and sleep. And the
cycle will begin again.

Mulder and I have trodden a strange path over the
years. Partners. Friends. Lovers. And now, mutual
voyeurs. Each unable to give up contact with the
other.

Do you know about my visits Mulder? I know all about
yours. Every day I feel your presence, feel your eyes
upon me. I wish you would confront me, say something,
say *anything* but I know you will not. Because you
still haven't forgiven me for leaving you. I don't
think you ever will.

I'm so sorry Mulder. Sorry for the pain I've caused
you. I'm sorry for what I've done. But how was I to
know what would happen? That my foolish and impulsive
actions would be the cause of our seperation. I'd give
anything to turn the clock back, but I can't. So now
we both suffer for my mistake.

But I refuse to accept all of the blame. You can't lay
it all on me Mulder. We were pulled apart and it's
my fault. I know that, I accept that. But you are the
one who keeps us apart. Your rage, your pain, they are
the barrier that seperates us. The line neither of us
can cross.

Mulder will be waking up soon. I must go now. And wait
for him to begin his vigil.

****************************************************

I wake at 7:00am and automatically go through the
morning ritual. Shower, shave, brush teeth, get
dressed. Then I leave my apartment and walk to my car.
It's time to visit Scully.

I turn on the car radio, thinking that some music
might shorten my journey and distract me from my
purpose. No such luck. The DJ decides to play an old
Beach Boys tune. Not one of those happy ones that
preach about cars and girls and the joys of surfing
and the singers sound as if they've recently had their
nuts cut. No, this one has a slow, haunting meleody.
And the words shatter what's left of my heart.

If you should ever leave me
While life would still go on believe me
The world could show nothing to me
So what good would living do me
God only knows what I'd be without you

Nothing. That's what I am without her. A ragged man,
hollow man. Headpiece filled with straw.

I reach my journey's end, stop the car and get out.
I can see her in the distance. This is the point from
which I usually stand and watch her. But not today.
No, today I will confront her.

I walk towards her. Slowly, not taking my eyes off her
for a second. Step by step, gradually getting closer.
And then I am there. Right in front of her. "Hey
Scully." I can't think of anything else to say.

The headstone is a simple affair. Black shiny stone
which is supposed to look like marble but probably
isn't. SCULLY in big gold letters. Her Christian names
in slightly smaller letters beneath. Two dates. Her
date of birth. And another one. The date I relive
every night in my dreams.

A textbook example of how everything so right can go
so wrong. We were coming back from lunch. I was
driving. Scully sat in the passenger seat, gazing
absently out the window. We rode along in silence.
Yet the atmosphere between us was relaxed and devoid
of any tension. It had been like that since we declared
our feelings for each other and become lovers.
Suddenly Scully straightened up in her seat, a smile
upon her face. She was up to something.

"Got a riddle for you Mulder." I raised my eyebrows.
"Oh really? Well go ahead Scully. Let's see what
you've got." "Okay. There's a room. The door is
locked. Nobody came in or out. The window is open,
but it's one of those old fashioned windows that have
to be pushed upwards instead of outwards. And it will
open so far, leaving a gap about the size of my hand
here." She raised her hand, holding it in a vertical
position. "There's a table in the middle of the room.
There's water on the table, and some broken glass on
the floor beside it. Anthony and Cleopatra lie on the
floor. They're both dead. What happened?"

I thought about it. "They killed themselves. Or maybe
a snake bit them?" "No." "Alright. So the window
wasn't open wide enough to allow a person through."
She nodded. I couldn't refrain from adding, "No normal
person anyway." She read my mind almost instantly. "No
Mulder. There were no mutants or people with
contortionist skills in the vicinity. Eugene Victor
Tooms was not in the building." "Alright Scully, I
give up. Amaze me. What happened in the room?"

"Pull up here Mulder." She pointed at a convenience
store just up ahead. I did as I was told and Scully
unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to face me. "I've
got to get something in here. And when I come back
all will be revealed." She got out of the car and went
into the store. It was the last time I saw her
alive.

The events of the next few minutes, pieced together
from security camera footage and eyewitness accounts,
made headlines. The story is simple enough. When
Scully entered the store she interrupted a robbery
in progress, one man holding the clerk at gunpoint.
His name doesn't matter. Just another junkie trying to
feed his habit. Scully drew her own weapon, identified
herself as a federal agent and told him to drop the
gun. But she made a fatal assumption. She thought the
gunman was acting alone. He wasn't. And while her
attention was focussed on the first man his accomplice
stepped up behind her and shot her in the back.

The two men apparently panicked when they realised
what they'd done and ran out of the store to their
car. They gunned the engine and pulled out into
traffic. Right into the path of an oncoming truck.
Both men were killed instantly. There you have it boys
and girls. Crime does not pay.

As I sit here beside Scully's grave I remember the
sound of the gunshot and the killers fleeing to
their car. My frantic dash into the store. Scully
lying face down in a pool of her own blood. Sitting beside
her and holding her hand until the paramedics came and
took her away from me. And now I know what to say.

"Why Scully? Why did you have to be so stupid? Who
the hell did you think you were, Dirty Harry? If you'd
just got down on the floor like everyone else those
two junkies would have got their drug money and you'd
still be alive. But you had to try to be a hero. Jesus
Scully! After all we'd been through, after all the
shit we survived, you get it in the back like some
rookie on her first assignment."

I don't cry as I say these things. I won't cry, won't
allow myself to grieve. If I grieve then I will
eventually heal. If I heal I will forget her. That is
unacceptable.

The only emotion I allow myself to feel is anger,
anger at her stupity. I keep it all inside myself, a
little ball of pain and rage festering in the place
where my heart used to be.

I run my hand over the headstone. The stone is smooth
and cold under my fingertips. I remember how it felt
to run my hand slowly over her face, her neck. To feel
her pulse beating under my fingertips. "Goddamnit
Scully. I never even got to hear the end of your
riddle."

Of course I get no answer. I didn't expect one anyway.
I stop speaking and just sit by Scully's grave. Until
the light begins to bleed out of the sky and it's
time to go home.

***************************************************

Mulder lies on his stomach tonight, his head shoved
into the pillow, like a child hiding from the monster
in the closet. I kneel beside him and lean in until my
mouth is almost touching his ear.

"It was a cat Mulder. Anthony and Cleopatra were
goldfish. They were in a bowl on the table. The cat
came in the window. It jumped on the table and knocked
the bowl over. Then it went back out the window.  And
that's all there is to it."

He doesn't move, doesn't give any indication that he's
heard me. He hasn't. He can't. He won't. He's so
consumed with pain and rage that he is blind and deaf
to everything else. He is not open to this extreme
possibility. So I move to the end of the bed and resume
my vigil.

The End