A Thousand Cuts (1/1) by CazQ (C...@tesco.net) CATEGORY: Post ep vignette, friendship. Noromo safe by my reckoning.

RATED: PG for language SPOILERS: Heavy ones for 'The End'. Liddle tiny one for 'Never Again'. A prize to the first person to spot the line borrowed from 'The Blessing Way' ;). SUMMARY: Out of the ruins, hope may emerge... ARCHIVE: Yes to Gossamer. Anywhere else: sure, I'd be soooo flattered, just let me know first. DISCLAIMER: OK, repeat after me...they're not mine, never were or will be. Mulder, Scully and everyone/thing else connected with the X Files belongs to 10-13, 20th Century Fox, and of course The Boss, Chris Carter and all his partners in crime. Hey, I'd let them have a lot more fun. No copyright infringement or insult intended. No money will be made out of this and I have none so suing me would do no one but the lawyers any good. AUTHOR'S NOTES: OK, 'The End' only aired here a couple of weeks ago so I'm not as far behind everyone else as I might seem. First attempt at post-ep fic: I know there's a million and one post-'The End' fics floating around out there, but after watching it again the other night it was too good to pass up the possibilities offered by that end scene <g> I'd really appreciate feedback at the above addy: it's the gift that keeps on giving. Muchos gracias as always to my fabulous betas, jerry, Kristy and EPurSeMouve(welcome to the fun house, EPur!): if I hadn't experienced love <sob, snivel> of such a tremendous magnitude <breaks down in tears>...apologies, Gwyneth <veg>! ------------------------------------------A Thousand Cuts (1/1) by CazQ I want to kill. No. I wanted to kill. When I barrelled down the stairs to my office, drawn down by gravity and by the awful, seductive pull of inevitability, knowing already what they had done, I wanted to kill. For one wonderful, twisted moment, I was on fire with rage, pure, white-hot, incandescent, ready to pull out my Sig -or, even better, use my bare hands, throttling and tightening round someone's neck -- and take a life, any life. Then I stepped through the door, and saw it. In that instant, my rage burnt out, leaving me blackened, ruined inside. All I have felt since then is despair, twisted, soul-destroying. Oh Scully. When you took me in your tiny, strong hands and tried to hold me, tried to pull me back to shore, I couldn't even

reach out and touch you back...because I was dead inside. The dead can't touch the living, can't be in their world. All the dead have is this void, this hollowness. I feel brittle and dry. I stood in that place -- that tomb -- for an eternal second, taking it all in, drinking in the sight of it, engraving it on my memory. Now all I have to do is shut my eyes to see it. I am an expert at this, Scully. I may fail at just about everything else I try to do, but what I don't know about the art of selfflagellation you could write on the back of a charred X-file. I let you hold me, although I could hardly feel it, and then I pushed you carefully away, and walked, pushing blindly past Skinner in the hallway, up the stairs and out. I walked and walked, just putting one foot in front of the other, for...miles, I guess, round and round, along dark, quiet streets and empty alleyways. That seemed like something I could do. Just put one foot in front of the other and repeat. It's that simple, Scully. Even I can manage that one. Except I can't, not anymore. I can't keep moving. So here I sit, my feet having decided to bring me here to the bench by the Reflecting Pool. It's a beautiful sight, I guess: the lights shattered and drifting on the dark, ruffled water. I wouldn't know. I don't know beauty anymore. I shut my eyes and lean my head back, finding myself once more in the tomb of my hopes, breathing in the smoky, bitter scent of defeat. That same scent has infused me, clinging to my skin and clothes even now. I know what the purpose of this was. It was to break me. They don't want me dead. A bullet between the eyes would be too kind. They want my soul to die the death of a thousand cuts. They want to take everything from me, and to make sure I am acutely aware of the magnitude of my loss. Well, they got that part right, at least. I knew everything that was in those filing cabinets. I lived and breathed and ate and dreamt the X-files for seven years until they were inside of me, written in my blood and sweat. Hell, we were inside of them, Scully: you, me, those we loved and lost, all in there somewhere, all wrapped up inside those red and white edged files. Red for our blood. White for...for what, Scully? For our purity of heart? I think I had that, once, long ago... I know you still do. All of it a burnt offering now, all of it burning, burning black. "Mulder?"

I don't turn towards you, but remain staring out over the water. "Go away, Scully." "Why?" "I need to be alone right now. I need to think." "You mean you need to wallow in your self-pity, right?" There it is in your voice. The whip-crack of anger. Thank God. That's right Scully, give me what I need. Stand over me, chew me out, tell me what a stupid, selfish idiot I am. Cut me, deep enough to bleed out the creeping black poison of despair. I want that, not your sympathy. Your sympathy would be enough to make me cry like a child right now. Your righteous anger might, just might, make me feel a little bit alive again. "So what? You think I don't have the right? Christ, Scully, seven years of my life just went up in smoke. Where do I start again, huh? Tell me that, because if you know then I'd really like you to share your wisdom with me." "Five years of my life too, Mulder. Five years. I told you before, not everything is about you. This is not an exception." Jesus, I can feel your stare boring a hole into my skull. The blood begins to move in my veins again...just a little. "They did this to both of us, Mulder, not just to you. Both of us. Now I don't know about you, but I don't intend to just stop right there. The X-files are gone, but we're still here, and I intend to still be here tomorrow, and the day after that...as long as it takes. I can't resurrect the X-files, Mulder...but I'm still standing. Are you?" Oh yeah, there it is. You've always had a knack for throwing down the gauntlet in style, Scully, and that was a good one, alright. I think my heart is beginning to work again. It beats a little slowly, a little falteringly at first, but there it is. My mouth works for a second as I try to think of a suitable answer to throw back to you. Then, slowly, remembering how it feels to inhabit my body, to be aware of it again, I stand. There, Scully. I'm standing. I turn to look at you for the first time. You are standing by the water, ramrod straight, trenchcoat wrapped tightly around you, although the night is not cold. You are so tiny you look

like you could be broken with one hand, although I would never tell you that, but there is steel in you, Scully. You look stunning. Christ, you look like you should be holding a flaming sword and proclaiming holy vengeance on the unrighteous. I refuse. I refuse to lie down and die. I refuse to give them what they want. Somewhere deep inside, I feel it stirring in the wasteland...the tiny flicker of the will to fight again. I -- we -- will fight fire with fire. You extend one small, white hand to me, bridging the gulf between us in a conciliatory gesture. My avenging angel disappears, and there you are, tender, gentle, small again...but for a second I see the feathers of your wings, tipped with gold, dazzling in the light of an invisible sun, reflected in the water at your back. I want to tell you to turn and look at your reflection, to show you what I see. Don't you see, Scully? "Come on, Mulder. Let me take you home." ----------------------------------------I turn to you, watch you for a second as you concentrate on the road ahead, exquisite, patrician in profile. Your hands are gripping the wheel tightly, too tightly, your knuckles white. I realize that you lost as much as me tonight. Like the selfabsorbed bastard that I am, I didn't stop to think that you might be clinging to me to keep from going under, as much as to offer me comfort. We are on a package tour through the circles of hell, but at least we are together. You have as much invested in the X-files as me, if not more. They became as personal for you as they were for me. You too have had your Samanthas. We stop for a light, but you do not relax, holding yourself as if your physical rigidity might be enough to keep you from flying apart. I wonder how long you spent driving around DC looking for me. "Scully..." My hand covering yours on the wheel. "Scully, pull over for a second, would you?" You turn and pin me with your eyes, uncomprehending. "What?" "Just...just pull over, Scully. Please." We clear the light, and you pull the car to a stop at the curb. We are only a few blocks from my building. The streets are dead quiet at this time of night, for which small mercy I am

thankful. I step out of the car and make my way round to your side. You stare up at me for a second, and I open your door, telling you, pleading with you with my eyes, to join me. You step out and stand in front of me, your bearing almost military, as strict and steady as it was by the pool. "Mulder, it's late. What is it?" I reach out, not giving you time to draw back, and take your shoulders in my hands. We stand, together, anchoring each other to earth. "I'm sorry, Scully. Not everything is about me." You look up, examining my face with that searchlight gaze, and then sigh, letting your taut muscles relax, your head bowing forwards a little as though it's too heavy for you. I know that you still won't take that step towards me, though, not after the way I stood like so much dead wood in your arms earlier. This is up to me, so I pull you towards me and hold you, hungrily, tightly, crushing you to me. Your arms go around me and you embrace me just as hard. This need I have to be as close to you as humanly possible, to draw you into me and feel your blood pulsing in your veins...this is not about my desire for you. This is about being alive, Scully. We are alive and we are still standing. Years later, you pull away, and I have something to say. I have the see the tear tracks on your face, ignore the sudden trembling of my let you go, sensing that you courtesy to pretend I don't just as you are good enough to lower lip.

"No, not everything is about you, Mulder. But it's all about *us* now. It can't be any other way." You beg me with your eyes to see the truth of your words, and I nod, biting down hard on my lip until I can taste the salt and metal of my blood, because I don't trust myself to answer that. "Mulder? We both know whose work this was, and I want you to know...next time I see that son of a bitch, I'm gonna pull out my Sig and show him that what they say about women with big guns is absolutely true." A tiny half-smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. Graveyard humor, maybe, but I'll take it. "Enlighten me. What do they say about women with big guns, Agent Scully?"

"Why, that you should never, never piss them off, of course, Agent Mulder," you reply demurely, your eyes glinting in the half-light. "Amen, Scully," I murmur, impulsively grabbing your hand and planting a quick kiss on the back of it. "Amen." You arch one perfect eyebrow at me, and then say gently, "Let's go home, Mulder." I acquiesce, unable in this moment to deny you anything. I died tonight, but nothing ever really ends. I have come back from the dead once again to continue on with you. We step out of the pool of light cast by the streetlight. Although we have grown used to inhabiting the shadow world, we are not its natives. We stand poised, one foot in the darkness, but you...you keep us with one foot in the light. You are full of light, Scully, like a second sun, and the miracle is that you have enough for us both. FINIS