Title: Lost Souls
Author: Eileen S. Whipple <whipples@connect.ab.ca>
Rating: G
Classification: VA
Spoilers: "Paper Clip", "Emily", "The
End", "The Beginning"
Summary: Mulder finds out something about Scully and she
confesses what she thinks about their partnership.
Disclaimer: CC owns all the characters. We all know that.
Archive: Gossamer, sure. Anywhere else, contact me. I'll
say yes. I just want to know where everything's going.
Notes: This fic was inspired by Wen's beautiful "Watercolor
Stains" as well as a small conversation we had about art.
I'd
given up on art but "Watercolor Stains" made me change
my mind.
Hopefully, my own fic will help me further. This story uses the
medium charcoal. The title of this is also the name of a great
book by Poppy Z. Brite but this fic is nothing like that book.
Dedications: To Wen, since it was her story and words
that inspired me--and to everybody who has supported me through
my years of art.
**Lost Souls**
I thought I knew my partner. I was sure I knew everything about
Scully. We'd been working together for six years but just
recently,
I began noticing a little thing about her.
Once in a while, she came into work with shadows streaked lightly
on her jawline, or darkness collected under her manicured nails.
It didn't think this was a Scully thing. She always looked
flawless.
However, I never asked her.
Now I see where those shadows come from as I stand in the middle
of
her living room. I have a key and my curiosity consumed me. I had
to know this secret.
I hear classical music in Scully's bedroom and I figure she's in
there. It's safe to look around.
Scully's entire living room is covered with large pieces of thick
white paper. On each is a huge drawing made with dark black
lines.
They are all pictures of people and I am amazed at how good they
are.
I never knew Scully had such talent when it came to art.
I see many pictures of her sister and her daughter. Melissa and
Emily,
both deceased. Her two loved ones that had been stolen from her
life.
The charcoal drawings are beautiful, and I come to realise how
much
love and pain had probably gone into these pieces. Every detail
was
painstakingly accurate. Then again, they were Scully's family.
She
probably had their faces etched in her mind, although she had
photos
of each.
I continue to look around, despite knowing that I am invading her
personal space. I move to another set of pictures. I see my
sister.
Scully's drawing Samantha as a child, but why? I don't get it. I
also
see pages with my likeness on them. This is getting just a little
bit
spooky. Now I know Scully is a wonderful artist but it's eerie
that
she captured my features so closely.
There was no correlation between all the portraits. Emily and
Melissa
were Scully's family but Sam and I aren't. Melissa and Emily are
both
deceased but I'm not. I cannot account for Sam. I haven't seen
her for
about twenty-six years. I pray this isn't Scully developing some
strange
psychic ability, predicting the deaths of the Mulder siblings.
I am surprised when the music in Scully's room suddenly stops.
She's
probably coming out. I have to leave quickly or hide. I put the
papers
back down and duck behind her sofa. Hopefully, she'll go back
into her
bedroom so I can sneak out of her apartment. Hoping isn't good
enough.
She does come out, carrying a large sketchpad.
She turns on a lamp and I scrunch up some more behind her couch.
This
would not look good: Fox Mulder sneaking into Dana Scully's
apartment
to snoop around. But I had to know the secret that she was
keeping from
me. Perhaps she would've told me when she was ready but I had to
know
the truth, which was the same when it came to our work on the
X-files.
I hear her tearing pages from the pad. She is probably adding a
few
more to her little piles. I wonder which person she has drawn
now.
Perhaps more of her daughter. I move my knee and I hear a creak.
<Damn!>
"Mulder, you can stand up," she says. She is standing
behind me. "What
are you doing here?"
"Well, uh, I wanted to talk to you," I lie, hoping she
will believe it.
"Why didn't you call, or knock for that matter, rather than
sneaking
into my apartment?"
"Oh, I did knock but you had your music on and I guess you
couldn't
hear me."
She folds her arms across her chest, the sketchpad to her chest,
a box
of charcoal in her hand. Her hands are streaked with charcoal.
She's
dressed differently from when I last saw her at work yesterday.
She
usually favoured business attire but now, she was dressed in
denim
shorts and a lavender tank top. Her coppery hair was pulled back
from
her charcoal-streaked face.
"I have a hard time believing you, Mulder," she says,
setting her art
supplies down on her living room table.
I say quietly, "Scully, I never knew you were such a great
artist." I
motion to her stacks of drawings. "These are wonderful, but
disturbing,"
I admit.
"You mean the ones of you and your sister?" she asks,
eyeing her
sketches. "I'm sure they seem very odd but I felt compelled
to draw
them."
"Why?" I move closer to Scully, but she doesn't back
away. "Do they
represent something to you?"
She looks at them again, as well as her new work. "I see a
common theme
in all of them."
"Which is?" I say, trying to get a reply.
"Mulder, this is my little gallery of lost souls. My sister,
because
she was gunned down and died unnaturally. My daughter, because
she
died an extremely strange death. Your sister, because she is lost
and
has been for so long."
I understand what she is saying but I have to ask: "Why
me?"
Her voice is soothing as she says, "Mulder, you're lost.
Everything
that was you was lost in that office fire. You lost your
documents
saying there could be something out there.... I may not believe
in
those claims but I know you do. You also lost your work-our work.
We
were closed down and I could see the pain you felt after you
found out
all the X-files had gone up in flame."
I am interested now. I want to see Scully's new drawings. I
stretch
out my arm, reaching for the new batch of drawings. She doesn't
stop
me as I lift them up to inspect them. Scully has drawn herself. I
held
about ten sheets of paper that are covered with light reed
charcoal and
heavy black pressed charcoal. The lines are sketchy and quick.
The
shading is immaculate and I feel a twinge of envy because of her
ability to use charcoal so beautifully. I can barely draw using a
pencil, never mind this tough medium.
"Scully, I don't understand
. Why are you lost?" I
whisper.
"Because I'm following you. Everything you do, I'm a step
behind you."
I give the sheets back to her. "Is that a good thing or a
bad thing?"
She sets her artwork on the table. "I don't know, Mulder.
Sometimes
it can be both. I've followed you into bad situations and helped
you,
but I have also gotten into trouble going after you. Following
you has
caused me joy and heartache. It's made me lose people I love, but
it's
also made me gain my faith back."
I don't know what to say. "Scully, perhaps you should take a
few days
off. Just stay home and draw."
"I want to work, Mulder. I'm fine." She crosses her
arms. "Just doing
these sketches has been therapy, but the only way to regain my
soul is
to stop running after you." Scully moves a few more inches
and places
a hand on my arm. "Do you understand that?"
I nod, and I really do grasp what she's saying. It upsets me a
bit
and I wonder if she can tell. "Maybe I should go then."
She moves her head, loosening her neck muscles. "I think you
should."
I walk to her door and open it. "Just keep working. You
possess great
talent." I see a slight smile on her face as I turn to close
her door.
She had just told me about what she'd been thinking for the time
we'd
been working together. I wish I had known before that she felt
lost
because I always made her come after me. I never realised I was
doing
that. If I had known, I would've stopped. Now, I could.
I head out the apartment building's double doors and when I reach
my
car, I look back at the building's lit lobby. Scully has not
followed
me and this time, I'm glad.
END
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