Ghosts by Leyla Harrison Disclaimer: The characters of Mulder and Scully belong to CC and 1013. No infringement is intended. Rating: R for situations and language Classification: V, MulderAngst, *very* slight hints of MSR. Spoilers: Memento Mori, Gethsemane. Summary: Mulder reflects on the consequences of his decision to leave Scully. Author's Notes: This is the first time I've tried writing a story from Mulder's POV -- as many of you might know, I'm much more comfortable writing Scully. I figured that I needed a challenge, though, and this was the result. Please be gentle... ************* I still can't believe I did it. Can't believe that I let Scully go through with it. Not like I had much of a choice. Even without having been at that hearing I know exactly what the look on her face was. The pain was likely etched across her face in fine lines. Her voice was calm yet almost rigid as she said what she had come there to say. It makes sense, after all, that she would do that. I've done nothing but hurt her, and this -- my suicide -- was the final twist of the knife. I wasn't surprised at all when Skinner informed me of what she'd said at the disciplinary hearing. Not even a bit. Who could blame her? After all, I've failed her over and over -- let her down, ditched her, kept the truth from her -- so it should come as no surprise to me that she would go and say those things. Anyhow, I knew she would. It was all part of the plan. The plan was to remove Scully from the situation so that she'd be protected. And there was only one way to do that. Scully had to believe that I was completely and totally consumed by my passion for the truth that I would stop and nothing to get it it. She had to believe the lie. When she finds out the truth -- *if* she finds out the truth -- there's a good chance that she'll hate me even more than she probably already does. The only difference is that right now she just hates my ghost. I don't know if I'll have the courage to face her again when this is all over, although I know that I have to in order to try to salvage what little remains of the bond between us. That's all that matters to me now. That, and saving her life. I was surprised to hear that she broke down in tears outside the doors of the hearing after it was over. I heard this from Skinner, who informed me that he was coming down the hall and saw her leaning up against a wall, tears flowing freely down her face. Scully, crying? In the hallway of the Bureau? That isn't the Scully I know. The Scully I know would never let anyone see her cry. I have to stop and remind myself that I don't really know her anymore. Skinner said that she didn't see him watching her there in the hall, and that he didn't want to upset her further by announcing his presence. He didn't want to embarrass her. In my mind, I have an idea of what it must have looked like. Scully, her back against the wall, her head bowed so that her hair fell over her face like a veil, one hand covering her eyes as she cried. Skinner, fifteen feet away, standing stock still, watching her with a mixture of curiosity and compassion. Wanting to move towards her and comfort her but unable to, for his own reasons. Skinner isn't the type to take her into his arms and hold her and whisper to her that everything will be fine. That's my job. I remember doing it so vividly in the hospital hallway in Allentown, holding her tiny body close to mine, reveling in its warmth because I'd been so fearful that the cancer had made her skin and even her entire being cold. I just don't do that job very well anymore. I don't deserve that job. I don't think she should've trusted me each and every time I told her that things were going to be okay. Then Skinner played a tape for me of what was said in that meeting. Her voice was definitely thick with tears as she effectively debunked every piece of work we've done in the last few years. Amazing how everything we've done together in the last four years could effectively be knocked down like a house of cards with so few words. It was hard at that point for me to hold back my own tears. But the thing is, I knew she was going to do it. I just didn't know that I'd ever have to hear those words come out of her mouth. I hadn't cried since the night that it happened, the night that Scully informed me in the warehouse that they had given her the cancer in order to make me believe. She may not have known how deep that cut me. Maybe she did. Maybe she was just too exhausted emotionally and physically to care anymore. I left her and went back to my apartment. I sat there for about an hour, wallowing in self pity for being so blind and not noticing the things that really mattered. Once I let that run through my system, I called Skinner and he came over, and because I trusted him more than I trusted that chain-smoking son of a bitch, we created a hasty if rather distinct plan. It had come to the point where we both wanted the same thing. We both wanted to save Scully's life, and we were both willing to do anything to accomplish that goal. Skinner's compassion for Scully didn't surprise me. What did surprise me were the lengths he was willing to go to help me save her. Who'd have thought that he'd go against protocol to achieve something that not only could get him fired but was clearly illegal as well? Skinner showed up at my apartment with two men I'd never seen before. They brought a body in and left. Skinner stayed only a few minutes longer than they did, giving me instructions on what I was to do and exactly how I was to do it, and when and where to meet him after it was done. There was no time for me to protest or even to ask questions. In all honesty, I didn't want to know. The body lay on my living room floor for twenty minutes and I stared at it. Then I got up and looked around the apartment, careful to make sure that everything was the way it should be. Not a thing out of place. Nothing out of the ordinary to make anyone think that I was fleeing. I couldn't take anything with me. I looked down at the body, the body that was dressed in my clothes, the body that looked strikingly like me. I wondered for a few minutes who he was. Then I carefully put the gun -- my gun -- in his hand, raised it, and blew his brains out. Good thing he was already dead. I stared at the mess for a moment. Fought the urge to vomit. Then fled. Scully's identification of the body that she thought was me was cursory. She didn't perform the autopsy, nor did she request or receive any report from it. Good thing, too, because if she had, she'd have noticed that there were no scars on the body that matched any of the scars I carry. The bullet wound to my shoulder that she inflicted on me aches now, although I feel that it's likely a psychological pain rather than a physical one. I can't stand the waiting. I can't stand not knowing what's going on. I can't stand not being able to see her. Can't stand it. I creep out of the no-tell motel that I'm in and get to her apartment. I stand outside. Her car isn't there. Where are you, Scully? Skinner informed me that this morning she turned in her resignation. He didn't process it, of course, but she believes he has. It's funny, because when I thought Scully was dead, he wouldn't accept my resignation either. I guess he just refuses to let either one of us go. I have to pick the lock to get inside since I don't have her key anymore. I left it with all my other keys at my apartment the night of my suicide. I left my wallet. I have no identification. I am a ghost. I am no one. The apartment is dark and I creep through it, not turning on any lights, feeling like the intruder that I am. I've always been an intruder in Scully's house, in her life. In her heart. I go into her bedroom and open the closet, seeing suits and sweaters and jackets. I press my face into the cloth of one of them and smell her smell, the smell that I haven't smelled in days, the smell that I may never smell again. It brings tears to my eyes. I'm careful not to disturb anything as I make my way back into the living room. I stand there, wondering what the hell I'm doing. I hear the key turn in the lock and I scramble for a hiding place. The front hall closet. I pull the door closed behind me as I hear her coming in. I pray that she hasn't heard me, but my heart is thumping loud enough for it to pound in my ears. I hear her move about the apartment, turning lights on, kicking shoes off, clinking glasses in the kitchen. Once I'm sure she's in the bedroom, I silently slip out of the closet and tiptoe towards the front door. This was a terrible idea. I don't even know what I'm doing here and I can't show myself to her. For one thing, she thinks I'm dead, and for another thing, even if she didn't, I can't deal with facing her and seeing the pain on her face when she realizes that I've lied to her again. This is the ultimate lie, after all. Her imminent death is something that I cannot face. I cannot bear it. And yet I have forced her to face mine. I am a cruel, heartless bastard. I'm halfway to the front door when I hear her voice. "Just go away, Mulder," she says, her voice low and tired. I freeze. My God. I wait, not daring to turn around. Another moment passes. I have to face her. I have to see her and tell her how sorry I am. I have to try to explain why I've done what I've done, and even though I know that it was for her, always for her, I know that she'll hate me for it. She already does. I slowly turn around. She's not there. I can see her, though. The lights in the living room are off and she's in her bedroom, sitting on her bed, staring at something that she's holding in her hands. A picture, I think. Oh, God. I realize that she's holding a picture of me. "Just get out of my head, Mulder," she says, putting the picture face down on the nightstand beside the bed. She buries her face in her hands and I hear her soft sobbing. It tears at my chest and I feel my throat tighten. Scully. I'm so sorry. I can't move for fear that she'll hear me. I can't move because this is what I deserve. I deserve to see what I've done to her. What I can't fix for her. Because of me, she's lost her sister. Three months of her life. The ability to bear children. And now she's losing her own life. I know that she's strong. I know this about her. God knows. If she was weak, she would have walked away from my sorry ass a long time ago. I might have brought her into this hell, but she stayed. Stubbornly refused to quit, even after all she'd lost. That's the amazing thing about Scully. That she stayed as long as she did. Her sister died. She could have left then. But then she wanted answers. So she stayed. She lost three months of her life. She could have left then. But she wanted the truth. So she stayed. And now? Now she's possibly going to lose her life. It doesn't even matter anymore if she thinks I'm alive or dead. Either way she has the right to tell me to fuck off. I deserve that much. I have to get out of here. I can't stand watching her anymore. I move slightly and duck behind the large oak cabinet that houses her television just before I see her head come up. "Who's there?" she calls, her voice trembling almost imperceptibly. She sniffles. She's going to find me. She's going to come out and look and see that I'm hiding here in her living room. But she doesn't. I hear rustling and wait a few moments before I dare poke my head around the side of the entertainment unit. She's undressing. I pull back, knowing that this is something else that I'm intruding on. I'm invading her privacy. I curse myself for feeling a stirring of arousal as I imagine her undressing just a few feet away from me. I've seen her undressed once before, and I've never forgotten it. I hear more fabric noises and know that she's getting into bed. Scully. Scully. I want to go to her so badly. I want to fall on my knees on the floor next to the bed and beg her forgiveness. I want to change everything so that she doesn't have to slip away from me, bit by bit, until there's nothing left of her. Nothing left of our partnership. The light goes off and the whole apartment is dark. I know I have to wait until she's asleep otherwise she'll hear me. I stand there for over an hour, until my feet are numb. Finally I come out and sneak a glance towards the bedroom. I creep in that direction even though I know I should get out of there. Standing beside her bed, looking down at her, I watch her as she sleeps. Her brow is slightly creased and she's got a half frown on her face. It's the closest I've come to her since that night in the warehouse, and I stand there, transfixed by the sight of her. I want to touch her so badly. I know I can't and shouldn't but my hand goes out anyhow, my fingers smoothing her forehead lightly. She stirs and I jerk my hand back guiltily. "Mulder," she moans. It's the sound of someone who has loved and lost. She twists slightly under the covers and I fear for a moment that she's going to wake up and see me there, but she doesn't. She moves again and her eyes flutter open. My heart stops for a second, then starts again, beating frantically. "Mulder." She says my name again and I nod at her, unable to speak. We hold each other's eyes for a long moment. "You were just having a dream, Scully. It's OK." "I miss you," she confesses to me, her voice weak, and I realize in a flash that she thinks she's still dreaming. I nod, tears blurring my vision. God, Scully, I've missed you too. You have no idea. "Mulder, I'm scared." Jesus. She would never say this to me if she thought I was still alive. I know she hates her own weakness. This is one secret I know about Scully that few others do. I nod again, still unable to say anything. I don't trust my voice yet. Without thinking, I brush my fingertips down the side of her face and she sighs. "Everything's going to be fine, Scully. I promise." Of course I can't think of anything else to say. "I'm going to die," she tells me matter-of-factly. "No, you're not." My voice is firm. I'm going to find you a cure, Scully. I swear it. I won't let you die because of me. She nods her head. "The cancer's spread, Mulder. It's much worse. I never told you when you were...alive..." She begins to cry softly and my breath catches in my throat. Spread? Fuck. Fuck. Why didn't you tell me? Pain is radiating through my chest and I feel like I can't breathe. "Miss you, Mulder..." she murmurs, and her eyes drift close. I lean over and kiss her forehead, hot tears falling on her cheeks. They're mine, I think. I slip out of the apartment as quietly as I can and stand outside on the sidewalk. I have no time to waste. I move through the shadows, back towards the motel. I have a phone call to make. Skinner. We're going to have to accelerate our plan, sir, I rehearse in my head. We're going to have to act fast. END ----------------------------------------------- "I'm drunk in my desire...but I love the way you smile at me, I love the way your hands reach out to hold me near..." --Sarah McLachlan