The Choice II: Aftermath by Leigh Alexander leigh_xf@geocities.com First posted: March 6, 1996 RATING: PG CATEGORY: SA SPOILERS: None KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully UST SUMMARY: After Mulder's disappearance, Scully is forced to deal with the consequences. DISCLAIMERS: 1) Dana and Fox belong to Chris and Ten Thirteen Productions and the other Fox. Absolutely *no* copyright infringement is intended - I'm not doing this for money, I'm doing it for love. I *love* these characters, I wouldn't want to hurt them! :) 2) OK to archive, but if it's going anywhere other than Gossamer, please drop me a line just so I can keep track. 3) Feel free to distribute and discuss this, as long as my name and addy remain attached. INTRO: Here's the first in the series of five sequels. This is the follow-up to The Choice which I posted two days ago, and which hopefully made it to everyone's server. If not, just contact me, and I'd be happy to send it to you. I want to thank Lea for helping me out in my time of desperate need by posting my last story - I will be forever in her debt for that, along with many other things (the tape!!!!). ;) And I just know that I'll *never* be able to repay Eve Wentworth for all the amazing and wonderful help she has given me with this piece. She has been an absolutely superb editor, and I know that my work is now so much better thanks to her. Thanks again Eve - you deserve a whole room full of flowers, but I'll just settle for a bunch of virtual flowers... :) Normally at this point I'd give a little spiel about the fact that I'm Australian and any oversights I make in terms of US terminology are unintentional... and that I haven't seen as many eps as you Americans have. But thanks to Eve, the first disclaimer no longer applies: she has gone through my work and thoroughly "Americanised" it; and thanks to circumstances beyond my control I have now seen up to Pusher. So, there shouldn't be anything in here that doesn't gell with what has happened on the show to that point, but there are also *no third season spoilers*. ----------------------------------------------------------- The Choice II: Aftermath ----------------------------------------------------------- "Mulder!" The scream echoed throughout the otherwise silent apartment. Dana Scully woke with a start, her breathing laboured and uneven, her body covered in sweat. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, and she looked about in terror, sensing that something wasn't right... Then, she remembered. She remembered in painful detail all the horrors of the nightmare that had tormented her in her sleep. It was the same nightmare she'd been having for nearly two and a half years now, although lately it seemed to be invading her usually peaceful sleep more regularly than ever before. She reached over and switched on the light, hoping that the garish brightness would sweep away the memories of the dream - which it didn't. As she knew it wouldn't. She couldn't clear her mind of the kaleidoscope of images that danced before her, no matter how hard she tried. It was pointless trying to fight it: she had to relive it, regardless of the pain. It was the only way of exorcising it - the only chance that she might be able to sleep again tonight. The nightmare always started in exactly the same way, deceiving her with its gentleness and warmth. She and Mulder were in a bright, sunny house. The room was infused with sunlight. They were barefoot; the marble under her feet was cool and soothing. She could hear the delicate tinkle of wind chimes, as the soft seaside breeze caressed the dainty bells. She felt rather than saw the gauzy material that lazily covered them both... was conscious of its smoothness as their arms lightly touched. But she was aware of all of those outside sensations only vaguely - her thoughts, her mind, her body was consumed with a single, dominant sensation... the soft, tender feel of Mulder's lips against hers... The union of their lips was a moment so special, so treasured - one that she had occasionally thought about when working with Mulder - that she almost couldn't believe it was happening. His lips were soft, delicate, and so tender.... they caressed hers with a gentleness that almost surprised her. She surrendered to the sensation. Parting her lips she allowed his careful exploration to deepen. It was always at that precise moment, just as he was about to intensify the kiss, that the dream suddenly changed from a light, pleasant fantasy to the dark, terrifying nightmare that never failed to leave her shaking and crying out his name in the dark. The room would abruptly go dark, as though someone had thrown a blanket over the sun. The soft tinkle of wind chimes would suddenly become a frenzied jangle, as the wind was whipped up violently. Scully would start shivering, the cold unbearable. Then four people dressed in black, their faces covered with ghoulish and horrific masks, would tear Mulder away from her. She would try desperately to hold onto him, but they were too strong, and he would be wrenched from her grasp. Then, as she watched, rooted to the spot, they would execute him: mercilessly shooting him in the back. And his eyes - those eyes that had always been for her a passage to his soul - would stare at her, full of meaning. It was the indelible image of his eyes, full of pain, that remained with her through every waking moment of her life. It wasn't only their reflection of physical pain that tortured her but, even worse, the pain of hurt and betrayal. Although the Mulder in her dream never spoke throughout the entire episode, his voice would somehow reach her, his words cutting through her like knives: And then the four people would remove their masks - this was the only part of the dream that ever changed. Sometimes they would be faceless - hired assassins just doing their job. Sometimes she saw the face of Cancerman, other times it was Krycek, or Skinner, or Mr. X. On one occasion a mask had been removed to reveal the small, recognisable face of Samantha - the face that she had only ever seen in photos, and dreams. But always, without fail, the last person to remove their mask - the one who had actually fired the fatal bullet - would do so slowly, giving her time to hope that maybe, just maybe, this time, it would be someone different. But it never was. The mask would be removed, loosening a cascade of auburn hair... and she would be staring into her own icy-cold eyes. It was always at this moment that she awoke; her heart racing, sweat coursing down her body as though she had just run a marathon... and she would weep once more for the loss of her partner. And it was no different this night. As her tears slowly subsided, she got out of bed, knowing that sleep would be an impossibility for her tonight, despite her physical exhaustion. She slipped her feet into her slippers and padded over to her bathroom, where she vigorously splashed cold water on her face, in an attempt to clear her head, and wipe away her tears. As she dried her face with a towel, she lifted her head to stare in the mirror. The face that looked back at her scared the life out of her. She was only thirty-seven and yet the worry lines and creases on her face wouldn't look out of place on a woman much older. Her eyes spoke of unfathomable pain... the depth of her agony and sorrow had etched itself into every feature on her once smooth and content face. Scully quickly moved away from the mirror, exiting the bathroom and walking towards the kitchen where she made herself a cup of hot chocolate. She carried the hot mug into her sitting room, and settled down onto the couch, intending on catching up on some late-night TV. But as her hand reached out for the remote, she abruptly changed her mind, as a sudden urge overwhelmed her - an urge to reflect, remember... and grieve. ******************** For a long time after he had left she hadn't even been able to sit on the couch. Every time she sank into the cushions, the memory of that last time on this couch would overwhelm her, and she would have to move. Eventually she had gotten over that problem, but that had only been the first and tiniest of hurdles that she had had to surmount. The first week had been the worst. Not only was she trying to come to terms with Mulder's departure, but she also had to deal with the repercussions. She had gone to his apartment the following day - letting herself in as she had done so many times before, only this time she could feel its emptiness descending on her like a veil. Mulder was gone. If she had needed any confirmation of that it had been provided in the instant she had entered his apartment. It looked exactly the same; from what she could tell, he hadn't wasted his final moments on the pointless task of tidying up, or collecting his things. It wasn't anything physical that suggested his absence, it was just a feeling... an intangible, illusive feeling that permeated her mind, her spirit and her soul. She remembered that she had almost smiled at herself - if Mulder could have heard her now, talking about intangible feelings. But of course he hadn't heard her. Her eyes had examined the room searchingly, eventually landing on three crisp white envelopes which sat neatly on top of his coffee table, defying the disorder around them. She'd slowly walked forward and picked them up, pausing for a moment before focusing her attention on the names that each envelope bore. The first one had been for her. She had stood stock still, her hand gripping the envelopes, as her eyes had remained fixed on Mulder's familiar script. She had shoved the letter destined for her in her coat pocket - she couldn't look at it right away, couldn't read it here. She needed to wait until she was in the relative security of her own home. The other two envelopes remained clasped in her hand, as she swivelled on her heel and left the apartment without a backward glance. She couldn't bear to be in that room any longer, couldn't stand the solitude, the silence and the emptiness. The second letter had been for Skinner. She had gone straight to his office without a clear idea in her head of what she was going to say to him - how much she was going to reveal. Could she trust him? Would Mulder want Skinner to know? She had fervently hoped that the decision would be taken out of her hands by Mulder, relying on him - as she had done so often before - to make her options clear, to give Skinner enough detail so that the Assistant Director wouldn't be forced to prod her with questions. Once in his office, she had handed him the envelope without a word, lowering herself into the chair opposite his desk as he started to read the letter. She had watched his face intently. Perhaps he was aware of her probing eyes, or perhaps it was his FBI training, but throughout the entire time it took him to read the letter, his face had registered not a single expression. It was cool, impersonal and as rigid as ever. When he'd finally looked up, his face had become even more inscrutable than before, the light reflecting off his glasses masking the expression in his eyes. He hadn't spoken for a long time, until finally he'd tersely asked, "Where is he?" Scully had looked at him directly, surprised at the control she was able to exert over her voice. "I don't know, sir." He had pulled his glasses off with a swift movement, suddenly stripping away their protection, and giving her the chance to look frankly into his eyes. She remembered now the tenderness that had shone out of them - he had been aware of her pain, she was certain. "He's not coming back, is he, Scully?" She had shaken her head, biting her lip in an effort to hold back the tears which had threatened to spill. His words had hit a raw nerve. "No, I don't think so..." She'd hoarsely replied. They'd sat in silence for a few moments, Skinner giving her time to regain control of her emotions. Then he had picked up the letter, perused it briefly and said: "It says here... Mulder has asked me to give you the option of continuing with the X-Files. Of course, officially, the situation will have to be re-assessed now that Mulder has... resigned..." He had hesitated for a moment on that last word, his hesitancy infusing the word with an unspoken question. Then, he'd continued, "However, I am prepared to take your wishes on the matter into account--" His sentence had remained unfinished, his words cut off by a movement from Scully. She had shaken her head slowly, her mouth twisted in pain, her eyes lowered. The words had emerged from her mouth in a shaky whisper. "No... I can't do it - I won't do it. The X-Files are Mulder's... I have no right to them." Those were the words she had spoken - that was what she had wanted Skinner to hear - but in her heart she had known that she could never work on the X-files without Mulder... The X-files *were* Mulder, and she had known that the pain would become unbearable... to be constantly surrounded by reminders of Mulder - of their time together - it would be too much to endure. Skinner had accepted her refusal without comment. "Sir?" Her voice had regained some of its strength. "I would like to request some time off, please... personal leave..." She had found it hard to form the words; she was unused to the feeling of helplessness that had pervaded her spirit since Mulder's departure. In the past, she had always managed to cope, despite the personal problems she had been having - but not this time. This time she had had the overwhelming sensation of drowning... she'd felt lost and alone and had known that for once her work wasn't going to help her. He'd simply nodded, "Of course." She had risen, preparing to leave and he had cleared his throat, drawing her attention back to him. "Agent Scully, I'd just like to express my deep regret and sorrow at the ... departure... of Agent Mulder. I hope that you..." He had paused, suddenly not knowing what to say - what sort of condolences to offer. He knew that Scully was in pain, but he also knew that he couldn't push her to reveal what she knew about Mulder's "retirement" - in doing so, he would only have to file a more detailed report than the one he was intending on filing. Anything he tried to say to her now would only come across as fatuous and unfeeling, after all the problems they had each had at his hands, after all they had been through in their eternal quest for the truth. He had left the thought hanging, unable to finish it. After a few moments of silence, she had turned and left the room, suddenly furious at his inability to express himself. For some reason, at that time - more than ever - she had *needed* to hear Skinner say something - anything - that would comfort her, reassure her, remind her that she wasn't alone. She'd needed him to tell her that all those years that she and Mulder had dedicated to the X-Files hadn't been in vain - that something good had come out of all the pain and horror. That there had been a reason for all the losses they had suffered. She had needed to hear those words... But they never came. Skinner had let her leave the office without another word escaping his lips, and for that she had never been able to forgive him. During the years that she and Mulder had spent working under the Assistant Director, she had grown to respect and value his opinion. She had even grown to trust him - a tenuous trust that wavered and vacillated depending on the mood of their relationship at that time - but it had been a trust none the less. However, since Mulder's disappearance, things had changed. She suspected that Skinner believed that she knew more than what she had let on about Mulder's disappearance, and yet he had never questioned her on it directly, therefore never giving her the chance to refute this point-of-view. His lack of trust in her led, naturally, to her own loss of trust in him. Matters weren't helped by his obvious reluctance to allow her to pursue the task of finding out what had happened to Mulder. After she had refused the X-Files, Skinner had almost immediately assigned her with a new partner and placed her in the Violent Crimes section. When she had questioned him on this, he had claimed that it was a good position, that she had proven time and time again when working with Mulder just what an excellent field agent she was. Scully had seen this for what it was: an attempt on Skinner's part to force her to desist in her pursuance of Mulder's whereabouts by ensuring that all her time was occupied with work. And yet she had quickly realised that it wasn't all Skinner's doing, that he was - as usual - taking his commands from a higher source against whom he had only limited power. And she would often wonder, on nights when she would come home, exhausted, and head straight to the computer to continue her inquiries into Mulder's disappearance, if her new assignment and her ascension in the ranks of the FBI was all just Skinner's way of saying sorry, of apologising to her for her losses... and for his impotence against the forces represented by Cancer man. She had reflected on this often over the years, and had never been able to reach a satisfactory conclusion: was Skinner on her side or not? She just didn't know... The third envelope had been for Mulder's solicitor. She had gone to the offices of Carter, Morgan, Wong and Anderson the same afternoon of her visit to Skinner's office. She had been overwhelmed by a desperate need to get rid of the physical evidence of Mulder's self-imposed departure. She had waited until Mr. Carter was free, feeling compelled to see the task through to the end, although she could just as easily have left the letter with his secretary. But she hadn't been able to override the professional in her who would never leave such important documents with anyone except who they were intended for, and so she had waited. And while she had been waiting, her fingers had returned time and time again to the other letter which had been shoved so ungraciously in her pocket. She had desperately wanted to know what it said, and yet she'd known that this was not the time, nor the place to read its contents... She would wait until she got into the privacy and safety of her own home. At that instant, the door had opened and a man with a startling shock of white hair had emerged and called her inside. He had probably been no more than fifty, and yet the surprising whiteness of his hair added years to his face. Scully had tried to explain what she was doing there, without giving too much away about Mulder's true whereabouts. In the end, she had simply passed him the letter, in the hope that Mulder had explained things better than she ever could. Mr. Carter had read the letter carefully. Having come directly from Skinner's office, Scully had been even more aware of the attorney's revealing facial expressions as he had slowly made his way through the contents of the two-page document. Unlike Skinner, this man had made no attempt to hide his emotions. His eyebrows had lifted emphatically on a number of occasions, whilst his mouth literally dropped open when he had arrived at the bottom of the first page. Lifting that page out of the way, he had briefly raised his head and glanced at her. She'd returned his gaze with a cool stare - with strangers she had no problems concealing her true feelings. Upon reaching the bottom of the second page, Mr. Carter had let out a long sigh. He'd placed the letter on the desk in front of him, and had sat silently for a number of minutes, his fingers steepled together under his chin. Scully had sat motionless, waiting for the older man to speak. Finally he had raised his eyes and looked at her frankly. "Ms. Scully, I have to admit I am, quite honestly, completely at a loss with regards to this letter." His voice had been troubled, yet still infused with a certain authoritativeness. She hadn't responded, and he had continued, "I presume you are aware of the events to which Mr. Mulder refers in this letter?" She had nodded, remaining taciturn. He'd obviously swiftly realised that he would be able to draw no further explanations from the reticent woman seated opposite him, so he had sighed and moved straight on to the official business. "Mr. Mulder has asked me to apprise you of the contents of this letter, would you like me to do that now?" She'd had to clear her throat before speaking, and had merely replied, "Yes please." He'd picked the letter up again and after perusing it one more time, had summarised its contents. "Mr. Mulder has informed me that certain events have recently occurred in his life, which lead him to suspect that he may..." he had hesitated before vocalising the word that had been written in front of him, "Disappear." Scully had swallowed and nodded - the only sign of her agitation had been the whiteness of her knuckles as she squeezed her hands into fists. Mr. Carter had continued, oblivious to her response. "He has requested that if he has not returned in five years time, he should be presumed dead, and his last will and testament should be put into effect." This time Scully hadn't been able to conceal the flow of emotions that burst through her: she had gasped, and her heart had started to pound. Her fingers had risen unconsciously to her mouth, and she had stared at the attorney with eyes full of pain and shock. The words had knocked around in her head, she had been unable to forget them, unable to dismiss them. Even now, two and a half years later, she could clearly recall the cold shiver that had descended on her at that moment. Five years?? He had searched for his sister for over twenty-five years without giving up hope, and yet he had placed this measly time limit on his own life? She had already reached the halfway mark, and she had made absolutely no progress at all in locating him... The room was warm, but suddenly Scully couldn't stop shivering... the coldness that had descended at that moment, enveloped her heart once more, as the certitude, the conviction that she had held for his return grew just a little bit smaller. After the meeting with Mulder's lawyer, Scully had returned home, and had finally read the last letter. Her letter. She had kept it, of course, and she had a sudden desire to read it once again. She placed her cup on the table and quickly got to her feet, pausing only momentarily to slide her feet into her slippers and then heading into her bedroom. She went straight to the bookshelf, and pulled down the book she wanted: "50 Greatest Conspiracies of All Time" by Jonathan Vankin and John Whalen. It had been a present from Mulder for the last Christmas before he had gone, and she smiled at the memory of his mischievous expression when giving it to her. She opened the book to Chapter 10: Roswell, and pulled out the piece of paper that was nestled there. Once she was back on the couch, settled comfortably against the cushions, she unfolded the letter, tears jumping to her eyes at the sight of his handwriting. She chided herself for being so sensitive; even after all this time, she was still unable to look at certain things without thinking of Mulder, and without the subsequent spill of tears. It was a short letter, written hastily. When she had returned to her apartment, and removed the crumpled envelope from her pocket she had been slightly puzzled. That last night in her apartment, they had said so much... and not just with words. Before he had left they had exchanged a look that, to her mind, at least, had expressed all the silent thoughts that they had ever dwelled on. And then, he had kissed her... Holding the letter in her hand that first time, she had wondered what more was left to be said. She had opened it, and had stared incredulously at the short phrase... and then a smile had slowly spread across her face. She looked down at the now well-fingered letter. She had read it so many times now - she didn't even need to look at the words to remind herself of what was written on the page. Her tears quickly disappeared as she laughed once more at his final joke. "Scully - Don't forget to feed my fish while I'm gone. Thanks, Mulder." Typical Mulder... Oh God, she missed him... she missed him so much it ached. Even after all these years the pain had refused to lessen, as everyone had assured her it would. It was the not-knowing that made the agony endure. If only she knew what had happened to him - knew for sure that he was dead, then at least she could begin to grieve, could move on with her life. Her mother's voice entered unbidden into her head, voicing a familiar refrain, But she couldn't forget, she couldn't move on and most of all - she could never let anyone into her life the way she had let Mulder in. No one could take his place. For the past two and a half years, her life had been in limbo: waiting, searching... She had used all of her resources, both officially and unofficially in pursuing every lead into Mulder's disappearance. She had questioned everyone in his building, searched the hospitals for weeks, kept a frantic eye on any John Doe information that arrived at the Bureau... and she had never given up the search. Even after she had been reassigned, after the X-Files had been closed down, she had persisted in her search - discreetly of course, she couldn't let Cancerman and their other enemies know what she was doing. At first, after he had gone, she had assumed that they had been involved - but she had quickly discovered that they were just as desperate as she to discover Mulder's whereabouts. She had been threatened once: an unknown man had held a gun to her head, demanding to know where Mulder was. She had been lucky that time: she had managed to break free and defend herself... but ever since she had been fearful of another attack. Ironically, the attack had given her hope. If Cancerman and his colleagues - who her attacker had obviously worked for - didn't know where Mulder was then maybe the mysterious stranger who had appeared at Mulder's apartment had been telling the truth - or at least some version of the truth. Maybe Mulder had found Samantha. Maybe they were alive... together... somewhere. Samantha. That's what it had always been about: finding Samantha. Even though she had pursued Samantha just as fervently as her partner during their years together, it was only now - only since Mulder's own disappearance - that Scully could fully appreciate Mulder's desperate search. His search for Samantha had been transformed, remodelled and restructured and had become her search for Mulder. She had become Mulder. In the last couple of years, she had shunned the outside world, preferring to remain on the field chasing leads, or stay at home with her computer, eternally searching databases, online newspapers, for anything, any tiny piece of information that might lead her to Mulder. Her workmates had withdrawn from her, fearing her complete and overwhelming intensity; her friends - those that had stuck around since she joined the Bureau - found her single-minded determination hard to understand, hard to squeeze into their stories of families and babies; and her family, her mother, had been unable to pull her out of her tiny world - a world where nothing mattered except the search for Mulder, and the constant quest for truth. Her thoughts were suddenly shattered by the harsh ring of the telephone. She looked at her watch; who would be calling her at two a.m.? "Hello?" "Agent Scully? It's Skinner here." "Sir? Is something wrong? It's very late..." "I need to meet with you Agent Scully. It's concerning a case you were working on before your transfer--" "An X-File?" He didn't reply, merely instructing her to meet him at Georgetown Hospital as soon as possible. As she hurriedly got dressed, she tried to remember the last few cases that she and Mulder had been working on before he left. As was the case with a large number of their X-files, there had been a few that had remained unsolved to this moment, and she ruminated on those few during the drive to the hospital. There was almost no traffic on the roads, so Scully was at the hospital in a matter of minutes. Skinner had said he would be waiting for her at the entrance, so she scanned the room intently upon entering. He had seen her enter, and moved forward quickly, grasping her elbow and leading her to a corner - out of earshot of anyone walking by. "Thank you for your promptness, Scully." "What's this about, sir - which case are we talking about here? I'd have to get my notes to refresh my memory--" He cut her off, "You're not going to need your notes for this one, Scully. Follow me." He lead her to the elevator, his hand still tightly gripping her elbow, as if he was scared that she would suddenly turn around and run away. They moved soundlessly through hallway after hallway, passing innumerable rooms, until finally they reached the last room in a corridor... guarded by two agents. Skinner nodded at the men, and pushed open the door, and indicated to Scully to go in. She looked at him quizzically, and then entered the room. It was dark. Her eyes took a few minutes to adjust to the dimness, and when they did, they slowly toured the room. There was a bed, with a single occupant. She moved closer... ... and experienced a flash of pain so powerful, an emotion so intense, that for a split-second she blacked out... ...it couldn't be... ...it wasn't possible... ...oh God... ~ THE END ~ ----------------------------------------------------------- = to be continued in The Choice III: Return = Another mini-disclaimer: The book "50 Greatest Conspiricies of all time" *does* really exist! No copyright infringement is intended in its use in my story. :) Thanks for reading. Comments are welcome. leigh_xf@geocities.com