Title: 2,000,000 Seconds
Author: Lindsay B
Written: August 2000
Distribution/Archiving: Just ask me first, I'll say yes but I like to know.
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue, okay?
Spoilers: Requiem, I guess. Even though I hadn't seen it when I started this
Rating: PG-13
Classification: S, V, R, A
Keywords: MSR

Summary: I finally caved and wrote a post-Requiem piece. Scully's musings on her situation now that Mulder's gone.

This is dedicated to Christine and Shiv - big hugs, cookies etc. for your fabulous beta work, I couldn't do it without you.

You've been gone for twenty-one days. Twenty-one long days and I'm still counting each one. I'm tempted to mark them off on the calendar, so that everyone can see that I'm remembering you, but that strikes me as too morbid. May 14th - Mulder abducted; May 15th - Mulder still missing; May 16th - Mulder still missing... No, I don't think I'll do that.

But I'm still counting.

There are a hundred reasons that I should get up off of your couch and start doing... something. Rationally I'm aware that the longer I sit and the longer I avoid life, the harder it's going to be to go back to it when the inevitable happens and I'm forced to come back into the world. The problem is, it feels like I should be waiting for you. I mean, I know that I am waiting for you but it feels as though you've gone out for a take-away, or to see the Gunmen, or to fetch me a movie. I feel as if I should be sitting here waiting for you in case you come back and don't know where I am.

So I'm still waiting.

I'm waiting for someone to pick me up and drag me back into the world. Make me eat something, berate me for not going to the OB-GYN appointment that I missed yesterday, take me to look at strollers in shop windows... I need someone to tell me that the world is a place I want to be. The day you left I lost what I lived for.

I always thought I lived for my work and my family, but it wasn't until you were gone that I realized that you were both. It wasn't until you left I realized that I lived for you.

I would imagine that it could be quite damaging to the human psyche, realizing that you're living for something that's probably dead.


I didn't just think that.

I take it back.

You should be here.

Your child is quietly growing inside me and you should be here to witness it. Children are born recognizing the voice patterns of the people who spoke to them in the womb. What if this baby is born not recognizing the sound of its father's voice? It se ems to me that there could be nothing sadder.

It's strange the way that one event can change everything, whilst also leaving it exactly the same. Even the rain falls differently now that you're not here. Light refracts through the drops of water and it shimmers with a splendor it never had before. It's coming from where you are.

It's against all my instincts to think this way, knowing it's not true, but doesn't it seem more magical to think you're up there with the rain? One day it might bring you back.

Maybe it's the pregnancy hormones screwing with my mind.

The mothering instinct certainly kicked in right on schedule - almost as soon as I knew I was pregnant - and now the only time I leave the couch is when I have an inexplicable urge to clean something. There's an ugly little stain on the rug in the bathroom om and no amount of Stain Devils will take it out.

But I don't want to deal with that right now.

I'm too tired and I'm too... bored. The world doesn't hold the interest for me that it once did. It feels as though there's nothing left for me to discovers or search for, because why would I want to do it alone?

Oh, I know I'll get better. I know that the time will come that I'll get up off the sofa, throw out the rug and buy a new one. I'll decorate a nursery in my apartment, and start spending time there instead of always being here. I'll go to all my doctor's appointments and shop for baby clothes, in a nice neutral yellow so that I don't worry about giving our baby a gender identity crisis.

That time is not now though, and I want to be anywhere but here. Anywhere but Alexandria, Washington DC, on Earth. I'd love to be able to float through space and watch the stars twinkling around me, asteroids floating past my body as I tumble in the weightlessness of the infinite blackness. It wouldn't be much different to the place I'm in just now, but nicer to look at. Until a star went supernova and blew me into a million pieces.

I don't dream right.

I don't dream right...? Dreaming is all I do. I dream about you coming home and just walking in the door one day. You've brought me a muffin and a soft toy for the baby. You lay your hands on my stomach and smile...

I'm tempted to have another go at that rug, or maybe clean the kitchen. I don't think I should sit here any longer. There must be something rational left in my brain somewhere because recently I've been telling myself to get up and go home. Clean my own bathroom, buy food for my own fridge. I usually ignore that part of me, because it feels as if I'm getting over you. I shouldn't get over you, I should have been with you that night.

I don't blame Skinner. There was no way he could have saved you. It's just so frustrating to sit here wondering if I should have come with you, whether you might still be here if I hadn't let you go without me. If I had been there... I don't know what I would have done, but at least if I had been there... If I had been there and you were still gone then I'd know that there was nothing I could have done. I wouldn't have to sit here and wonder.

Turning towards the television set, I pull the afghan from the back of your couch over myself and lie down. The scratchy material against my cheek reminds me of a night not so long ago when I fell asleep here and woke up hours later to find myself covered with this very afghan. The memory is almost comforting.

So I stay lying cocooned in your memory. I click the TV on with the remote and listen to a spiky haired member of Rikki Lake's audience explain to someone on the stage how their daughter marrying a man nineteen years her senior isn't necessarily a bad thing.

Tomorrow. I'll deal with it all tomorrow.


Author's Notes: The idea for this fic was born whilst organising clothes hangers and listening to my K's Choice CD. I've probably heard the song about a hundred times, but it took me until now to pick up on the MSR/post-Requiem potential of it. Also, th e dates used are guesses so if you know the correct date please let me know and I'll change it.

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