Title: Survivors Note: you may notice some similarities between this fic and "Always Running" but they have nothing to do with each other I just happened to really like those snippets and decided to use them again. Summary: "How could you tell the one person you'd pledged your life to that you'd given up on them?" In the end, he'd only wound up searching for her for six months. He had no way of knowing how long he'd been unconscious in the woods with the others, but judging by his hunger and the condition of his body, it couldn't have been more than twenty-four hours. His first jumbled, hazy thoughts had been of her - where is she, is she hurt, is she alive - before he realized that she was safe at home in Washington. He'd failed to consider when he'd left her the previous morning that, if extraterrestrials would travel millions of light years across the galaxy, it would make no difference to them that their target was on the opposite coast of one tiny nation. The others were just as confused as he was and could offer no explanations as to how they'd come to be in their present location or what had happened to them during their individual periods of missing time. Some of them he recognized from his last case, knew how long ago and under what circumstances they'd disappeared. Others, he knew nothing of and could only guess. They all walked out of the woods and onto the main road together - they'd figured that, because they couldn't see anything under the thick cover of the trees, it must be approaching either sun rise or sun set. When they emerged from underneath the foliage and looked at the sky, they realized that they had been wrong. The sky was faintly orange with black particles floating in the air - ash. The smell of burning flesh and wood floated down to them. He knew right then that leaving her had been a mistake. He would never give up, or at least he told himself he never would. There were cars for the taking, if one didn't mind them not having an engine or a battery or gas. There were roads for the walking if one didn't mind stepping over charred bodies. No planes, no trains No way to get home, but he found a way to get there anyway. Once back on the East Coast, he went to what had once been the nation's capitol and was greeted by what he'd bid farewell to on the West Coast and he knew that she was likely dead. It was probable that only he and the others from the woods survived; they were taken so that their lives could continue. Once, late at night, as they'd sat eating unbuttered popcorn on his couch, he'd promised her that if this ever happened, he'd find her, if only so that he could have a place to be buried himself. He did not break his promises. The months were long and tedious, filled with hard work from dawn until dusk. He and the others tried to stick together as much as possible, forming their own little community, as it were, and did what they could to survive. They hunted, fished, made their own clothes and houses, and grew their own vegetables. It was odd, though, that there was an exactly equal number of men and women among the survivors and, with their families and friends dead and missing, they consoled each other through their mourning in the most primitive of ways. There was one woman, named Holley, who had short auburn hair and bright blue eyes. She was young and attentive to him, always coming to check on him when he woke up screaming in the middle of the night and never asking him who the people were that he chased in his sleep. It was almost as if she knew that if he ever started talking about them, he'd never stop. He'd let his grief drown him until there was no hope of him pulling himself up and living through another day. Over time, he began to lose hope that he would ever find her. He had searched for his sister for twenty-seven long, frustrating years before learning that she was dead from almost the beginning. The pain and futility still lingered heavily in his mind and he didn't know if he could stand to be disappointed yet again when he found her ashen body where her apartment building had once been, knowing that it was his choice that put her there instead of him. He never stopped searching; he merely began to do so passively. If information somehow made its way to him, he would pursue it, but he would not go seeking it out. He would keep waiting for her to come walking down one of the roads one day, healthy and whole. He missed her. He loved her. He had to move on with his life. If one was technical, one could call it an accident that he found her at all; an accident that he would regret for many long nights ahead. They'd discovered some vegetables missing from their garden one day. After chasing the thieves away, he and the other men had followed them into some sort of underground structure. After a heated discussion tinged with fear and excitement, he and the others realized that they weren't the only ones left after all. Others had known what was coming as well and had been summoned together so that they would survive, like he and his companions did. They established trust with the new survivors quickly and by the end of the day, had been invited to move underground; the two communities meshed seamlessly into one. One of the new party was very ill and had been for a while. Some days, they'd said, she'd be up before any of them, cooking and working. Some days, she wouldn't get up at all, clutching at her swollen stomach and writhing in pain. The other underground dwellers took turns taking care of her on such days. She was valuable, they'd explained; she was their doctor. He didn't even give that statement a second thought. Over a hastily prepared feast, much like the Pilgrims and Indians must've shared on the first Thanksgiving, he'd mused, they'd all heard her moan from the other side of a tightly closed bedroom door and gone silent, looking at each other in confusion and helplessness. One of the older women got up and walked into the room with some food, shaking her head and sighing exhaustedly "Dana," they'd heard her whisper "You need to eat. You haven't eaten all day, the baby's hungry. Come on, sit up. You need to eat. You need to at least try." At the mention of that long forgotten - no, not forgotten, un- thought of - name, his head snapped up and he dropped his fork, the pieces of the puzzle clicking together quickly in his mind. As the old woman emerged from the room, he met her at the door "May I see her?" he asked urgently, needing to know if it was true. The woman looked at him with tired eyes "She needs to rest, son. She should be better tomorrow. We have a little first aid kit she put together if -" "No," he said in a low voice edged with impatience, "I need to see her I think...I think I can help her." After a moment, the woman nodded and opened the door again, allowing him to follow her inside. The sick woman lay there on the single bed in front of the fire place, curled into a tiny, fetal ball around her much too small for seven months stomach. "She's had a fever most of the day," the woman whispered "She's burning up now, I think she may be hallucinating. She won't eat or drink anything even though I try to tell her it would be good for her baby. I don't even think she cares, to tell you the truth." Mulder looked at the woman with hard, pain-filled eyes. How she was pregnant was beyond him, but she certainly cared about her baby. The woman left him alone in the room with her, not saying another word. He took off his heavy boots by the door, walking soundlessly across the bare wooden floor to kneel beside her bed and trying not to block the minimal heat to her from the fire. Pushing her sweat-slicked hair back from her reddened cheeks and forehead, he leaned in close and whispered against her skin, "Scully..." She moaned and shifted under the heavy covers, her lips working to voice unheard syllables. "Scully," he whispered again. "Open your eyes. It's me, Scully. Open your eyes and look at me." "Mulder?" she asked groggily, licking her dry lips. He almost smiled for the first time in six months. "Yeah. Open your eyes and look at me, Scully, please. Just for a second." She shifted again, placing a hand on her stomach and squinting her eyes in pain Fascinated, horrified, perplexed and excited, he covered her hand with his, the blankets the only barrier between them. Slowly, her glassy eyes blinked open, having difficulty focusing on his face in the flickering light "Mulder?" she asked again, trying to sit up. "Mulder? Oh, God, Mulder Mulder." "Shh, lay back down. You're sick, Scully, you need to rest." "Mulder?" "Yeah, I'm here. It's okay I'm here," he soothed. "Where've you been?" He struggled not to repeat the question to her. "Oregon, remember? But I'm back now." She nodded, struggling to keep her heavy eye lids open. "Stay with me," she breathed. "I will I won't leave you, not again." He lay his head beside her, wondering if he could feel her baby move through the fabric. He thought she fell into sleep after that, but as he rested his head against her stomach and relaxed for the first time since he'd left her, her hand snuck out from under the covers to stroke his hair. "Mulder?" "Hmm?" he moaned, almost asleep himself. "I thought I'd never see you again," she slurred. "I told you I'd find you, didn't I?" "Yeah." A pause. "Mulder?" He opened his eyes and looked at her "What, Scully?" "Do you want a girl? I think it's a girl." "What?" he asked slowly, sitting up again and leaning his forehead against hers, feeling too much heat off of her. "Do you want a little girl?" she said again, like it was the most natural question in the world. "How, Scully?" "I don't know." He took a deep breath, suddenly very cold "And it's...it's mine?" Blinking her eyes open, she looked at him like she thought he was joking. "Who else's would it be?" "Oh my God, Scully." And he felt very guilty for only passively looking for her. "I love you, Mulder. I didn't think I'd ever see you again," she repeated. He lay his head between her breasts and stomach as small, hot tears began to slide out of his eyes. "I love you, too, Scully," he whispered into the blankets. She smiled dreamily "Don't leave." "I won't." And he didn't until the next morning. When he finally emerged from her bedroom just after sun up, Holley was still sleeping on the couch in the living room/den and the old woman who'd taken care of Scully last night was stirring a pot of something on the stove. "How is she?" she asked, not looking up at him. "Her fever's gone down and she's asleep." "Any nightmares?" "No," he said after a hesitation. "She has them often, during her fevers, mostly. Sometimes, she ends up huddled in a corner until day light; we can't coax her out." He covered his face with his hands, struggling not to cry again. He'd lain awake beside Scully all night, crying for all he'd missed in her life - and the life of his daughter - over the past six months and for the life that he had now, a life that didn't include either of them. "Of course, she wouldn't keep getting sick if she'd stay inside more often," the woman continued. "Some nights, she never even comes inside. She sleeps out there - once, we didn't see her for almost a week. We don't know where she goes, but we know she likes to go alone." "It's too cold for her to be doing that," he said softly, staring at his socked feet. "She's stubborn and she won't listen to anyone. I wouldn't mind it so much if it were just her, but she has that baby to worry about, too. She doesn't act like she cares about it, though." He nodded, for the second time hearing those words "What do you mean?" "It's obvious that she doesn't want to have that baby. I guess I could understand that, what with the world the way it is," she paused, swallowed, then started again, "but she doesn't have much of a choice now and you'd think a doctor would take better care of herself. Even if she didn't want the baby, we'd take care of it. It deserves a chance just like the rest of us." How could she not want this, he thought. Do I want this? Yes I do. Taking a deep breath, he walked over to Holley and sat down on the floor beside the couch, shaking her slightly to wake her. "Hey," she murmured once awake. "Are you okay?" "Yeah. Tired." She smiled slightly "I was waiting for you. We have our own room - private." The excitement leached into her voice and made his stomach twist into a knot. "It's Scully," he said simply. "She's here." Sitting up, her eyes went wide. "What?" "Scully's here, she's the one who's sick." "She's pregnant?" His head bobbed up and down, numb. "You said she was dead," she whispered so that the old woman won't hear. "I thought she was - I thought that everyone was. I just assumed, but it makes sense. The only thing I can figure is that she was called here by the chips in her necks to be saved -" "Fox, what are you talking about?" He made his decision quickly, standing and covering her with the blanket "I'm leaving," he said. "What? Fox -" "Keep your voice down." He looked over his shoulder, listening for sounds that Scully was awake "I'm leaving I can't...I can't be here." "Fox! That's crazy, you can't survive on your own!" Staring down at her, he realized that he almost didn't need to keep his eyes closed when he was with her. He could've just pretended with his eyes open and been careful not to call her by the wrong name. "She won't remember that I was here, she was delusional last night from her fever. When she wakes up, don't tell her that I was here, okay? Promise me you won't tell her," he commanded, shaking her slightly with the vehemence of his words. Mouth hanging open, she nodded. "Tell the others, too. She can't know I was here." Her eyes followed him as he walked out the door to their complex, cold November air leaching in after him. She's learned not to argue with him when he gets like this. Scully felt well enough that morning to join the others for breakfast and, after meeting their new companions, was more convinced than ever that Mulder was not ever coming back, despite his promise Holley had done her job; Billy, Teresa, and the others from Oregon had steadfastly denied that they had seen Mulder after they'd awoken in the woods and she believed them simply because she was too tired to believe anything else. The meal was eaten in silence until one of the original members of Scully's group spoke up and started asking questions "Dana, were you married?" She'd not been secretive about her past, but she didn't offer up any unsolicited information, either No one had ever asked and she had never told "No." His eyes darted around to everyone else's, who all knew the secret by now. "So, who's the, uh, father of your baby?" She fixed him with an icy glare and he sat back, not breathing again until she looked away. "I know it's hard to talk about our pasts, Dana, but it might help." She'd had a dream about him last night, but she dreamed of him often. He'd come back to her and she'd told him that he was a father. He'd sounded happy and told her that he wouldn't leave her again. When she woke up, he was gone. It was always difficult to recall her dreams of him and she often ended up in silent tears for days as she worked; this morning, she couldn't talk about him. She simply shook her head instead, stood up, and said in a shaking voice, "I'm going for a walk." "He was here," he said simply. "Mulder, isn't that his name? He was here last night, but he left this morning and told us not to tell you I didn't think it was right, though." The blood drained from her face and she suddenly got very dizzy, whirling around to face them all. "He was here?" It wasn't a dream? "He left?" How could he? "Yeah." "Where did he go?" she asked frantically. He shrugged and the others avoided her eyes, including Holley. Not saying another word, she turned around. "Dana, no," the older woman said quickly "It's snowing again." Nodding, she walked out the door, her teeth chattering immediately. No one knew where she went on her long walks and she intended to keep it a secret for as long as she could. She planned to die out there eventually. A few months after she and the other survivors had determined that they were the only one's left - before they knew of the Oregon survivors - she'd come out into the woods and dug a grave. When she'd finished, she simply filled it back up again, telling herself that she was burying her mother and brothers, sisters-in-law, nieces, and nephews. And Mulder. She had thought that it was necessary to have something tangible to mourn over, some place where she could go and feel close to her family and loved ones again. At the time, she'd thought that it was a little silly, but it gave her peace and a place to pray, not that she believed in God anymore. One short visit a week had quickly turned into two longer ones and before she knew it, she was spending many nights out here, curled on top of the frozen dirt and speaking to her loved ones as if they could hear her. Most often, she talked to Mulder. She sobbed when she talked to him, telling him how she missed him and loved him and wished she could do more to find him. The group needed her, she would explain, and she knew that he would find her. He'd promised her. The first time the baby kicked, she'd clawed at the earth until her fingers bled, desperate to be with him, before she realized that he wasn't really there. After that, she stopped caring. She had to be with him and if she couldn't do so in life, she would do so in death. Her baby would follow and they'd be a family, just as he'd wanted but never told her. She was so weak without him and he was gone. He wouldn't leave her behind again. That morning, she laid down beside her grave and cried angry, painful tears for herself, her baby, and the Mulder that had promised he'd find her, the Mulder who told her he would not leave her, until she vomited. Her stomach twisted and lurched, the baby desperate for warmth, and she ignored it. If she had a miscarriage out here, she'd bleed to death and no one would find her. Eventually, she cried herself to sleep, screaming softly for Mulder to come back to her and find her, to take her away, to make her strong again. He got as far as the iced-over river before he turned around. What a selfish man he was, abandoning her like that again. She needed him, she was sick, she was pregnant with his daughter, and he'd left her. At the time, it had seemed like the best solution to his problem: how could you tell the one person you'd pledged your life to that you'd given up on them? It seemed easier just to let her wonder about him and continue on with her life the way it was. By the time he'd reached the underground again, it was well after dark and the snow was up to his ankles. All eyes in the room turned towards him as he walked through the door, making a bee-line for her room. "She's not in there," Holley said softly, watching him carefully from her seat by the stove. "Where is she?" "We don't know, son," the older woman said "She went for a walk this morning and she hasn't come back yet. She must've gone looking for you." "You told her?" No one answered. Cursing under his breath, he went back outside to find her. He'd promised her he would. "Scully!" he screamed into the bitterly cold wind "Scully! Scully!" It was dark and he'd stumbled into the woods, again coming across her by accident and at first thinking that she was dead. "Scully?" He ran to her as quickly as his frozen toes would let him, knelt beside her, and felt for a pulse under her too-thin jacket. She was cold and blue, breathing shallowly. He took off his coat and wrapped it around her, picking her up and carrying her back to the underground. She didn't move the entire time. There were collective gasps as he kicked the door in, his hands full, and walked into her bedroom. Setting her down on the bed, he stripped her of her damp, icy clothes and put her under the sheets nude, hollering at someone to run a warm bath for her. He heard water running and turned to put more logs on the fire. He bathed her slowly, marveling at the swell of her abdomen and more than once letting his hand linger there as his daughter kicked at him, happy to be indoors again. It brought stinging tears to his eyes and he bit his lip until he'd stifled his sob and returned to his task, picking her up and drying her off after the water cooled and the blue left her lips. After he put her to bed, he stripped off his own damp clothes and slid in behind her, holding her tightly against him and squeezing the baby too tightly - Katherine, he decided, after her mother. They could call her Katie. A few hours later, Scully awoke from a nightmare, screaming his name. This time, he was the one to soothe her back to sleep, turning her towards him and cocooning her with his body "Mulder?" she asked shakily. "Yeah," he whispered against her skin, kissing her lightly "I'm here." She started to pull away, collapsing against him from weakness "You left me." Taking a deep breath, tears already threatening to fall, he tried to explain "I'm sorry. So many things have happened since I left for Oregon...I couldn't expect you to understand it all. And the baby...I didn't know, Scully If I'd only known -" "She's going to die," she said flatly. "What?" "She's going to die, Mulder. She's too small and weak. Even if she is born, she won't survive." With the covers pulled so tightly around them, their words and hot breath bounced off each other's faces, warming them. "You just have to take better care of yourself. She'll survive, Scully. She's strong, like you. She kept kicking me earlier." He grinned slightly at his last phrase. "No. She's going to die." "Is that what you want?" Her voice still had no emotion. "They're going to take her away from me anyway. That's the reason. They let me get pregnant. They knew about us and They knew what would inevitably happen. The Smoking Man must've done something to me...They need her and I'm not going to let Them have her I'd rather kill her than give her to Them." "Scully, you don't know that." "I do." "We can protect her." "We?" She whispered "You've left me twice now, how can I be sure you won't do it again?" "I won't I promise." He kissed her again, this time on her lips. She remained stiff and unfeeling. "Were you looking for me today? In the woods?" "No," she said, suddenly louder "I was mourning you. That's my grave, where I go to be alone. Where I buried everyone, including myself. I wanted to die there after they told me you'd left." "I'm so sorry, Scully." He didn't know if he could ever say it enough "I love you." She sniffed, laying her head beside his on the pillow, not touching, and went to sleep. She was only eight months along now, but Katie didn't know that. She was too anxious to see what was left of the world. He was there to hold Scully's hand and tell her to push, the old woman doing her best to deliver the baby. Scully was still sick and so tired that she eventually lost consciousness, not wanting her baby to be born. After nearly two days of labor, the old woman finally managed to coax the little girl out into the cold, harsh air. She was so tiny - she could easily fit in the palm of Mulder's hand - and red and wrinkled. He quieted her and kissed her forehead, which was the size of his mouth, promising again to protect her and her mother. When Scully awoke, she didn't want to see Katie, despite Mulder's urgings. His pleas of, "She needs to eat, Scully. She won't drink from a bottle Scully, please, she needs it," fell on deaf ears. She laid listless, staring into the fire, slim tears sliding across her nose and temples. At night, Mulder sat up with Katie, rocking her, walking with her, managing to get a few sips of milk into her, while she cried almost endlessly. Mulder cried, too, not knowing what else to do. Scully was right: as long as she refused to feed her, their daughter would not survive. Holley came to him one day during a fortunate period of quiet and announced that she and the others had found another pocket of survivors in Pennsylvania. They were going to join them, but they couldn't support a healing mother and a premature baby. The Pennsylvanians had their own doctor, too, she explained. "Come with us," she'd whispered close to his ear "They won't make it much longer." "This is my life I'm not leaving it," was all he'd said. The next day, they'd left the new family alone in the underground. "You should've gone with them," Scully chided him later, her voice rough from nearly two weeks of dormancy. "Why?" he asked simply, genuinely curious. "You were sleeping with her. She loved you, she could've given you more children. Healthy, strong." He sat down on her bed, pulling her head into his lap and holding Katie on one shoulder "She's not you, Scully, and that's what I want. All I want is you and Katie. Anything else is just a bonus." She slipped her fingers into his and held onto his hand like a lifeline "I'm sorry, Mulder." "Don't be," he soothed "I have everything I need right here." "I do, too," she whispered. They sat staring into the fire until it died out, the chill in the air contrasting with the heat of their bodies until they didn't notice it any more. <><><>An End<><><> Notes: this fic proves that when the muse talks, one must listen. It's a total departure from what I'm used to doing, so feedback would be especially appreciated, good, bad, and ugly, to lil-gusty@hotmail.com
|