Title: Empty… 
Author: DanaK; DanaK35@yahoo.com 
URL: http://danak35.tripod.com
Archiving: sure, let me know where though, so I can 
visit
Rating: PG-13
Classification: Short story
Spoilers: up to One Son
Keywords: Scully Angst, UST, Scully POV
Summary: The world is safe once again, but hers is 
crumbling

Disclaimer: 'The X-Files' and all 'The X-Files' 
related
characters and situations are the intellectual 
property
of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and the FOX
network. The following material is not intended to 
infringe on the above copyright in any way. Which 
means, they aren't mine, yak yak yak...you know 
the drill!


Empty
By DanaK

I leave AD Kersh's office without turning back, 
without returning Skinner's farewell and blindly 
hurry down the stairs, too impatient to wait for the 
elevator, not wanting to have to look at him once 
more.

I don't wait up and I don't look back. I just want to 
get away.

The world might have been saved, but my world lies 
in shards.

At home, I drag off my coat in the hallway, 
carelessly letting it drop on the floor before slipping 
off the rest of my clothes in the bathroom, where I 
fill the tub with hot water, dump in scented bath oil 
in abundance,  light candles and grab the radio 
from my bedside table.

Tonight, soothing classical music won't do. I chose 
a radio station that plays rock and gratefully glide 
into the hot water, the bass drumming in my ears 
already.

For a whole week, I have been acting purely on 
autopilot, sifting through remains, comforting 
distressed family members, writing up reports. 

Anything, as long as I don't have to face my 
feelings.

Now the case is closed, we have the X-Files back 
and there are no more distractions.

Hurt, anger and humiliation come back with a 
vengeance.

My heart races, just as it has raced since I left the 
Gunmen's lair in anger, just as it has raced every 
day, every night, robbing me of my sleep.

My mind is sick and tired with exhaustion.

Just as I am sick and tired of those weeks of 
meaningless assignments, sick and tired of loosing 
the X-Files in the first place.

Sick and tired of the fact that Diana Fowley came 
into our lives. Or back into our lives.

The physical and emotional rollercoaster of 
everything that has happened since the X-Files 
burned down has left me drained. Empty.

Now, for the first time in weeks, months, I am alone, 
broken and lonesome.

As I lie there, lavender scented mist wafting around 
me staring unseeingly into the flickering light of the 
candles, I finally allow myself to feel. 

To face up to a truth I have buried deep inside me 
for a long time.

I am jealous, something I haven't know myself to be 
because I love Mulder. I am in love with my partner. 

That is the quintessence of the pain that I am 
feeling right now, the core of everything that has 
gone wrong.

There have always been moments. Other women. 
Different opinions.

Phoebe Green, Bambi Berenbaum, Detective 
White, Melissa Ephesian, they have been mere 
intrusions into our world, disturbances that left me 
wondering about his past, his motivations, about 
what made him tick, about whether I knew him at 
all.

And while we found ourselves growing closer every 
day, suddenly agreeing on so many things, finally 
seeing eye to eye about his quest, about what I had 
experienced with and without him, one little 
sentence brought my world crashing down. 

"You know what to do."

Just one sentence but enough to make me realize 
that while we have become so close and he knows 
almost everything about me, I know nothing of him. 
Not really. Not of his past. Not of his motivations. 
Not anymore.

He wouldn't tell me and I got only hints out of the 
Gunmen.

It had felt like a betrayal then, but I decided to 
ignore it.
True to form as always.

The destruction of the X-Files, our consequent re-
assignment and Antarctica almost made me forget.

In fact when we survived Antarctica, Mulder and I 
survived stronger than ever. 

And we *were* stronger, even faced with re-
assignment, with ridicule and humiliation.

But then – like a malicious ghost – Diana Fowley 
came back.

Haunting me. Taunting me.

For whenever she returns, the cards are mixed 
anew, the loyalties challenged. His loyalties.

Now, it seems quite clear.

Something died in me that night at the Gunmen's, 
when he dismissed my misgivings about Diana and 
her motives before he even listened to what I had to 
say.

"You are making this personal." 

Yes, it was personal, still is personal but I didn't 
drag the Gunmen into it for female bitchiness.

Everything concerning Diana Fowley is personal 
and just a bit too calculated. 

She shows up, just when we're about to make a 
significant breakthrough, the boy who turned out to 
be living proof vanishes on her watch, she shows 
up when we find him again... there is a pattern there 
and I cannot fathom rationally why Mulder just 
doesn't want to see it.

Emotionally I can. He is still involved. Whatever 
their past, it is enough to make him throw away six 
years of friendship and trust. To rock the fragile 
foundation of something that had been growing 
steadily.

That alone is enough to cause disappointment, the 
fact that I am also in love with him makes it painful, 
so painful.

My stomach is a tight knot and still that sickening 
feeling won't go away.

So when exactly did I give him the power to hurt 
me?

To make me feel empty and deflated, unloved, even 
worthless?

To say I fell in love with him during my illness, when 
he was closest to me, closer even than my family, 
would be too easy.

No, I fell in love with him gradually. 

It is little things really, the way he notices when I 
change my hair, the way he knows how I drink my 
coffee and what kind of breakfast I like. 

The way he is not afraid to cry in front of me.

The way he bares his soul to me and the way he 
can get fiercely protective.

I know he looks good, I know his body, I have seen 
him naked.

But so many times that was with the eyes of a 
doctor, a concerned friend and colleague.

Then one night changed all that, one surreal night, 
amidst a cheering crowd, a real-life "monster" in 
tow, a friend asked me to dance, but a man, an 
damn good-looking one at that, took my hand and 
pulled me close, making my cheeks flush and my 
heart beat faster. Out of sheer excitement.

That night, I started seeing him with the eyes of a 
woman, instead of a doctor and a friend.

Now, I am wondering how it would feel to touch his 
full lower lip with my index finger, to run my hands 
through is hair. To feel his taut stomach under my 
bare hands.

Now, I notice how his eyes change color, how his 
whole body mirrors his feelings. Tall and upbeat 
when he is happy, sloped and deflated when he is 
not.

In the end the vivid memory of that magical night 
brings forth the tears and for a while my racked 
sobs drown out the music.

When I can cry no more, I crawl out of the cooling 
water, wrap myself into my soft terry cloth dressing 
gown and hide under the covers.

I am empty of tears, empty of anger, of thought and 
finally, finally my stomach unknots, my heart slows 
down and sheer exhaustion makes me fall asleep.

I will make it through this. I have to.


End 

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