From: Lyle Bontrager Date: Tue, 28 Apr 1998 23:01:23 +0000 Subject: Gone (1/1) Title: Gone (1/1) Author: RocketMan >lbontger@wmcstations.com< Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. Rating: MSR, character death, (But please read anyway, it will be worth it) Rated R for language and senstive material. Dedicated to Greg Kuhl, because he has to go through this hell every day of his life, and because he's still in love with his wife. Gone The words would always come to him when he looked at his front door. The horrible way time had slowed down, the flickers of light playing on the state trooper's face, the incredible coldness with which he had said those words: "Do you know a Dana Scully?" They were forever etched in his memory, planted firmly in his ears, heard like gunshots whenever he closed his eyes. He could not sleep because of it, could not function. Her mother seemed to understand, but at least she had the faith Mulder lacked. At least she had the confidence. Beside her bed, his mind remembered their door, the whiteness of it, the faint weathering that had frustrated her because it was not perfect. He remembered the little thrill of looking out the peephole to see who had rung the bell -- first time in their new house. He could smell the wood under his nose, the faint grainy tough of it on his fingertips, magnified and intense as his mind started screaming at him. The trooper had looked all right, had seemed normal. **** "Do you know a Dana Scully?" A faint, dull 'yes' from him that begged to be told something good. "What relation is she to you, sir?" "My . . . my wife," came his choked answer. He could already see it on the man's face. "And a baby?" The trooper was fishing for information. "A little girl, yes. Ours. Rebekah." Mulder could say nothing more, could speak nothing more as time was unwound and spun slowly and abusively. "Sir, I have to tell you that your family was in a crash. The baby's dead." **** The vomit rose in him again and he rushed for the bathroom wedged into the hospital room Scully occupied. Nothing came up and he sat on the cold tile, dry-heaving, just as he had done when the trooper had come. **** Nothing. Cold emptiness and then slowly, the vacuum filled. "My baby, my baby, Oh God, what about my wife, what about my wife?" **** He remembered nothing after that. He knew only that somehow, he'd been in the hospital? or maybe first the trooped had taken him to Mrs. Scully's to tell her . . . somehow Margaret had been informed, he still remembered her statue-like denial. **** "Fox! What a surprise. Dana didn't tell me you were coming. Where's my little grand daughter, she here too?" Mrs. Scully had ignored the terrible loneliness in his eyes and had stepped past him, heading for the garage to see if they were there, coming up the walk. Mulder grabbed her arm. Maybe she had seen the look of horror in his eyes, maybe she had seen the trooper, maybe she just knew. "She's . . ?" "A wreck. . . Rebekah . . . oh, God, she's dead. She's dead." The words had come in frightening sterility, no emotion in the voice, simply a void in the eyes. "Dana? What about-" "She's in the hospital. Hospital. Not good, Mrs. Scully, she's not-" "She'll be fine. She'll be fine." **** It had become a mantra, a prayer, a demand. Her hands were pale under the slight tan. Her eyes were closed, permanently he feared. Her body too small, too crushed. Broken bones in every limb, broken ribs, broken body. The thread of hate and anger rose again and he wished the man dead. The man who had killed his baby girl, the fucking drunk bastard that had taken out his family.... He slumped forward, wanting to only think good things, good things that might emenate to her, make her come back. He didn't hate her. He didn't blame her. He didn't want her to pick up on any negativie emotion from him. He held her and kissed her and spoke to her in a tightly controlled voice that made him congratulate himself on his ability to act. He apologized. He apologized every few minutes. "Oh, Scully. I was so wrong. So wrong." **** His beeper went off and he grabbed it, annoyed again. How many times now had she beeped him? Thirty? He glanced at the number. Strange. Maybe a pay phone. Her four digit code behind it: 1013. He pulled over to a gas station pay phone and glanced at his beeper again. He paled. 911 after her code. His panicked heart beat too fast, his hands sweat, his stomach lurched into his mouth and he fumbled to pick up the phone. "Mulder?" "What's wrong?" he panted, taking no comfort from her voice. "Oh, I just needed to-" "Wait, is this an emergency?" "Yes. For me it is. You don't return my pages, Mulder. I needed to talk to you about this. Stop being so grouchy." He heard the laughter in her voice but he was angry. "Scully, I am at work now. Please don't make me panic like that when it's not even a real emergency!" "Mulder. I need to-" "Scully. It can wait." He heard the icy repsonse, felt it grip his heart. "Fine. If you want to be that way, that's all right. I'll make the decision without you." And she refused to say more, refused to talk, even though it had been her that had initaited it. His frustration grew and he slammed down the phone, not even saying 'I love you.' In all the years they'd been together, not including the times they hadn't admitted to their love, they had never, never, hung up without an 'I love you.' It was their own good-bye. It was the last time he had talked to her. **** "Fox?" "Wha-" Mulder jerked as Mrs. Scully came in. "You need to sleep." "I can't. Not when she could die. Not without me." "She won't." "Rebekah did. Bekah was a baby, soft bones, able to withstand that sort of thing. She died. She died, Mrs. Scully. She died. She died.-" "Stop it Fox. I know she did. It hurts. It won't go away. You won't get over it, ever. But it will lessen." "I don't want it to! I have to remember, I have to feel!" "Fox, you haven't slept in four days." "Been there, done that." His reply was bitter. "Sleep." "No." He wouldn't. He wouldn't. He wouldn't. "Okay, fine. Kill yourself then." "Maybe if I do, then at least I'll be able to see them. Hold Rebekah again. Hold her but not dead, not so cold and limp." He squeezed his eyes as the thoughts came back. **** "Is this your daughter?" The sheet covered her up to the neck, the small body was contorted. His face was reflected back at him and he saw his own slovenly appearance. "Yes. Bekah." A silence seemed to stretch on and he wished Dana were there, beside him, supporting him, crying into his chest, making him strong for her. She was up the stairs, a few floors above, fighting not to be stuck down here too. "Can I hold her?" came his small voice. A medical examiner led him into a small room and then brought the body of his baby girl in. She was so silent, so still; Bekah was always fussy. She was alive. Had been alive. Tears ran down his face as he took her from the woman. He appreciated her respect. She left. He wished he could leave. But Scully made him stay. She made him sit there and rock their baby and sing the song she always made him sing to her. He sat and rocked and stroked Bekah's face and saw Scully in his mind. Her mouth forming the first words he had ever heard about Bekah. "Our miracle." Miracle. Dead now. There must not be a God. Must not. There couldn't be. For this to happen, there couldn't be. Maybe he deserved it, but Dana definitely did not. If she lived, she'd be in this same hell. It might even be worse for her. She had just as big a guilt complex as he when it came down to it. She had been driving. The baby, his baby, was still cold. Still limp. His touch had not brought life back to her. He had fooled himself into thinking it might. But he didn't want to give her back. **** "Fox, I'm going to get some coffee. Want any?" "No." Coffee made him nervous, jumpy, thinking that someone from their other life had come after them. Made him think that a smoking man was behind the deaths. Death. Scully was still alive, if not actually here. "Dana? Please, wake up. Please, Scully. I can't do this. I can't. It hurts too much. I love you too much." He touched her cheek. Her brain was still swelling. A bolt was in her head, measuring the cranial pressure. He knew that if it got too high, higher than her arterial pressure, she'd be dead. The blood wouldn't be able to make it up to her brain and she'd be dead. His finger smoothed over her forehead, wishing that his cold skin could make her head stop swelling. "You were always proud of yourself, Scully, but this is ridiculous." The smile was for her benefit, if she perhaps suddenly woke up. She didn't; he stopped smiling. ~~~~ "Maybe I have good news for you, Mr. Mulder." He stiffened and looked around. A doctor, one who had spent too much time in ICU to hegde things. "So." "So, the readings are saying her pressure has dropped slightly." "Dropped?" The glimmer of hope burst through him like fire. Burning, burning, consuming him. "A bit. Not enough, but a bit." Mulder seemed to understand and his eyes shut down the hope, put water over it so that it could only smolder. "Okay. A bit." "Yes." The doctor left and Mulder stayed there, then ran his fingers along her forehead again, wondering if maybe his touch had caused it. Did she recognize his feel and want to get better? "Come on, Scully. Come on." He didn't know what else to say to her. ~~~~ "Her cranial pressure is fluctuating, but slowly dropping, Mr. Mulder. However, it could be a very long time before she ever wakes up." He paused and Mulder stared at him. "Like . . . weeks? Months?" "Years too." Mulder felt the air escape from the room and he doubled over. "Years?" "Maybe." He slumped to the couch in the waiting room, surprised when he realized the doctor had managed to get him away from Scully. "I'll be here . . . years?" "She'll be here. You, on the other hand, have to go home and sleep." "No." "It's been two weeks. Yes." Fury turned to the doctor. "No." He backed off. "Just letting you know." Mulder shook his head, now certain that she would live, she would be alive, come out of her coma *today*. "Thanks. She'll wake up today though. She will." The doctor was surprised. Mrs. Scully was there, shocked too. Mulder hadn't given even a hint of hope that she would wake. Mulder left. ~~~~ He was stroking her forehead, thinking good thoughts, lovely thoughts, in her direction, when he noticed. She was moving. He had been telling her his memories of their love. The small things, the movements, the contentment. She was moving. He held his breath. "M . . .m . . r. . ." "Scully, Scully, Scully ....." She turned, softly, surely, opening her eyes. His body, his soul, broke. "Scully..." "Bekah..." she murmured, her face instantly contorted with pain and fear. "Scully, she's gone. She's gone." Her face was whiter that it had been previously, whiter than anything. "Gone...." He took her shaking hands. He wrapped his arms around her, his tears finally falling. "I thought you'd be gone too," he said. He held onto her and they cried. She hurt everywhere, but most of all, in her soul. She hurt in her soul. Another thing they could share. "She's gone..." Scully finally sobbed. "She's gone." ~~~~ end adios RM