When the Worst Happens by Leigh Alexander leigh_xf@geocities.com First posted: June 15th, 1998 RATING: PG CATEGORY: VA SPOILERS: None KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully friendship SUMMARY: Scully races to comfort Mulder after Samantha is killed. 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: This story was first started about a year ago so there are definitely no references to any of the recent events of season four or five. I actually got most of it out pretty quickly and then got stuck at the end. A year later with a nine-month long holiday having taken place in the meantime I read it over and was able to complete it in a few minutes. Strange how these things work... Big thanks to Melissa for editing this and also for her support during my on-going posting woes. One final note: I've been maintaining a mailing list for a while now but a lot of the addresses I have appear to have gone out of date while I've been away and I've had to delete them. If you want to be put back on my list to receive my stories, please e-mail me with your current address. :) Please note: this is a stand-alone that does not refer to any other stories. ----------------------------------------------------------- When the Worst Happens ----------------------------------------------------------- She was a law-enforcement officer who believed in the legal parameters that society functioned under, and yet the illuminated number on the dashboard was far above the number displayed on the roadside signs. She was speeding because she needed to get there. Now. As she tugged the steering wheel round, pulling onto his street, she felt her fingers cling ever-so-subtly to the rough surface, reminding her that she hadn't had time to properly wash her hands; they were still sticky with recently- shed blood. A bitter taste rose in her throat at the thought of its origin. She barely managed to shut the car door as she leapt out, and locking it was an utterly alien concept right now. The sound of her heels rang out in the empty street as she ran to the apartment block and took the stairs two at a time. The elevator would be too slow. She reached his door and for the first time since the gunshot had split the tense silence less than an hour ago, she paused. The key was in her hand - she had wrenched it out of her pocket while running up the stairs - but she hesitated before inserting it. Should she knock first? She steered her mind from that thought. He wouldn't do that. He couldn't do that. With shaking hands she inserted the key in the lock, holding her breath and sending up a quick prayer to a God that she had long ago stopped asking favours of as she pushed open the door. Darkness so thick it felt like fog. How could it be so dark? Maybe it was just her imagination... And as she slowly crept forward her eyes began to adjust to the gloom, their searching gaze finally uncovering more than blackness. A figure slumped on the couch. The absolute silence interrupted only by his regular breaths. He was alive. Thank God. "Mulder?" Her voice sounded weak in here. As though it had been smothered once leaving her throat. Or stolen. A shiver passed through her; the room felt cold with despair. The corners were filled with misery that pushed oppressively inward. He did not reply. It was his outline only that scratched itself upon her retina. He was tilted forwards, his elbows resting on his knees while his chin was propped up by his interlocked fingers. Despite her blindness, she knew that he had been crying. With her heart, she could see his small, red- rimmed eyes. She allowed herself to be guided to him by instinct. Settling next to him on the couch - their shoulders caressing each other warmly - she asked softly, "Are you OK?" His body jerked slightly - a suppressed snort of derision aimed not at her, but at the question. He tried to speak but no sound emerged, his voice box was raw from the shouting. Instead he just shook his head loosely from side to side. Her hand fluttered to his neck, the back of her fingers resting just below his ear. "Mulder, there was nothing you could have done. No one could have foreseen that was going to happen. We couldn't have done anything to stop it." Pushing herself closer to him so that her lips were near his cheek, she whispered fiercely, "Samantha knew that... she would have known that." Samantha's face. The primal and terrifying look of shock that hit her face as the bullet hit her chest; this was the image that Scully could not rid herself of. The memory of the gushing blood, the panic, the wrenching pain was overshadowed by that one black moment of time. A stray pocket that now joined the clutter of split-second events that had changed her life: the death of her father, her sister... Mulder's disappearance from the scene of his sister's murder. If only she could recapture those moments. Gather all the empty pockets together and fill them with warm, living people. Stitch together the wrecks of lives they left behind. Mulder's Adam's apple rose and fell as he struggled to hold back the tears, reacting to her words with a degree of vulnerability that he had only rarely exposed to her in the past. This close, she could see the distinct outline of his throat even as the rest of his face remained in shadow, his features unclear to her. Moving her hand so that it encircled his coupled fists, she spoke again. "I'm so sorry." The simplicity of the sentiment was counteracted by the deep compassion with which she spoke the words. He unclasped his hands and with one fluid movement, secreted her hand between his two palms. Bringing his arms down, the three hands rested on his knee. He held on to them tightly. It was his grip on reality, his attachment to life. She was his lifeline and his saviour. He understood this need clearly for the first time. Scully allowed herself to be contained by the stillness that bound them, although it was hard to fight the intense desire that had suddenly filled her to cleanse her blood-tainted hands. However, Mulder seemed oblivious to the stain of death that had been unintentionally trailed across his hand so she compelled herself to remain equally unmoved. Like footsteps falling into place, their breathing soon became rhythmically aligned. In and out. Whispering through the air, breaking the silence that covered them. It was the only tangible thing left to clutch, the only measurement they could rely on... the only reality that didn't overwhelm them with its visceral pain. For a while, the pair acquiesced to being shrouded in this deceptive calm, allowed it to bundle them together in its soft blanket of artificial comfort. But Scully had to escape. It was too cloying, too constrictive and most of all, too peaceful... threatening to submerge her with its serenity and blind her memory and feelings. She began to ease her hands out of Mulder's grasp, but his fingers refused to loosen. A flutter of concern danced across her features as she leaned in once more to her partner's ear and murmured softly, yet forcefully, "Mulder, you're in shock." Still they clung. "Let me help you." The whisper trickled into Mulder's consciousness and his hold weakened. Sliding her hands out with supreme delicacy, Scully declared gently, "I'll be right back," before lifting herself from the couch and moving towards Mulder's kitchen. Time passed. Mulder drifted in and out of the present and the past. Samantha's face in all its forms - small and innocent, wide and knowledgeable - clicked into his vision. Her voice teased him, tugging on his senses with a childlike impatience. The child's face screamed in pain as it was shot, while the adult face giggled hysterically. Everything was wrong and nothing he could do could right it. "Drink this." Her voice sliced through Samantha's face. Bewildered, he looked up. Scully stood in front of him, a glass nestled in her outstretched hand. Her expression so tender, so worried... He wished he could reassure her. To please her, he lifted his arm and took the glass in his hand. Amber liquid. Straight, no ice. The smell of Scotch was his father and it made him hesitate. But her eyes were imploring; the doctor, the caring friend telling him it was necessary. He squeezed his lids together and gulped the drink down in one mouthful, like a child with pink medicine. Burned like a gunshot wound. He knew about those; his leg and shoulder throbbed as the injuries came to life again. Shot in the chest. No... that wasn't him. But the alcohol exploded behind his breastbone just as the bullet had blasted through her skin. He started to shudder and he couldn't stop. Couldn't stop the replay of images that darted across his eyes. Samantha screaming. Samantha falling... Samantha dead. The glass clunked dully against the floor as it slipped from his grasp. He felt Scully's worry but he had nothing with which to reassure her. All he could show her was this broken man who had been unable to save the most precious life of all. That she had been brought back to him at all had been a miracle. A fragile gift that could never be treated carelessly. But she had fallen through his grip. Smashing with a dull thud against the filthy floor of his life. Scully was beside him, her arm enveloping him and pulling him closer to her. He succumbed gratefully. Her embrace tempted him with resolution, with absolution. He lay his head against her breast and begged Samantha for forgiveness. Eventually his eyelids fell shut. He dreamt of Samantha. The eight-year old version. He hugged her tight and promised to protect her. Scully didn't try to loosen his arms from her waist. She stroked his hair and told him that everything was going to be all right. If only it were true. ~ THE END ~ ------------------------------------------------------------- Thanks for reading. leigh_xf@geocities.com