POST OBITUM
by Blackwood
entreamis@yahoo.com

RATING: PG13
CATEGORY: Vignette, Angst, AU, Character Death
SPOILERS: Set some time after The Goldberg Variations. 
ARCHIVE: Just let me know.
SUMMARY: I always knew this might happen.  I just didn't 
think it would be today.  
DISCLAIMER:  No contract.  No profit.  No infringement.
Just me, an idea and the words in my head.

~*~*~*~

The last time I spoke to you, Mulder, I didn't think twice 
about it.  Death arrived, waited for its moment and staked 
his claim before I even noticed his presence.  It's not 
like I never thought it would touch us -- just not today, 
not like this.  Not after everything we've survived.  I'd 
convinced myself that we were, somehow, invincible.  I was 
wrong.

All those answers you--we--wanted, we'll never find now.  I 
haven't the energy to pursue them.  You were right, Mulder.  
That day in your hallway, you were right.  I can't do this 
alone, either.  When will this ache in my chest stop?  Or 
the pain in my head?  I'm a doctor; I should know these 
things.

I hate myself for being weak, then I hate myself for trying 
to be strong.  You deserve my tears, Mulder.  You own them.  
They're yours.  If I let the pain go, I let you go as well, 
don't I?  And that's not something I can do.  Not now.  
Maybe not ever.  The guilty should be punished and I am 
guilty.  I'm a law enforcement officer.  I know that.  Had 
I stayed with you, you might still be alive or I'd be dead 
along with you.  Either is preferable to this hell.

Damn you, Mulder.  Answer me.

I once told you I wouldn't trade a day.  That's not 
entirely true.  Scratch that.  I'm a liar, a goddamned liar 
and we both know it.  How many times did I say I was fine 
when, really, I was close to screaming?  How many times did 
I argue with you about some theory when I was really in awe 
of you?  And I wonder if you ever realized how often I 
steeled myself against you, just you -- not because of some 
policy, but because you triggered a response that scared me 
with its intensity.  I talked the honesty talk, Mulder, but 
I never walked the walk.

So, given the chance to redo our last day together, want to 
hear what I'd change?  I know.  It's silly, but I want to 
tell you anyway...

I'd wear my black pants suit with the short jacket and snug 
trousers because you once said, "Nice outfit."  I don't 
know how often you noticed, but it thrilled me when you 
did.  I'd even wear perfume.  I never do when we're 
working, but I would today.  I might even allow my hair to 
curl instead of forcing it into my usual G-woman 
professional do. 

Instead of being annoyed at your bad jokes about my 
fixation on a much-needed double-shot latte this morning, I 
would appreciate your attempt to make me laugh after our 
grueling session with Skinner.  I'd accept our assignment 
and be ready to go the first time you beeped the horn 
outside my building.  I'd even let you listen to that awful 
'Elvis Live at the MGM Grand' cassette while we drive north 
to our destination: Valmont, New Jersey.  No complaints 
although I still wouldn't have let you sing along.  Well, 
maybe just one chorus of 'Suspicious Minds.' 

When you broach your theory about the possibility of The 
Jersey Devil being a distant relative to Sasquatch, I'd 
listen without sighing to myself.  Oh, I always heard you, 
Mulder.  My foundation in science never precluded the 
possibility of truth midst the ramblings of your mind.  
Only I didn't listen well enough, did I?  I heard the 
words, but not the meaning behind them, especially when it 
came to how you felt about me.  You were my very own code-
talker, but I didn't take the time to translate.  
Sometimes, you were blatantly clear and still, I didn't 
understand.  I didn't dare believe you would be so obvious.  

We'd turn off the highway at dusk, meet with the local 
sheriff and start looking for a place to eat.  You'd still 
want pizza and I'd want a decent salad bar.  We'd still 
settle for Chester's, a roadhouse that dared to call itself 
a restaurant.  Had I known how precious those last hours 
were to become, I might have found the smoke and noise 
colorful and the patrons tolerable.  Instead of picking at 
my food and maintaining my silence, I'd have removed my 
jacket and ordered a double bourbon so I could flirt with 
you and not worry about the consequences; so I could admit 
to myself that I wanted those consequences.  Badly.

I would...saunter, yes saunter, to the jukebox and opt for 
only slow songs -- the sad, country kind places like 
Chester's always seem to keep on their playist forever -- 
the kind that understand want and need and sorrow.  I'd 
look back to find you watching me and wouldn't turn away 
after a few extra, stolen seconds.  I'd gather my bourbon-
induced courage and return with a slow, measured walk and 
say, "Dance with me."  A smile would twitch at the corners 
of your mouth as you feign surprise, but you'd say yes.  I 
know because I always saw the question in your eyes: when, 
Scully?  When is it time for me?  Ask me again, Mulder, and 
I'll tell you: now, always, forever.

We'd allow ourselves the luxury of a thinly veiled 
opportunity to embrace in public because there's music 
playing.  With your arms around me, I'd relax into your 
hold, your hand sure against my back, confident you'll 
guide me through the crowd while I focus on you.  My cheek 
would press against your chest and our hands would entwine 
above your heart.  Breathing in the scent of laundered 
cotton and the tang of sweat, I'd commit to memory the 
sound of your heartbeat and your rough baritone humming 
against my hair while we move across the tiny dance floor.

The singer would croon his lament through the neon glow 
that envelops us and when, at last, I lift my head to see 
your face, you'd lean in and press your lips to mine, a 
promise of heaven and heat, but which now will never be.  
Had I realized, I would have turned off both cell phones.  
I would have told the local P.D. "I'll take care of it in 
the morning."

That's what I would have done.

Instead, I ordered a sensible meal, kept my jacket on and 
my feet on the ground.  When the call came for an immediate 
autopsy, you weren't surprised by my compliance. I insisted 
you stay while I sliced and diced.  "Good night, St. 
Scully", you teased.  "I'll see you in the morning," was my 
standard response as I rose to leave you, a slightly 
forlorn look on your face that I chose to ignore.

When I reached the door, I turned back, our dance only a 
wisp of desire, my wilted salad half-eaten, my club soda 
gone flat.  Dim light from the cheap, tin fixture hanging 
above the table cast your features into sharp relief. Your 
jacket was off, shirt sleeves rolled up, necktie loosened.  
Your hair was a little mussed and I could read the fatigue 
in the line of your shoulders as you sat with hands clasped 
above propped elbows, an unreadable expression on your 
face.

I should have paid more attention to the four Harleys that 
rumbled into the gravel lot as I headed for the rental car.  
I would have noted the rough-looking men that rode them.  I 
might have observed that they were more than already drunk. 
Instead, duty called and when I got the word from the 
deputy an hour later, I was up to my elbows in a stranger's 
viscera.  A brawl had erupted at Chester's, a fed was down 
and it looked bad.  Before I even finished sewing up the Y-
incision so I could get to you, the deputy was back to tell 
me not to bother.

Not to bother.

An Agent Gutierrez was dispatched from the Wilmington 
office, ninety minutes away.  I'm still waiting for him to 
arrive.  Don't worry.  I won't let them near you, Mulder.  
I won't leave your side.  They wanted to cover your face, 
but I wouldn't let them.  I had to pull my weapon on them, 
Mulder.  I had no choice.  I won't let anyone touch you.  I 
won't let anyone else hurt you.

Deputy Meyers, the first officer on-scene, approached me a 
little while ago.  She asked if she could stay with me 
until Gutierrez arrives.  When I asked what happened, she 
told me the bikers had entered the bar demanding beers and 
whiskey.  The bouncer was held back while the bartender 
complied, hoping to avoid trouble.  That's when another 
gang member started harassing the waitress, pushing her 
into a back room.  While most of the patrons reacted with 
stunned silence, you were the sole individual to try to 
prevent a brutal rape.  Your valor was rewarded with a 
quick, hard slash to the jugular vein with the jagged edge 
of a broken beer bottle.

If only someone had warned me, I might have been better 
prepared to deal with the pain in my chest that feels like 
a mortal wound.  My teeth are chattering and I'm sure I'll 
never be warm again.  Meyers brought me some aspirin,  
Mulder.  As if that's going to help.

I always knew this might happen.  I just didn't think it 
would be today.  If I'd known, I might have told you the 
truth, plain and simple.  Forget innuendo, Mulder.  Forget 
the yearning looks, the double entendre, the veiled 
meanings.  To hell with playing it safe.  I love you more 
than is sensible and I was a fool not to tell you so every 
single day.

Gutierrez is here.  He's talking to Meyers at the end of 
the corridor.  They're looking at us rather funny, don't 
you think?  Doesn't matter.  I won't let them hurt you, 
Mulder.  You know that, don't you?  You believe me, don't 
you?  I'm here, right here, and no one is going to bother 
you while you rest.  I'm so tired, Mulder, but I won't fall 
asleep.  

You just rest, my love.  Just rest and I'll be here when 
you wake up.

Please, God, let me wake up.

END
August 2001