From: Elizabeth Ledford To: Subject: Re: My fan fic-need to add a warning Date: Friday, November 02, 2001 1:25 AM That would be great. This is the updated copy. Thanks! Elizabeth Title: Silent Prayer Author: Phillis Padgett Rating: NC-17 for sex and violence Category: A, MSR, Character Death Disclaimer: They aren't mine which is probably a good thing. :) They belong to CC and co. I don't own "Dreamcathcer" by Secret Garden either. It is a beautiful piece that provides wonderful mood music for this fic. I apologize in advance if any of the lyrics are incorrect. Archiving: Anywhere, just let me know. Summary: What would have happened if Mulder never returned from the dead and if 'they' had taken Scully's baby? Spoilers: Tons. Especially Never Again, En Ami, Requiem, and most of Season 8. Feedback: Any feedback is welcome. :) phillispadgett@hotmail.com *WARNING*WARNING*WARNING*-This is not a happy fic and can be violent. There is infanticide in this fic although it is not graphic and very brief. Some may find this disturbing. If you do, please do not read this. ************************************************************ Hear my silent prayer. Heed my quiet call. When the darkened blue surround you. Step into my sigh. Look inside the light. You will know that I have found you. ************************************************************ A mother should be with her child. I believed that when I discovered Emily, and I believe that now. This has been one hell of a fight; one would think I would be used to that now. All my life I have struggled...struggled with my goals, struggled with building my career, struggled with being a woman in a man's profession, in a man's world. And because of these struggles, I have learned to cope. I learned to cope with my sister's death, cancer, the inability to have children, and recently, the death of the only man I have ever loved. I try to be strong. I try. When we first became lovers, it was like nothing I had ever imagined. I was terrified, but completely thrilled at the same time. We had been fighting.... ************************************************************ Ahhh...another beautiful Friday in the basement. Isn't life grand? If he slams that file drawer one more time, I may scream. "Mulder, is something wrong?" Slam "Do you need help finding something?" Slam "Damn it, Mulder. What the hell is your problem?" "You really want to know, Scully?" "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't." I can already tell this is going to be a fun morning. What can possibly be so bad that he has to throw this little temper tantrum? I wonder what fragile balance in the world of Mulder I have upset. "Nothing. Nothing is wrong. So what did you do last night?" Was he diagnosed with a manic mood disorder and didn't bother to tell me? First he is slamming things around; now he is Mr. Sweetness. It is rather unnerving. "Not much. Why?" "Well, let me tell you about my night. I sat in front of a house for six hours while you were out having the time of your life. I tried to call you to remind you that we had to work. We were supposed to watch Ms. Briscoe because she can change shapes? Maybe you forgot. I can't imagine why a fun night like that with me would slip your mind. Maybe you were to busy doing something else or should I say someone else?" What did he just say? "Excuse me, Mulder?" "You heard what I said, Scully. You need to get your priorities straight." "What? Mulder, what the hell are you talking about?" "Have you forgotten already? Well then, let me remind you. He was about 5'11, with light brown hair, medium complexion, and was still at your apartment when I drove by this morning to tell you about the stakeout you missed. I saw him last night when I came by to see if you were still alive since you didn't answer your cell or home phone. I was a little surprised that you were clinging to him in the middle of the street like you were. Were you drinking, Scully? No probably not. I've seen what happens when you drink. You usually have bruises and self-inflicted body mutilations the next day, so I know you weren't drunk. Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed yourself, but next time you want to get laid, do it when we don't have to work." I wonder how stupid I look with my jaw hanging open like it is. I can't believe he just said that to me. That son of a bitch. "I.......I.......you........" Well, it appears I have forgotten how to talk. "You know, Scully, he didn't really even seem your type. You usually go for the tattooed, novel-writing psychos that try to kill you. Maybe he didn't try to kill you because you actually knew him for more than a few hours before you slept with him, but knowing your track record, I am not so sure." I'm not even aware I am walking across the office until I am standing directly in front of Mulder. I still haven't said anything, and he staring at me with this sanctimonious, condescending smirk. That needs to change. SMACK!!!! My hand connected with his face before I could stop it, and he and I are both momentarily stunned by my actions. Through all my life and with as many assholes as I have had to deal with, I don't think I have ever slapped anyone. My stupor disappears, and I am suddenly very, VERY angry. If I stay here any longer, I am likely to do more than slap him. His face at this moment will be memorable to me forever. His eyes are wide, surprised that I actually hit him. I think I even see a little fear behind the shocked disbelief of my actions. He knows he went to far this time, and he will begin to panic soon. I need to leave. Without saying a word, I get my coat and purse, and walk out of the door. He waits until eight that night to come to my apartment. Maybe he was too afraid to come earlier; maybe he was hoping my temper would cool down. If he was hoping for the latter, he is shit out of luck. I think I am more pissed off now than I was when I left. I have had close to nine hours to think about what he said, and the longer I thought about it, the more I realized that he was acting like a jealous boyfriend. Mulder was jealous of this man. Hell, he was jealous of the "tattooed, novel-writing psychos." I suppose I should have been delighted since his jealousy proves that he wants me, but it doesn't delight me. It makes me even angrier. If he wanted to say "Scully, I secretly love you and want to jump your bones," he should have. Or maybe he could have even bought me flowers. Accusing me of being a whore wasn't the way to get me to reciprocate his feelings. I could be off base here, but I don't think I am. Anyway, the knock came shortly after eight. I contemplated not opening the door, but he would use his key. I got up and opened the door. Mulder was standing in the doorway with his head down, his hands in the pocket of his jeans, and was fidgeting. He barely looked in my eyes when he softly asked if he could come in. I should say no and slam the door. But he has a key. Why did I give him that damn key? I move aside so he can enter my apartment. He goes into my living room but keeps his back to me. "Who was that man, Scully?" His voice is soft, asking for forgiveness without saying the words. I want the words. "Well, Mulder," I say in an equally placating voice, "that is none of your goddamn business." He turns abruptly, taken back by my use of a blasphemous vulgarity. He has never seen me truly angry, so he doesn't know what to expect. He is about to find out. "What the hell gives you the right to treat me like you treated me in the office today? I am not your girlfriend or your wife. You have no right to be defensive over whom I choose to sleep with. If I want to sleep with a complete stranger, it is none of your business. In fact if I want to fuck every man in the Washington area, you have no right to be pissed and act like a jealous asshole. I am not your property, Mulder. I am your partner not your lover, and I will be damned if I put up with shit like this from you." Hmmm....He isn't saying anything. Now it is his turn to be stunned silent. Maybe I should get a few more things off my chest before I start screaming at him. "Well, Mulder, since you started this brutally frank conversation, what would you like to hear about last night? Would you like to hear how good this man was in bed? Maybe you would like to hear about my wonderful multiple orgasms. In fact, maybe I should tell you about what all happened with Ed Jerse. I wonder if you think so lowly of me to wonder if I slept with CGB Spender when I went on my little excursion with him. He didn't kill me either. Maybe it is because I 'knew him for more than a few hours'." Before I could blink, Mulder has stalked across the room, grabbed my upper arms, and slammed me into the door. "Shut the fuck up, Scully." His voice is low and deadly. His grip is painful. I am more than a little afraid, and I can feel tears starting to form in the back of my eyes. "No, you aren't my girlfriend, or my wife." As he speaks, his right hand slides up my arm and tangles into my hair. He jerks my head back hard, forcing me to look into his eyes. His tall, lanky frame looms over me, intimidating me, and he leans in close to my face. "And you aren't my lover...but that can change." His lips descend on mine in a kiss that doesn't speak of love but of possession and empowerment. With the force of his kiss, he is trying to erase the thought and touch of other men. He pulls back and looks in my eyes. All I see in his are lust and barely restrained fury. I am sure mine reflect the same. Out of spite and annoyance at his audacity, I slap him again, but I cannot control my baser impulses for long. I grab the front material of his t-shirt and pull him back down to kiss him again. He tastes of blood. Maybe I hit him a little too hard. Maybe it's because our kisses are closer to bites. Right now, I don't care. His hands slide to the front of my shirt and rip it open. For some reason, I find that sound...delicious. He pulls away from my face and attacks my neck with a furor usually only shown to the most interesting x files. I will have bruises tomorrow. When he reaches my bra-clad breasts, he removes the scrap of boring white cotton with the same finesse he used to dispose of my blouse. He trails his calloused fingers lightly over my areolas before pinching my nipples. When I gasp, his face contorts to a purely evil grin. He falls to his knees and latches on to my left nipple. The warmth of his mouth is intense and soon I cannot contain the moans that develop low in my throat. He moves his mouth up further, closer to my chest and bites hard, marking me as his. It hurts like hell, but I don't want him to stop. I don't think I have ever been more turned on in my life. He kisses, licks, and bites his way back up to my lips while his hands squeeze my breasts possessively and begin to wander lower. I can feel him fumble with the button of my dress pants, and I realize that I haven't released my hands from the death grip I have on his shirt. I slide my hands to his jeans and work on the fly of his pants. After he finishes unfastening my slacks, he slaps my hands away from his jeans and removes my pants and panties. The only clothing left on my body is the tattered remains of my bra and blouse. Mulder stops for a moment and rakes his gaze over my body. He looks as if he could swallow me whole. He rips the fly of his jeans open and, in one fluid motion, wraps my legs around his waist. He looks into my eyes before he roughly slams into my body. His size causes me to cry out, and he quickly realizes that I did not sleep with the man from last night. He cuts his gaze to mine, and the fury that was in his eyes is now replaced with panic. I raise my hands from his shoulder, cup his face, and gently kiss his lips. What started out as rough and vicious has rapidly changed to inflamed and passionate. He captures my eyes again and begins to move slowly. My ass is thumping against the door with every thrust, and I am sure I will have splinters. This must be heaven. Mulder begins to move faster, gripping my hips harder, as his orgasm approaches. I can feel my own begin to coil in my stomach, and my body begins to tense from my curled toes to my wrinkled forehead. I manage to cry, "Muh.." before I can no longer think. The world goes black for a moment as I am lost in a wave of sensation, and when I slowly come back to reality, I feel Mulder's teeth in my shoulder as he tries to contain the scream he is releasing while he comes. He stills, and after a moment, we begin to slide to the floor. He pulls me close to him and smothers himself in my embrace. "Mulder?" My voice is barely a whisper. At the sound of his name though, he buries his face even deeper into my hair; he holds me a little tighter. So softly that I almost miss it, he speaks. "I'm sorry, Scully." And he is. I know he is. I run my fingers soothingly through his hair and wonder if I should tell him or let him suffer. "That man..." "I don't want to know, Scully. You're right. It is none of my business." " I know I am right." Well, I am. "Mulder, the man you saw last night...that was Charlie....my brother. He came to visit and stayed too late to drive back to mom's, and I just forgot about the stakeout." He lifts his eyes to mine, and his astonishment is written completely over his face. As he remembers his words and his demeaning attitude from this morning, his expression is replaced with one of extreme guilt and regret. "Scully, I am so.....so sorry. I don't even know where to begin. I am such an asshole." "Yes, you are." "I don't even know what to say..." "Don't say anything. I know you are sorry." I trail my fingertips over his cheekbones and look deep into his eyes. It is as if I can see into his soul. I lean forward and kiss him with all the love and tenderness I can. He knows that he is forgiven. "Why don't we take this somewhere more comfortable? Maybe to my bedroom?" When I stand up, Mulder does also before removing the ragged remnants of my blouse. I take his hand and lead him to the bedroom. We don't leave for the rest of the night. ************************************************************ Our relationship was brief but wonderful. I had loved him for seven years before I finally told him and before he told me. Then he was taken. Skinner told me what happened, and although I hoped, I think that deep down inside I knew he wasn't coming back, at least not alive. That was the day I discovered I was pregnant. I knew then that I had to find him. There was no other choice. But I did find him.....dead. That wasn't how it was supposed to be. He was supposed to be returned like I was. No recollection of what happened. Just a magical appearance in a hospital. Most importantly he was supposed to have a pulse. He was supposed to breathe. He was supposed to smile at me and pretend to have amnesia. He wasn't supposed to be found in the middle of the goddamn woods naked....mutilated...bruised....tortured....decimated....dead. I have never asked God for much, but I wanted this. I just wanted this one thing. I wanted him to show up on my doorstep, dazed and confused. I wanted him to see his child, to watch his son grow, to teach him to play basketball. Goddamnit, I wanted him ALIVE! I think I died the day we buried him. The only reason I continued to eat and sleep was for the baby. His baby. I didn't feel a will to live until the first time the baby moved. When he did, I cried. I was so happy I burst into tears in the middle of the x files office. Luckily for me, Doggett wasn't in the room. I think that was the first time I smiled in months. Hope began to rebuild in me until they came for my baby. They wanted my child. They had already taken my sister, years off of my life, and Mulder. There was no way in hell they would take my baby. I was hiding in Georgia, and had just gone into labor when they showed up. Agent Reyes did her best to keep them away from my son and me, but as soon as he was completely birthed, they swarmed. Reyes tried. She really did, but there were too many, and they were too strong. I was so weak that I couldn't move and couldn't see what was happening, but I could still hear. I heard Monica fighting with them, furniture knocked over, objects on tables falling to the floor. I heard Monica's screams as they overpowered her and took my child. I heard the gun shot that was used to kill her, and I heard the wailing cries of my baby. Then I heard the gun shot that was used to stop the cries of my son. I never even got to hold him. They must have left shortly after I fainted. It has been three weeks since I buried my son next to his father, and I have been allowed to return home. Now, here I sit. Relaxing in my bathtub, drinking a fine bottle of wine, writing this. This has been one hell of a fight, and I didn't win it. I don't want to struggle anymore, and I can't cope with this. I may be strong, but even steel can break. I have shattered. A mother should be with her children, and I want to be with mine. If you read this, I am sorry, mom. Dana ************************************************************ Scully was supposed to have been in Skinner's office this morning around nine to discuss if she would be returning to work. I am desperately hoping she will. I don't think I can handle the x files by myself. When Skinner calls me at 9:30 to say Scully hasn't shown, I try to reach her at home and on her cell phone. No luck. I am getting a bad feeling about this. The hairs on the back of my neck are standing on end, and I can tell something isn't right. I leave a message with Skinner telling him I am going to her house. After the short drive, I arrive at her apartment and knock on the door. Again, no answer. After a flash of my badge, her landlord lets me into the apartment. "Stay here. Don't come in." The landlord looks a little scared, but he nods. "Agent Scully? It's Agent Doggett. Are you here?" Nothing. My guts are screaming that this is bad. Real bad. I pull my gun from its holster and cautiously make my way through her apartment. The ominous silence that lingers in the air is deafening. When I find myself in front of her bathroom door, I notice it is slightly ajar, and the light is on. "Agent Scully?" I nudge the door enough to see red spotting the tile. When the door is completely open, my heart sinks as I absorb the tableau in front of my eyes. There is a journal beside the bathtub, a shattered wineglass that fell from lifeless, red coated fingers, and a blood soaked scalpel on the soap dish. She is in the water, her head half submerged. She doesn't move. She never will again. I close the door to the bathroom and leave her in her finally found peace. ************************************************************