Title: Dying is Fine, But Death (1/1)
Author: Brighid
Spoilers: Slight spoilers for: Momento Mori,  Squeeze and Tooms.
Rating: PG-13 for bad words.
Category: VA
Keywords: Scully monologue
Archive: Gossamer, yes. Otherwise, sure, but keep my name & let me know.
Constructive feedback greatly appreciated.

Disclaimers: All things X-files belong to Chris Carter, 1013 and FOX. This
is not for profit, but for love.

Note: The title is taken from an e.e.cummings poem. If you want to see the
whole thing, but can't find it, let me know. It really fits Scully.


Dying is Fine, But Death

by Brighid

It finally happened, Mulder.

I stopped thinking "if", and started thinking "when".  Not out loud, not in
public. I'm not ready for that yet. "If" is something we all share; it is
not shameful, it is not weak - it just is. "When" is a frailty, a surrender.
I am willing, at 3 a.m. and bleeding over the toilet bowl, to surrender in
private. I'll be damned if I let anyone else see it.

I'll be damned if I let you see it.

I know you mean well, that you want to comfort me, give me strength. In
time, I will have to accept that. That time is coming soon. But for now, if
I were to let you in, it would be admitting I have no strength left of my
own. I would be weak. I would be small.  I would be helpless.

I refuse to be less than I have always been. I say "I'm fine, Mulder" not
because I want to shut you out, but because I need to shut myself in, keep
myself from sliding into apathy and despair. It would be so damn easy to
give in, to lay down and never get up again. So I keep going, pushing myself
and you as well. "I'm fine, Mulder" is as much a prayer as anything else.

God, all this blood. I feel like I'll never be clean again, you know? Like
all the dirty secrets are pouring out of me, and staining me on the outside,
instead of on the inside. It makes me feel naked, to have so much of my
inside, out.

I know that it hurts you, Mulder. I see it each time I slide my gaze away,
each time I ditch you. Isn't that funny, Mulder? I'm the one ditching you,
now, after four years of chasing you and all your EBE's. That's the term,
right? EBE?

I'm sorry I have to hurt you, but it is necessary. I can't let this win. I
can't let them win.  If I give an inch, they're going to be lying beside me
in the dark, making me dirty like this cancer never could. They will have
the power, they will pull my strings and make me the puppet they always
wanted. I will become just another tool for them to use against you. You've
got to see that, Mulder. The minute I am anything less than "fine", they own
me. They own you. They win.

I will not give those arrogant bastards the satisfaction. I know that there
have been many times where our opinions on what was going on diverged
wildly, yet through it all I have agreed with you that there has been bad
faith in high places, and dirty deals in secret. That's in the newspapers
everyday. It's a given, really.

I just didn't expect to see it splashing into my toilet, conspiracy theory
Rorschachs in my own blood.  Damn it, Mulder. If I give in now, they will
have made me a victim. Their violation will be complete, and utter, and I
might just as well be dead. You of all people have to know how unacceptable
that is. Nobody touches me like that, and gets away with it. No one, not
ever.

Sometimes, I just want to lean into you. I want to let you hold me and tell
me it's okay and that the bogeyman is just some liver-eating mutant living
in an abandoned building. That would be so much easier to cope with than
this invasion from within. An enemy you can see. An enemy you can kick in
the goddamn balls.

Sometimes, I just want to curl up small, so small that nothing could ever
find me again. I want to be - nothing. I want to feel - nothing. I want-
nothing. That scares the hell out of me, too, because I know that is coming.
Nothing. Or something that I'm not even sure I believe in anymore, and so it
might just as well be nothing. God save me from lapsed faith at 3 a.m.

Sometimes I want to scream and kick and swear and slap you silly. Kick you
in the goddamn balls, for getting me into this. Not fair, I know. You never
held a gun to my head, forced me to follow. But that's the anger stage of
this whole thing, and trust me, it really isn't any prettier than the
denial. I could be using another "f" word entirely on you. Would it really
be an improvement, Mulder?

I know you mean well. I wish to God you could just - understand?  And I know
we've been hard on each other lately. I think cast-iron bitch comes to mind,
actually. I know, I know - but it's all part of hanging on, Mulder, and
hanging in. I don't want to hurt you, I really don't. At least, not most of
the time. But I'm going to have to hurt you, eventually. I know that now.
I'm going to have to leave you alone. Maybe it's better if there's little
distance between us. Pulling their punches for them, as it were.

Christ, this just goes on forever. Not enough to call for an ambulance, or
wake you up, if that is even possible. You never sleep. Just enough to
remind me that everything is so - tenuous. Fragile. Weak.

I don't want to be weak, Mulder. I don't want to be tenuous or fragile. I
don't want you looking at me like you could see through me. All naked
suffering and tender empathy. I want to be your competent, rational and
annoyingly logical partner. I want to be your friend again, not another nail
in your cross.

Jesus fuck, Mulder. I just want to be fine.

Just fine.

End