***DISCLAIMER***: All "X-Files" elements and references
in this story belong to Fox Broadcasting, Chris Carter,
and 1013 Productions, and I am making no money from it.

ARCHIVING: Link only, please!

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In the Loop
by shannono
shannono@iname.com


Vignette, Angst, Mulder/Scully UST, First person

Rated PG

Spoilers for "Monday"

Summary: Variation on a theme, originally developed by Mr. 
Gilligan and Mr. Shiban. Post-ep for "Monday."

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In the Loop
by shannono


Deja vu all over again ...

This isn't the first time I've crouched on a cold, hard floor
and watched my partner's life spill out in a wash of red. Once
was more than enough, and I've replayed it so many times now, in
my mind, with so many different variations, that I've lost track
of what's real and what's my imagination.

The wound is through the chest this time, not in the head, but
this is definitely real. Too real. My hand, usually huge as
compared to her small body, seems so tiny now against the hole
just below her left shoulder. I shift my palm around carefully,
knowing I'm hurting her but willing to push that aside in favor
of my desperate, futile attempt to hold back the blood as it 
gushes out, pulsing around my fingers with each beat of her 
failing heart.

It can't end like this.

I look up at the man standing above us, gun still outstretched
in his hand, and my voice wavers as I speak. "You're the boss,"
I say, spouting that FBI "hostage-procedure" bullshit they drill
into us at every turn. "You have control of what happens here."

His smile is malicious as he reaches for his jacket. "I sure
do," he says, pulling the coat back to reveal a body wrapped
with explosives.

And my next thought is, At least I won't be left here alone;
we're going to die together.

I look down at her again, and our gazes lock. Despite her pain 
and our terror, our eyes speak words our voices have never 
managed.

Funny how facing death makes you appreciate your life, and all
the good things in it.

I hear noise from the doorway, and my gaze flies to take in
the flak-jacketed-and-helmeted assault team storming the door.
I look back to the robber, whose hand is going for the switch,
and I know it's over.

My final impulsive, hopeless act is to throw my body on top of
hers in some vain attempt at protection, or in a re-enactment 
of "Romeo & Juliet," I'm not sure. And my last words escape my
lips without my conscious approval:

"Scully, I love you ..."

And then my world explodes into darkness.

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