Empty
by Kelli Rocherolle
4/97

SPOILER ALERT.  Another post Momento Mori 
vignette (that I finally got around to putting 
the finishing touches on).  Angsty, no 
resolution-- you were warned.  Feel free to send 
comments to kelli@edgenet.net  Thank you for the 
bandwidth!

*The following story is based on characters 
*copyrighted by Ten Thirteen Productions, 
*created by The Man, Chris Carter, and who 
*are the property of the Fox network and are 
*used without permission. No infringement 
*intended.

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

This is not helping me at all
where did we get this plan?
That you could give to me
what I might already have
Pyramids, healing wines, a musician's fame
I volunteered you my eyes, in place of facing me
--Live

Are dreams prophecy?  Or are they simply your 
mind's attempt to work through the things you 
just can't face in waking hours?  Mulder didn't 
know, but every time he had the dream, he 
wondered...

The pain of her death was still fresh in his 
mind as he stood above the grave.  Standing 
there in the pouring rain, staring at the 
headstone, he wondered how on earth was he 
supposed to move on, to put her memory to rest 
and carry on in this life without her.  He knelt 
on the ground.  It was a prospect he couldn't 
face.  The rain blurred his vision; he was 
soaked through, his clothes saturated.  It 
continued to pelt down on him, falling down his 
face, running down his jaw and dripping from his 
chin.  He knelt down and lay his hands on the 
wet grass.  An irrational fear came over him 
suddenly, a sense of desperation-- that she was 
down there beneath six feet of earth, alone... 
and beyond that, he needed to see her again, no 
matter how much it hurt.  His fingers curled 
into the mud, grasping fistfuls of the wet soil 
and throwing them aside.  He worked faster as 
the fear escalated, and then, unexpectedly, the 
coffin was there, resting on the ground he'd 
been furiously digging at just minutes before.  
He was kneeling on top of it.  Before he could 
think better of it, he reached for the lid and 
pulled it open.

It was empty.

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

"Mulder, you can't be serious!"  Over the course 
of their working relationship, Scully had come 
to expect the outrageous from her partner, but 
this time, he was really pushing it.

"Serious about investigating potential leads to 
a homicide?"  He gave a quick nod. "Always."

"An ALLEGED homicide," she corrected.

Mulder was losing patience with her.  She was so 
damn stubborn.  "Someone told me once that a lie 
was most convincingly placed between two truths, 
Scully.  And I think a similar principle should 
be applied here... WHERE the information is 
coming from is not as important as the 
information itself."

"What are you saying Mulder?  That we should 
start fielding our cases from The Inquirer?"

Arguing was nothing new to either of them, but 
it never got any easier.  "What I'm saying is 
that sometimes facts are released through 
unreliable sources to discredit the truth.  If 
you can't see that now, Scully, after all we've 
been through, then you've got a worse case of 
denial than I thought," he said harshly.

She impaled him with The Stare.  "The truth is 
Mulder, you're so willing... so desperate to 
believe that you'd consider a fortune cookie a 
reliable source.  We've been through this 
before--  others will use that desperation and 
willingness to believe to hurt you."  She 
stopped as his expression changed, his face 
falling into slackness.  "What?  What is it?"

Mulder pushed himself up from the desk and 
slowly moved around it.  He moved stiffly, as if 
it hurt him to do so.  Scully regarded him 
curiously as he brought a hand up to her face.  
Then, with a gentle sweep of his thumb, he wiped 
the trickle of blood from below her nose.

The nosebleeds...  they were a regular torture 
for her, a reminder that time was ticking away.  
They haunted her.  They haunted her partner.  

Mulder watched as she brought a hand to her face 
and moved away from him.  "I'm sorry, Scully..."

After she'd retrieved a tissue from her purse 
and cleared away the blood, she turned to face 
him.  She could read the emotion on his face so 
clearly; after all these years, it was simply 
displayed there like a note pinned on a bulletin 
board.  But it was ridiculous for him to think 
that they might stop arguing that he should be 
cautious around her.  To her, that would be like 
giving up.  "Don't do this, Mulder... this is 
not your fault. We're... I..."  Her brows drew 
together, and for a second Mulder thought she'd 
lost her train of thought.

"Scully?"

"I um..."

Mulder stepped closer and took hold of her arm, 
and as he did, she started to sway.  They both 
sank to their knees before Mulder was able to 
steady her.  "Scully are you all right?"

Her eyes were wide-- panicked and frantic, and 
in those few seconds it appeared nothing was 
familiar to her-- sounds, the objects around 
her... even the person supporting her.  In those 
few seconds, she was all alone in the universe.  
Mulder tightened his hold on her.

She recovered reality.  "I think... I'm gonna be 
sick."

Helping her to her feet, Mulder escorted her to 
the ladies room down the hall, pushing open the 
door and bringing her to the sink.  The bathroom 
there in the basement, as always, was empty.  
Mulder gathered her hair and held it back off 
her face as she was sick in the sink.  He 
reached for the paper towel dispenser.

Scully ran her hand under the water and cupped 
it to her mouth. It was bad enough she had to 
live with the illness, it was impossible to 
endure this kind of humiliation.  She didn't 
want Mulder to see her as weak; she didn't want 
him to feel he had to take care of her.  And she 
didn't want him to remember her this way.

"You okay?"  His voice was soft with tender 
concern.  He released her hair as she 
straightened.

She nodded and wiped her mouth with the paper 
towel he offered her.

"Come on," he said gently, guiding her back to 
the office.  Once he had her sitting in the 
chair, he started, knowing full well he'd get an 
argument from her.  "Scully maybe we should go 
to the hospital."

Psychic healers, divinitors, medicine men-- even 
a trip to Italy to visit the ancient 
*Benandante*...  Mulder had brought her to them 
all, certain her cure lay beyond the realm of 
conventional medicine.  His suggestion go to a 
hospital was tantamount to reading her her last 
rites.  But he was overreacting-- she was fine.  
And what she really need right now more than 
anything else, was his faith.  "No Mulder, I'm 
fine.  This is nothing new..."

"It's never been this bad, Scully;  you've never 
been sick."  Her eyes slid away from his, and he 
knew then that it wasn't the first time;  she'd 
been sick before, and she'd been keeping it from 
him.  The muscles in his jaw tensed.

When her eyes met his again, there was guilt 
behind them, but she was too tired to make 
amends.  "I think I'm just going to go home."

"I'll take you," Mulder decided.

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

Scully was eternally grateful that Mulder had 
offered-- decreed-- to take her home.  She had 
far too much pride to ask him, but the truth 
was, he was right;  she was feeling worse than 
usual and she did not want to be alone.  She had 
good days and bad, and spent most of the bad 
ones shielding herself from her partner.  But 
sometimes, as much as she hated to admit it, it 
was nice to be taken care of.  She sat on the 
couch and watched as Mulder knelt in front of 
her and started to slip off her shoes.  In spite 
of herself, Scully smiled.  She gently waved his 
hands away.  "Mulder, this really isn't 
necessary;  I'm fine.  Just a little woozy."

His eyes followed her as she stepped out of her 
shoes and padded out of the room.  She called to 
him from the kitchen,  "Can I get you 
something?"

Mulder moved to sit on the couch.  Yeah, some 
peace of mind would be nice...  "No thanks."  He 
reached for the remote and clicked on her TV, 
then absent-mindedly started flipping through 
the channels.

A glass of ice water never tasted so good, and 
Scully poured a glass for Mulder anyway.  He was 
channel surfing when she came back into the 
living area, and she was glad he felt 
comfortable in her home.  She studied his 
profile, stern and serious, and she knew what 
was weighing on his mind.  She straightened and 
continued out into the room, setting his glass 
on the coffee table.

Mulder slipped his coat off and leaned back on 
the sofa.  Apparently, he wasn't planning on 
going anywhere anytime soon.

"Mulder, I'm fine, really-- why don't you go 
home and get some sleep?"

He looked up at her, his eyes holding hers but 
saying nothing, and she could see he was not 
going anywhere.  After a moment, he stretched 
his arm along the back of the sofa and turned 
his palm up to her, an uncertain request for her 
to join him.

For a moment, she stood there staring at him; at 
once angry with him for making her feel weak 
when it was taking every ounce of her energy to 
be strong and at the same time loving him for 
offering her the one thing, more than anything 
else, she needed at that moment-- human 
contact... and for letting her know that that 
was okay. Her features softened with 
resignation, and she joined him on the couch.

Mulder wondered how many more opportunities he'd 
have to be with her like this, and he was 
saddened that it took such horrible 
circumstances to make him realize every second 
with her was a precious moment, would someday be 
a cherished memory.  It was impossible to 
imagine his life without her;  and selfishly, he 
didn't want to be the one left behind.  He 
hesitated, then tentatively let his arm slip 
down around her shoulders.  He pulled her close, 
enjoying the warmth of her body against his.  
This time, Scully didn't resist him.  It was 
nice to be close to him.  They were silent as 
they sat together, eyes focused on the TV 
neither of them had any real interest in, and 
they were quiet with their thoughts for a long 
time.  Finally, Scully's attention turned to the 
program that she'd been ignoring for the past 
half-hour.  "You ever watch this show as a kid, 
Mulder?"

Her voice pulled him from his thoughts.  "Yeah, 
sometimes."

"I used to watch with my brothers."

They talked casually about the program, both of 
them knowing it was just a means to make the 
moment last a little while longer.  Mulder 
listened to the soft lilt of her voice, and it 
soothed him.  As she continued to talk, he 
rested his cheek against the top of her head, 
and he shifted the arm around her until he could 
stroke her hair.  If she noticed, she gave no 
indication.  It was probably safer that way.

For a little while, he was happy.

End