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A Thousand Cuts (1/1) by CazQ(C ... @tesco.net)CATEGORY: Post ep vignette, friendship. Noromo safe by myreckoning. RATED: PG for language SPOILERS: Heavy ones for 'TheEnd'. Liddle tiny one for 'Never Again'. A prize to the firstperson to spot the line borrowed from 'The Blessing Way' ;).SUMMARY: Out of the ruins, hope may emerge... ARCHIVE: Yes toGossamer. Anywhere else: sure, I'd be soooo flattered, just letme know first. DISCLAIMER: OK, repeat after me...they're notmine, never were or will be. Mulder, Scully and everyone/thingelse connected with the X Files belongs to 10-13, 20th CenturyFox, and of course The Boss, Chris Carter and all his partnersin crime. Hey, I'd let them have a lot more fun. No copyrightinfringement or insult intended. No money will be made out ofthis and I have none so suing me would do no one but the lawyersany good. AUTHOR'S NOTES: OK, 'The End' only aired here a coupleof weeks ago so I'm not as far behind everyone else as I mightseem. First attempt at post-ep fic: I know there's a million andone post-'The End' fics floating around out there, but afterwatching it again the other night it was too good to pass up thepossibilities offered by that end scene I'd reallyappreciate feedback at the above addy: it's the gift that keepson giving.

Muchos gracias as always to my fabulous betas, jerry, Kristy andEPurSeMouve(welcome to the fun house, EPur!): if I hadn'texperienced love of such a tremendous magnitude...apologies, Gwyneth !

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A Thousand Cuts (1/1) by CazQ

I want to kill.

No. I wanted to kill. When I barrelled down the stairs to myoffice, drawn down by gravity and by the awful, seductive pullof inevitability, knowing already what they had done, I wantedto kill. For one wonderful, twisted moment, I was on fire withrage, pure, white-hot, incandescent, ready to pull out my Sig --or, even better, use my bare hands, throttling and tighteninground someone's neck -- and take a life, any life.

Then I stepped through the door, and saw it. In that instant, myrage burnt out, leaving me blackened, ruined inside. All I havefelt since then is despair, twisted, soul-destroying.

Oh Scully. When you took me in your tiny, strong hands and triedto hold me, tried to pull me back to shore, I couldn't even

http://groups.google.com/groups/unlock?_done=/group/alt.tv.x-files.creative/msg/5e343ecbb3bc44c0&msg=5e343ecbb3bc44c0http://groups.google.com/groups/unlock?_done=/group/alt.tv.x-files.creative/msg/5e343ecbb3bc44c0&msg=5e343ecbb3bc44c0

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reach out and touch you back...because I was dead inside. Thedead can't touch the living, can't be in their world. All thedead 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 onmy memory. Now all I have to do is shut my eyes to see it. I aman expert at this, Scully. I may fail at just about everythingelse I try to do, but what I don't know about the art of self-flagellation you could write on the back of a charred X-file.

I let you hold me, although I could hardly feel it, and then Ipushed you carefully away, and walked, pushing blindly pastSkinner in the hallway, up the stairs and out. I walked andwalked, just putting one foot in front of the other,for...miles, I guess, round and round, along dark, quiet streetsand 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 theReflecting Pool. It's a beautiful sight, I guess: the lightsshattered and drifting on the dark, ruffled water. I wouldn'tknow. I don't know beauty anymore.

I shut my eyes and lean my head back, finding myself once morein the tomb of my hopes, breathing in the smoky, bitter scent ofdefeat. That same scent has infused me, clinging to my skin andclothes even now. I know what the purpose of this was. It was tobreak me. They don't want me dead. A bullet between the eyeswould be too kind. They want my soul to die the death of athousand cuts. They want to take everything from me, and to makesure I am acutely aware of the magnitude of my loss. Well, theygot that part right, at least.

I knew everything that was in those filing cabinets. I lived andbreathed and ate and dreamt the X-files for seven years untilthey 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 andwhite edged files. Red for our blood. White for...for what,Scully? For our purity of heart? I think I had that, once, longago... I know you still do. All of it a burnt offering now, allof it burning, burning black.

"Mulder?"

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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 meout, tell me what a stupid, selfish idiot I am. Cut me, deepenough to bleed out the creeping black poison of despair. I wantthat, not your sympathy. Your sympathy would be enough to makeme cry like a child right now. Your righteous anger might, justmight, 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 startagain, huh? Tell me that, because if you know then I'd reallylike you to share your wisdom with me."

"Five years of my life too, Mulder. Five years. I told youbefore, not everything is about you. This is not an exception."

Jesus, I can feel your stare boring a hole into my skull. Theblood begins to move in my veins again...just a little.

"They did this to both of us, Mulder, not just to you. Both ofus. Now I don't know about you, but I don't intend to just stopright there. The X-files are gone, but we're still here, and Iintend to still be here tomorrow, and the day after that...aslong as it takes. I can't resurrect the X-files, Mulder...butI'm still standing. Are you?"

Oh yeah, there it is. You've always had a knack for throwingdown the gauntlet in style, Scully, and that was a good one,alright. I think my heart is beginning to work again. It beats alittle slowly, a little falteringly at first, but there it is.

My mouth works for a second as I try to think of a suitableanswer to throw back to you. Then, slowly, remembering how itfeels 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 bythe water, ramrod straight, trenchcoat wrapped tightly aroundyou, although the night is not cold. You are so tiny you look

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like you could be broken with one hand, although I would nevertell you that, but there is steel in you, Scully. You lookstunning. Christ, you look like you should be holding a flamingsword and proclaiming holy vengeance on the unrighteous.

I refuse. I refuse to lie down and die. I refuse to give themwhat they want. Somewhere deep inside, I feel it stirring in thewasteland...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 gulfbetween us in a conciliatory gesture. My avenging angeldisappears, and there you are, tender, gentle, small again...butfor a second I see the feathers of your wings, tipped with gold,dazzling in the light of an invisible sun, reflected in thewater at your back. I want to tell you to turn and look at yourreflection, to show you what I see. Don't you see, Scully?

"Come on, Mulder. Let me take you home."

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I turn to you, watch you for a second as you concentrate on theroad ahead, exquisite, patrician in profile. Your hands aregripping the wheel tightly, too tightly, your knuckles white. Irealize that you lost as much as me tonight. Like the self-absorbed bastard that I am, I didn't stop to think that youmight be clinging to me to keep from going under, as much as tooffer me comfort. We are on a package tour through the circlesof hell, but at least we are together. You have as much investedin the X-files as me, if not more. They became as personal foryou as they were for me. You too have had your Samanthas.

We stop for a light, but you do not relax, holding yourself asif your physical rigidity might be enough to keep you fromflying apart. I wonder how long you spent driving around DClooking for me.

"Scully..." My hand covering yours on the wheel. "Scully, pullover 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 deadquiet at this time of night, for which small mercy I am

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thankful. I step out of the car and make my way round to yourside. 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 almostmilitary, 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 yourshoulders in my hands. We stand, together, anchoring each otherto earth.

"I'm sorry, Scully. Not everything is about me."

You look up, examining my face with that searchlight gaze, andthen sigh, letting your taut muscles relax, your head bowing

forwards a little as though it's too heavy for you. I know thatyou still won't take that step towards me, though, not after theway I stood like so much dead wood in your arms earlier. This isup to me, so I pull you towards me and hold you, hungrily,tightly, crushing you to me. Your arms go around me and youembrace me just as hard. This need I have to be as close to youas humanly possible, to draw you into me and feel your bloodpulsing in your veins...this is not about my desire for you.This is about being alive, Scully. We are alive and we are stillstanding.

Years later, you pull away, and I let you go, sensing that youhave something to say. I have the courtesy to pretend I don'tsee the tear tracks on your face, just as you are good enough toignore the sudden trembling of my 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 Inod, biting down hard on my lip until I can taste the salt andmetal of my blood, because I don't trust myself to answer that.

"Mulder? We both know whose work this was, and I want you toknow...next time I see that son of a bitch, I'm gonna pull outmy Sig and show him that what they say about women with big gunsis absolutely true."

A tiny half-smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. Graveyardhumor, maybe, but I'll take it. "Enlighten me. What do they sayabout women with big guns, Agent Scully?"

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"Why, that you should never, never piss them off, of course,Agent Mulder," you reply demurely, your eyes glinting in thehalf-light.

"Amen, Scully," I murmur, impulsively grabbing your hand andplanting a quick kiss on the back of it. "Amen."

You arch one perfect eyebrow at me, and then say gently, "Let'sgo home, Mulder."

I acquiesce, unable in this moment to deny you anything. I diedtonight, but nothing ever really ends. I have come back from thedead once again to continue on with you. We step out of the poolof light cast by the streetlight. Although we have grown used toinhabiting the shadow world, we are not its natives. We standpoised, one foot in the darkness, but you...you keep us with onefoot 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