Author: Beth Cain (DScullyXFS@aol.com)

Size: 7kb

Archive: yes to Gossamer, anyone else ask for permission

Classification: PG, angst

Content Warning: CHARACTER DEATH

Disclaimer: :P Try to sue me!

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Scully had had over thirty visitors in one day. Mulder had arrived at the

hospital before all of them; he needed time alone with her. He jogged to her

room at the end of the hallway, and although he was frantic to see her, he

paused before going in. There were no aliens involved this time. No

conspiracy or dark figures, Scully had simply been in the wrong place at the

wrong time and had been caught in cross fire.

When Skinner had called him to tell him the news, Mulder slammed the phone

down before he could get out the explanation on how exactly she got shot.

The how didn't matter and neither did the why, all he could think about was

that Scully had been hurt, his best friend had been hurt.

He ran his fingers through his hair, and then lightly pushed open her door.

At first sight, his breath caught in his throat. There were so many tubes

sticking out of her that he could barely see her face. Maybe it was better

that he couldn't.

He walked quietly to the side of her bed. Forgetting that no matter what

noise he made, she could not be awoken. He had a million things to say, but

no idea on where to start. What do you say, to someone who is dying? I'll

miss you; I'll see you on the other side? Mulder had never been religious,

but he knelt down and prayed, for Scully's sake, that heaven did exist.

Her eyes were pale, not the usual burning blue that he was used to gazing at

once in a while. Her lips were pale too. The lips that could form the most

beautiful smile Mulder had ever seen. His throat jerked. He would never see

her smile again. He would never hug her, or kiss her, or share small talk

over a late night cup of coffee. His eyes went from her face to her hand. It

was the only part of her body that was accessible. He could hold her hand.

He slipped his under hers; she was cold.

Not like the other times he had done this with her in hospitals. This time

was different. The situation was predictable. She would die, and so would

he. Not in the literal sense, but she was so much more than just half of

him, that once she was gone, he would be nothing more than a bag of bones.

Useless flesh and blood, that would pump to keep him alive, but would never

provide enough to let him live.

"Scully I..." he drew back his breath. "Thank you for believing me. For

wanting to understand me." His thumb stroked her fingers. "We've been here

many times, to many times. But I never once said goodbye. Even when there

was a chance that once I walked out the door, I would never see you again."

He shut his eyes to keep from crying. He would have to get used to being

strong; she always used to do it for him. "I figured that if I didn't say

it, then you wouldn't go, and I guess I never said I love you because of the

same reason. I was afraid you would leave."

"Mulder?" His eyes jumped to the door, to Bill Scully. He let go of Scully's

hand. "Sorry, I didn't know anyone was here." Bill backed up a few steps.

Mulder stood. "No, you don't have to leave," He paused. "She's your sister."

Bill bit his bottom lip and turned to close the door. "I was just about to

leave anyway." Mulder offered. Bill turned back around and then stood next

to him. "God she's beautiful." He managed to choke out. "Just like Missy."

Mulder nodded, even though he knew Bill couldn't see him.

They stood silent for a while. Both men had their eyes focused on a woman

they both loved. Which was probably one of the few things they had in

common. Mulder figured Bill blamed him for this, he had all the other times.

But Bill didn't have his usual look of anger combined with grief on his

face; instead it was more a look of complete emptiness. The same look Mulder

had.

"I'll leave you alone." Mulder blurted out, and then walked towards the

door. "Mulder." He stopped but kept facing forward. "Look, we have our

differences, but I know this kills you as much as it does me. I just want to

thank you for caring that much for her." Even though Mulder wanted to

acknowledge Bill's attempt at a truce, he left the room without saying a

word. Once again he didn't know what to say.

Mulder spent the next six hours in the waiting room. He wanted to stay with

her, but he couldn't take the glares from people wondering who he was, and

why he was holding her hand. He watched Margaret Scully go by, then Skinner,

and others who he assumed were family members. He was sitting next to a man

whose wife had been in a car accident and most likely would be paralyzed.

Damn he was lucky.

At a little past one o'clock, a team of doctors rushed past. Mulder stood

and made his way towards her room. He silently wished the loud, flat beep

was coming from another room, but with every step down the hallway, the

sound hammered at his eardrums, harder and harder.

By the time he reached her door, the monitor had been turned off. And when

he poked his head in, the only sound was one of the doctors stating the time

of death. He thought about going in, about pushing the doctors aside, and

screaming her name. That's what he felt like doing. That's what his heart

was begging him to do. But he couldn't lose control. Not now at least. Not

now that he had the rest of life do it.

Instead he walked back down the hall to the exit, avoiding looking in the

rooms he passed. He had seen enough pain for that day, and enough to slowly

chisel away at his heart for the rest of his life.

When he reached his car he pulled his car keys out from his pocket and

fumbled them around in his hand, scratching the paint by the keyhole.

He could have cared less about the car. He finally unlocked it, sat down,

and yanked the door shut. He put his hands on the cold steering wheel, and

rested his forehead between them. He couldn't stop the tears once they

started.

He cried for losing her. For everything that they had not shared and would

never be able to. For all the times, like in the hallway by his apartment,

when they had come so close to giving into their truth. When he was finally

able to see well enough to pull out of the parking lot exit, he glanced down

at his hands on the steering wheel and his foot became heavy on the gas.

He had never said goodbye,

and he didn't want to.

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