TITLE: I Lied
AUTHOR: Dark La Fille 
E-MAIL: DrkLaFille@aol.com
RATING: PG-13 for content
CATEGORY: VA
SPOILERS: Milagro (just a little)
KEYWORDS: *Major* character death, M/O (don't run away, please!)
SUMMARY: A promise broken.
ARCHIVE: Ephemeral and Gossamer fine.  All else please ask.  
DISCLAIMER: Nearly everything isn't mine, except the story.  That's 
mine!  All mine!  Everything else belongs to Chris Carter, FOX, etc.
FEEDBACK: Please. 

Author's Note:  This is just a short, angsty piece I decided to do.
It has nothing to do with my WIP "Days of Future's Past."  This is
sad people (I hope, at least), so be warned.  

~~~~~~~~~
I Lied
~~~~~~~~~

I once made a promise.

I once made a promise to my wife.  Or, at least, the woman 
who would become my wife.

I remember the moment like it occurred yesterday.  She had 
looked at me that evening with eyes glazed with tears and lips 
trembling.  She was grasping both of my hands and holding my 
eyes with her own.  

"If I marry you, if I give you my vows and you give me yours,
you must promise me something."  I heard the desperation in her
voice.  I heard her fear, her insecurity, as well as her hope.

"Anything," I replied.  You see, I was such a fool then.    

I wanted to be with someone, grow old with someone, 
have a shot at a *normal* life, so very much.  Perhaps that need 
blinded me to reality, blinded me to the truth, for now, when 
I look back, I realized I promised her something I could never keep.

"You have to promise me, Fox, that you won't think back and
wonder "what if".  You have to promise me that you won't continue
to..."  she was fearful of going on.  She was stepping on thin ice,
and she knew it.  "You have to promise me..." her hands tightened
on my own, her eyes finally spilling the pools of tears that had
been threatening.  "I don't want to be with someone who's forever
going to be in love with someone else's memory.  I don't want
her to always be a shadow in your life, in *our* life.  You need
to promise me you can go on without looking back.  You have
to promise me that you'll let her go, completely."

And I promised her I could.  I even told her that it was already
done, that she was the only woman in my life. 

I was such a blind idiot, because as I lay here, in the hospital, 
feeling the fingers of death beginning to grasp upon me, my body
old and weak, I'm not thinking about my wife.  I'm not even thinking 
about my son.  

I'm thinking about her.  

And I shouldn't be.  I should be thinking about the past forty years.
I should be thinking about my wedding day, Alex's birth, his 
graduation.  I should be thinking about the people who are alive
now, alive and loving me, here at my side.  The people who have 
brought me joy in the past years.

But I'm not.  I *can't*.

I can only think of her.  

No matter how faded her image has become, out of all the people 
that have crossed my path, despite the life-altering moments 
that have occurred since, I see her every time I close my eyes.  
I hear her voice when the only sound that can be heard is
silence.  And I can almost feel her touch.

But there's something wrong with the woman I see.  She isn't old,
with white hair, wrinkled skin, and frail bones like she's suppose
to have.  Her skin is still smooth, her hair still red, her eyes
still young and full of life.  She is a thirty-five year old
woman, half her life still ahead of her.  She's something an
eighty-seven year old man, a *married* eighty-seven year old man, 
shouldn't be dreaming about, yearning to touch, needing to hold.

But I can't help it, you see, because the woman I'm thinking
about never had the chance to grow old.

And, unfortunately, I can still remember the day, the moment, the 
second, that chance was taken away from her, like it was
yesterday.

It was a Tuesday.  The weather was overcast and rain was 
threatening.  We were on a case, following a lead.  And I left
her alone.  

I honestly didn't think anyone was in the building.  I honestly 
thought it was safe.  I told her that no one was there, that no 
one was coming, that we were wasting our time and chasing phantoms.  

"We should have gone to the airport.  That's where he would be
headed."  I was angry and frustrated.  Both of us were.  We had 
been trying to catch this guy for weeks.  An anonymous phone call 
told us he was leaving today for Seattle.  But our main lead told 
us he would be here.  I wanted to follow the caller's advice and 
go the airport.  She wanted to go to the warehouse.  And after twenty
minutes of arguing the night before, I finally decided to go
on her instinct.  But at that moment, her instincts seemed
to have been proven ineffective.

"No, I don't think so.  For all we know, that call might have 
been from him, Mulder."  She saw my irritation and was getting
in her defensive mode.  "I think we should stay here, wait awhile."

"We'll just be wasting time, Scully.  It isn't worth it," I 
snapped.

"Well, I think it is."  I started walking away from her, heading
back towards the car.  Now she was also angry.  "Dammit Mulder!"  
She was walking after me, her steps quick to keep up with
my longer strides.  "Why is it every time you have one of 
those "hunches" you get to drag my ass out into the middle 
of nowhere to satisfy your theories, but when I have one, it's 
just too damn bad?"

I didn't respond, didn't turn around.  I didn't even slow my pace.
We were both on edge, both tired and fed up with this case.  And 
we were taking it out on each other.  

She went on, her voice harsh and low.

"Now I'm telling you for the last time, this guy isn't at the airport.  
And even if he was, we already posted extra security guards up with 
his description.  They don't need us there.  We should wait *here*, 
just in case."

I finally stopped and turned.  This wasn't about the case anymore.  
This was about control.  Her eyes were dark and her breath 
slightly heavy from trying to keep up with my fast escape.

"Fine, then.  Just fine.  I'll tell you what, Scully.  You stay here,
waste some time, and I'll go to the airport.  We each drove here, so 
it shouldn't be a problem."  I didn't even wait for her reaction 
and resumed towards the exit.

"If that's the way you want to play it, fine!" she called after me, 
no longer trying to follow me.  "I'll be right here and waiting
when that guy is a no show at the airport." 

It was a petty argument that had gotten out of hand, and we both
knew it.  We were both just to damn stubborn to back out of
it.  

And I left her there.  It was the stupidest thing I could've done.
She was my *partner*.  I was suppose to back her up. 

And she was right.  I didn't have to go to the airport.  I 
debriefed the security guards myself that morning.  If he did 
try to leave on a plane, he would most certainly get caught.  
But I was tired, frustrated, and angry, like I said.  We both were.  

But she would be the one to pay for both of our carelessness.

Skinner was the one that called me.  He wouldn't tell me 
anything over the phone.  He told me to just get down to the
warehouse.

My heart was already pounding at that point.  I knew something
was wrong.  I knew someone got hurt.  And though all the signs
pointed to Scully, I wouldn't accept it.

When I got there, an ambulance was already present, along with 
a couple police cars.  And her car.  

I spotted Skinner at the doorway and made my way towards him.

"What's going on?"  

He placed a hand around my arm as I started to pass him 
to get into the building.  

"You don't want to go in there, Mulder."  He voice was soft, 
softer that I had ever heard it.  

And I knew, at that instant, without question, she was dead. 

I shoved past him, despite his strong arms gripping me back.
I needed to see her.  I had to be sure.    

And the next sight I saw was forever engraved into my memory.  
Men surrounded her, one with a camera, taking pictures.  She
was on her back, blood pooled around her broken form.
I slowly approached her, much like I did that day I found her
on my apartment floor after her heart and nearly been 
ripped out.  

But this time I knew she wouldn't wake up.  Her blue eyes 
wouldn't open and her arms wouldn't wrap themselves
around me.  Dana Scully was dead.

The thought took a while to fully sink in.  I must have been
in shock.  The thought of her dying was just...it never 
seemed like a possibility.  She had trotted on the verge of
death so many times, but she always came back.  She always
got better.  She always survived.  

And somewhere along the way, I guess I began to think of her 
as immortal.  She was something death had danced with on many 
occasions, but it could never get a tight enough grip on her.  
She was something I always feared losing but I never, sincerely, 
believed I actually could.  

And that day, as I stared down at her body, her breath stolen
forever, the reality that I could, and I had, arrived.

I was on the borderline of going outside, taking out my gun,
and putting it in my mouth when Skinner came up behind me and
placed a hand on my shoulder.  He didn't say a word.  Just silently
led me to his car and drove me home.  He was probably afraid
I would drive myself off a cliff if I drove myself. 

I guess I was still in some state of shock the next day.  I hadn't
cried, hadn't made any attempts on my life, like I'm sure many 
expected me to do.  I don't even remember what I did that first
night in a world without Scully.  

Her mother was called, of course.  Funeral arrangements were made.
And the world kept moving on.

I was surprised when Mrs. Scully arrived at my doorstep that one
day, before the funeral.  I expected her to hate me.  I wanted her 
to hate me.  I had finally done it, after all.  I had gotten her 
daughter killed.

But she had no angry words to say.  Instead, she embraced me warmly,
without so much as a word.  When she withdrew, she opened my palm 
and placed Scully's necklace, the one that had become a symbol
of her faith, as well as our bond, in it.  I began to shake
my head.  I didn't deserve this.

"No," Maggie Scully said to my silent rejection.  "She would have
wanted you to have it."  And she simply left me there, still 
standing at my apartment's doorway, my hand opened with Scully's 
cross within it.

I cleaned her things out of the office that same day.  She had 
little things, here and there.  Some notes, papers, an extra
pair of nylons stuffed into a draw.  And when I was finished,
I was even more saddened, if that were possible, to find
that all her things fit into a shoebox.  Just one, little
shoebox held all the evidence that she had even been here.
I never even got her that desk...

And I suddenly noticed something I hadn't before.  Her coat was
hanging neatly across one of the file cabinets.  She probably
took it off that morning before we went to the warehouse.

I gripped it tightly in my fingers and swore I could still feel 
her warmth within it.  I brought it to my nose, realizing it 
had her smell.  I sniffed in the scent hungrily, desperately, 
trying to forever surround myself with it.  And I finally felt
the hot tears begin to leave my eyes as I realized that I
would never feel her presence again.  Never again be able 
to place my hand on the small of her back.  Never again feel her 
fingers playfully ruffle my hair.  

That same night Frohike found me drinking in a bar.  I'm 
surprised I can still remember what I said since I was so drunk.
The alcohol made my head swim and my thoughts jumbled.  I 
welcomed it.

"I thought I might find you here," the shorter man said as he 
took up a seat beside me.  I merely observed him, musing with
the memory of his lighthearted crush on my partner.  

"I don't know why I'm so upset," I slurred.  Frohike frowned,
confused.  "It isn't like we were even sleeping together." 
I leaned in closer to my companion, tears welling in my eyes 
as I whispered, as if it were a secret, "You know, we never even 
kissed."  

I had chuckled as the tears rained down my cheeks.  The liquor 
was making me lightheaded.  Making me say things.  Making me
open up.  

Frohike didn't respond to this and simply took a sip of his own
drink while he gazed off into the distance.

My face finally took on a somber look and I looked down at my friend.

"Do you think she knew?"  

Frohike regarded me questioningly, and I went on.  "Scully." I 
paused and took a breath.  

"Do you think she knew how much I loved her?"

He turned away, and for a moment I thought he wasn't going
to respond, but after what seemed like an eternity he voiced
his answer.

"If she didn't, I'm sure she does now."  

We had sat in silence for the rest of that evening. 
 
I met Lisa a year after Scully's death.  She was a new agent,
formerly a professor.  She knew nothing of me, or my past, and
I liked having the clean slate.  I had become known as the "mourner"
around work.  I guess "Spooky" got old.  I refused to 
have another partner, and thankfully Skinner pulled a few strings
and my wishes were met.  I submerged myself in my work, more 
withdrawn from the social scene than ever.  Many worried about me,
pitied me, but their care only turned me off and angered me.

Lisa was like a breath of fresh air.  She was so nice, kind, and didn't
tiptoe around me like all the others.  Our relationship started slow,
of course.  Scully was still constantly on my mind, but with time, and
Lisa, the wound her death left slowly began to heal.  Not completely.  
It would never heal completely.  But it did get better.

And so, a year and half later, I decided I wanted to marry her.  I
wanted to  try the "normal life."  And Lisa was the key to security.  
I knew she loved me.  And I knew I had come to love her, to a degree.  

So when she asked me that evening if I could let that other woman go,
I promised her I already had.  

But now, on my deathbed, I have to come to terms with the fact
I lied.  I never let Scully go.  I never could.  Her memory and my
feelings for her may have lessened in intensity over the years,
but she was still there, always there, somewhere...

And as I take my last breath, as I feel my wife hold my hand, I'm 
thinking about a woman with red hair and blue eyes, who's only
thirty-five, who never got the chance to grow old.  

Who I never got the chance to grow old with.  

END