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Title: Pity Scully POV; set during the final hospital scene in 'Emily'
I heard him enter the room a moment ago. I know that he is standing behind me, now, staring. At me. At Emily. At the sad reflection of a child who is dying merely to fulfill some *stupid* plan. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the tears to go away. I've cried enough, already, and besides...I know it's pointless, but for some reason, I don't want Mulder to see the tears. I don't want him to worry –god knows he does enough of *that* already!- and I don't want him to pity me. I know that he pities this child, that he pities this whole mess that we've gotten ourselves into. I don't want to be added to that list. He moves to the window, standing next to me, but remains quiet. I know that he's waiting for me to start talking, that he wants to let me say whatever I need to. I'm touched. It's not often nowadays that someone is considerate to me. I want to say something, to break the silence, but I can't find the words. How do you say something this horrible? "She's gone into a coma." The words come out in a rush, and immediately I know that I was too blunt. Mulder looks around, as if by looking he can find the words to say, the affirmations to make everything better. He can't. I know it. He looks me, with a sad look etched into his features. He looks almost *guilty*, somehow, as though he is letting me down with his silence. I shake my head, ever so slightly, and try to reassure him. "I'm okay, Mulder. It's what's meant to be." Mulder doesn't look convinced. He gives me one of his patented *looks*, half-confusion, half-sorrow. "But if you could treat her..." I cut him off before he can say anymore. I don't want to think about that, don't want to hope in vain. I shake my head. "I wouldn't. I wouldn't do it to her." Mulder tilts his head slightly, a gesture people do when they are sympathizing. I want to hit him. *STOP feeling sorry for me!* He speaks. His tone is soft, so gentle that I want to cry. "Are you sure? " I swear, that man can see right through me. He knows that I'm lying. I try to nod, try to answer to the affirmative, but I can't. What does he think?!?!? If I could treat her...If I could save her...If I could adopt her...If I could love her… There are too many "if's", and now is not the time to dwell on them. I divert his question, trying to explain myself instead of answering. It's like debate class in college, Dana Scully up at the podium arguing her hardest for a case she doesn't even believe in. "Mulder, whoever brought this child into this world... didn't intend to love her." Just saying it makes hot tears spring up into my eyes. No child should *ever* be like that. It's not fair. Especially Emily, especially MY daughter...if she *had* been mine, like she should have been, she would have been loved. I swear it. She would never have been tested and re- tested, experimented on like a lab rat. A nagging voice in the back of my mind corrects me. *If she had been mine, she would never have existed.* I brush it away with a firm thought, reiterating what I've already stated. *If she had been mine, she would have been loved.* Instead, she's here, dying in a cold hospital bed. She's never truly been loved; you can't love an invention, a creation. My mind screams at me, even as I am thinking this. *I can!* Luckily, before this train of thought can go any further, the sound of Mulder's voice interrupts my musings. "I think she was born to... serve an agenda." He almost sounds as though he's fishing for a reason, for an excuse...something, *anything* to reassure me. Almost. It *almost* sounds like that...but deep down inside, I know that what he is saying is true. It's true...and it's *wrong*. I swallow back my tears, and turn to him. "I have a chance to stop that. You were right. This child... was not meant to be." There is a long pause. I know that Mulder is allowing me my silence, giving me a chance to take back what I've just said. I silently thank him for that, but my words remain, hanging between us like a barrier. He nods, almost imperceptibly. "All right. I'll stay with you." He slids his hand up my back, resting it on my shoulder, pulling me closer to him. His words break the barrier, send the glass and crystal planes of my emotions crashing to the floor. All the things that I've been trying to avoid –guilt, hope, love- all come flooding in at me. They surround me, encircle me, and I feel like I am going to cry again, feel like I'm going to drown in my own need. I NEED Mulder to be here for me, I NEED him to care. Nobody else seems to care about Emily, nobody else is doing anything to save this little girl's life. I need to know that HE cares, that HE'LL be there for me when she is not. I need him to, but I can't let my guard down, can't become weak...Emily needs me to be strong, and in a way, so does Mulder. As much as I need him, at this time, they both need me more. But why is he being so nice about it? Dammit, why couldn't he have just turned and left? In that moment, I panic. My response is instant, and it comes out sounding a lot harsher than I meant for it to. "I think I'd like to be alone." He looks at me, and I know that he is hurt, but he turns and leaves, complying with my wishes. As soon as he leaves the room, I feel harsh sobs begin to rack my body, but I blink my eyes and will them away. I am not going to cry. I am going to be strong. For Mulder, who needs to know that I am not going to give up, that I am not going to let these men –whoever they are- beat me. For Emily, lying in the bed in front of me, as cold and lifeless as stone. And... for me.
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