Title: Friday
Author: Eral C.
Written: August 2001
Category: Scully angst. Possible S9 scenario. Very short, won't take up too much of your valuable time.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Credit goes to Gillian Anderson, David Duchovny, Chris Carter, 1013 and FOX. I earn a paltry wage and can't afford to be sued ;)

Summary: "She's not fine, she's nowhere near fine, she's never been less fine in her life..."

Author's note:: I wrote this after reading the possible spoilers for S9. I *really* hope this isn't how TPTB choose to deal with DD's absence in S9 but it got into my head anyway... Additional notes at the end.

 


When she goes to work, she's fine. When she picks up the baby from her mother's house, she's fine. She wonders when 'I'm fine' stopped being a response to a question and became a reflex. She's not fine, she's nowhere near fine, she's never been less fine in her life. He would know she wasn't fine, he always knew - but he's gone, he's the reason she's "fine".

She let him go, they agreed that he had to go, just for a while, until everything was calm again and he could take them all away, start finally living. Calm *again*? Was it ever calm? She doesn't remember. She remembers him leaving and she wishes now that she'd thrown herself to her knees and begged him to stay, pleaded with him not to leave her alone again, not to leave her to raise their son without him. She cried, sobbed, but she didn't beg. She clung to his hand, felt tears streaming down her face, but she didn't plead. No, she let him go.

Their son sleeps with a picture of his father beside his crib. She wants it to be the last thing he sees before sleeping and the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes. She prays that he won't forget his father although she knows it's unrealistic, knows that a baby of his age has no chance of remembering someone who isn't there constantly. That makes her cry, the thought of her son not knowing his father when he returns.

On the bad days, she can hardly stand to look into her baby's face, into the eyes that somehow remind her of everything she has and everything she doesn't have all at the same time. On the worst days, she is angry and she wishes her son wasn't around, wishes that she could turn back the clock to a time when things were easy for them. Then she realises that hindsight is 20/20 and that things were never easy. *Easier* maybe, but never easy. She knows that, with no baby in the picture, she would have gone with him. He would have protested but she would have won and they would be together now, wherever he is. She gets more angry and she blames her son, then him, then herself, until she runs out of suitable candidates. She wonders why fate seems to conspire against their happiness.

Each night, as their son sleeps, she stares out at the stars and she makes a wish, the same wish. She doesn't sleep, she tosses and turns in between feeds and wonders with a hint of a smile how he could possibly have left her with his insomnia as a parting gift. She has a recurring dream where she is walking down a long road and she can see him standing at the end, waiting for her. He doesn't move but even as she gets faster and more determined to reach him, she never does, instead waking up feeling lost and hopeless.

She prays. Just like she prayed for his return last year, then for his soul after they found his body and finally for his recovery when he was miraculously brought back to her. This time she prays for his safety, she begs for his return and she pleads for the strength to get through another night without him.

He calls every Friday, without fail, always at seven, when he knows his son will be settled and she will be able to talk. Each week, her heart breaks a little more and she fears that one day it will shatter completely, sending tiny splinters across the floor. She struggles valiantly against tears as she picks up the phone, desperate to hear his voice. Sometimes she makes it to 'I love you' before her throat tightens and her voice cracks, sometimes she barely gets beyond 'Hello'. She inevitably loses the battle before the conversation is over and berates herself silently as the tears drip from the end of her chin.

She never tells him she's fine, she's honest with him now, she can't have it any other way anymore. He tells her he misses her but that each time he closes his eyes, he can see her, almost as though she is standing right in front of him. She tells him that she needs him, but that if she concentrates hard enough, she can feel him near, almost as if he is touching her. They talk about the baby, she tells him how like his father he has become, how she almost feels like she's looking into *his* eyes when she looks into the eyes of their son. He doesn't tell her where he is and she doesn't ask, although part of her hopes he isn't too far away, that maybe he has caught a glimpse of them occasionally. It makes her feel better to imagine that his eyes have been on her, even just once since he left. She knows how unlikely that is though, knows that he wouldn't leave only to take such risks, for barely a glance.

She hopes that there is a Friday not too far away when the phone won't ring, when she won't have to battle against the urge to tell him that she can't stand it any longer, can't go on another day without him. She wants a Friday where she is curled up beside him on the couch, their son sleeping peacfully, unthreatened. Each Friday that passes sees her heart sinking a little more, her hopes fading slightly and her strength wavering. She doesn't want to hear the shrill ring of the phone, she wants to hear steady footsteps in the hallway followed by a soft knock on the door. She wants to open the door, reach for him and kiss him until he can't breathe.

As she wakes up alone on Friday, she prays, she hopes and she waits.

END


Try as I might, I can't think of a single reason for Mulder to disappear so that is the reason for the lack of explanation for his absence in this story. I'm sorry if that bothered anyone too much but, like I said, it makes no sense to me...

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