TITLE: By Her Side
AUTHOR: aRcaDIaNFall$
FEEDBACK: arcadianfalls@yahoo.com.au
RATING: G
SPOILERS: Via Negativa, Within/Without (ie. Mulder's abduction)
CLASSIFICATION: V, A
SUMMARY: Mulder reflects on how Scully has been coping with his
disappearance. Set during Via Negativa.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I refuse to believe that Scully has just merrily
forgotten Mulder's existence. Season 8 since Within/Without has been
sadly lacking in Mulder-abduction-angst and I think it's highly unfair
that 1013 isn't milking the situation for all its worth. So here's my
small contribution to the missing angst. *g*
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By Her Side
by aRcaDIaNFall$


She was crying, tonight. Silently, her anxiety relieved by the doctor's
assurances but her heart still aching with sorrow, with the desperate
longing for me to be by her side, for somebody to simply hold her hand
and give her strength and cry with her. 

It wasn't the first time she had cried. I'd watched her every night,
seen the mask of confidence and appearance of strength fall away from
her as she entered her apartment and closed the door behind her. Some
nights she got no further than that, simply closing the door and
crumpling against it, hugging her knees like a child would and crying
with hopeless despair, exhausted by the pretense of being 'fine' and
hiding the anxiety that consumed, sometimes overwhelmed her. Often she
would arrive home and refuse to let the mask down, pushing herself
through the processes of normalcy, eating dinner, checking her e-mail,
watching the late news or an old movie, showering, climbing into bed
with a book. Some nights she brought work home with her, or found the
courage to sort through the thick files amassed in the investigation
into my appearance. Inevitably, though, the mask would crack, and I
would watch as she touched her still flat belly with trembling fingers,
as she struggled to hold back those tears, as she bowed her head and
sobbed in desperate, pleading prayer. 
During the day she could distance herself from me. I saw her do it,
knew that she was pushing away all thoughts of me and the baby growing
inside her, numbing herself to those things in order that she could
just keep going. But her apartment broke the numb rhythm. There was no
pretending or denial in her home.

My heart agonised over her suffering. The physical torment I was
experiencing was nothing compared to the sharp panicky edge of fear and
grief she lived on, the questions so ever-present in her mind they
sometimes nearly paralysed her. Would this baby be taken from her?
Would she ever get me back? What more was she to suffer? 
I longed to comfort her, to take her in my arms and have her know that
I would always be there for her. I had thought I always would be.


I watched now, as her soft sobs quietened and she lay curled on her
side, tears silently sliding down her cheeks as she gazed out the
window at the stars above the night skyline. 
"Mulder, I need you," she whispered softly, brokenly, her clawing grip
on the hospital blankets slackening as she let out a defeated, wistful
sob. "I need you back."

Defeat and hopelessness in her voice, but even as I heard it, and saw
the tears spilling down her cheeks, my admiration for her only grew. I
watched her every morning and could only marvel at her strength, her
determination to go on despite her grief and exhaustion. Though she
cried every night, the following morning she still found the reserves
to climb out of bed and go on. 

I sat on the edge of her bed, bending to drop a kiss on her cheek,
gently stroking her hair, only wishing that she could feel my touch.

Soon, my Scully. Soon.


fin.