x files is SOOO funny it's the only fanbase i know where almost all of the gay fans are begging for a heterosexual relationship to be blatantly canon and the straight man writing the show refuses to let it happen
Fandom : X-Files with the prompt "I don't think this is your problem."
Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober2022
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‘’Scully ?’’ Mulder’s voice echoes softly behind the locked door, almost inaudible over the wrenching sound of retching coming from her. It feels like it will never stop, bile rising in her throat like a burning flame, washing everying in an acidic taste that makes her cringe. ‘’Are you okay ?’’
In her eyes, tears burn. In her stomach, shame curls. She doesn’t want him to see her, to hear the horrible sounds leaving her weakened body. She doesn’t even want to hear it herself. ‘’Please, Mulder, just go away.’’
A noise leaves him, muffled by the door between them, but still recognisable as his usual sign of confusion. A part of her, the one not buried under tons of self-disgust, wants to laugh at him, picturing his puzzled face.
The biggest part of her just wants to lie down and never move for the rest of her pitifully small life.
‘’I can’t just leave you-‘’
‘’Yes, you can. I’m fine.’’ She’s beginning to get tired of saying the same things again and again. The words taste like ash on her tongue. Or maybe it’s the residual of saliva and bile. She can’t decide which is worse. ‘’And I don’t think this is your problem to begin with. Just leave, Mulder.’’
‘’Do you hear yourself sometimes Scully ?’’ There’s an edge in his tone. She would have said anger, but it’s too dark, too raw. She wonders if it’s fear, twisting his words, seeping into his voice without his consent. ‘’How could I leave you now ?’’
How could you not ? Anger sparks in her belly, fuelled by shame and disgust, and soon, she’s snapping without even meaning to. ‘’You’ve never had a problem about it before.’’
‘’What ?’’
‘’Leaving me behind.’’ Does she really have to spell it out for him ? He’s ditched her so many times now, it doesn’t even surprise her anymore (It still hurts though. So fucking much.) ‘’I don’t know why you should care now.’’
She knows she’s being unfair. Mulder is just trying to do something to help her. Wouldn’t she do the same for him ? Wouldn’t she beg and plead and fight to take care of him, to hold his bloodied hands, to infuse warmth inside his chest ? But the thought of it, of letting him see how her disease is ravaging her body, leaving behind a body crumpling in exhaustion, eyes haunted by the ticking of Time’s clock, is enough to make bile rise in her throat again.
She wants to be warmth and beauty for him. Someone radiant, full of life. Not a fucking mess of hollowed cheeks and bloodshot eyes.
Not a goddamn walking corpse.
(She knows, if he sees her, his face will match hers, his body will fold on itself to accomodate the changes, until they’re both skeleton, remnant of a past, all dreams of a future collapsing on themselves.)
‘’Scully-‘’
‘’Go. Away.’’
‘’Goddammit, Scully, I can’t fucking leave right now !’’ Mulder yells, the door buckling under the weight of the fis the threw against the wood. It makes a loud thud. She knows he hurt himself, can hear the slight shudder in his heavy breathing, even through the door. But his next words are gentle, a breeze after the storm. ‘’I just want to help you. Please, don’t shut me out. Not again. Not when you clearly need someone.’’
‘’Don’t psychoanalyze me, Mulder,’’ she mutters, leaning heavily on the wall, sliding to the floor now that her stomach settled enough. She squashes the urge to curl against the door, in a desperate need to feel his warmth (the wood would do nothing to quell the fire raging under his skin. If she’s ice, Mulder is fire, always has been, consuming everything in his close vicinity, devouring her until there’s nothing left of her). ‘’I don’t need anyone, I’m-‘’
‘’If you say you’re fine once more, I will kick this door open.’’
A broken sound, something like a laugh, escapes her. Behind the door, Mulder echoes her. There’s another thump, softer this time. Maybe he’s leaning against the door, trying to reach out to her in all the possible ways.
He’s always reaching out to her when she doesn’t want to be touched. He’s always withdrawing when she tries to pull him close. Maybe that’s their great tragedy. Never being ready for the other’s touch, for the other’s gaze.
For once, she wishes they would be on the same page.
‘’I don’t…’’ she begins, the words heavy on her tongue. For a brief second, she entertains the notion of not saying anything. Of pulling everything back inside herself, hiding every aspects of her that is sick and feeble, only to wrap herself in steely shield. But he deserves the truth. And maybe, a small, very small, part of her is ready to reach out too. ‘’I don’t want you to see me like this.’’
‘’Oh, Scully…’’ God, Mulder sounds so soft, and tender. On his tongue, her name is like water. As if he’s dying of dehydration, and needs it to stay alive, drinking the syllables like a man lost in the desert, finally finding his oasis. ‘’Do you really think I care for you so little I would judge you or think you weak for being sick ?’’
She hates him for this. For saying words that would have kept her alive, months ago. That would have lit a flame so high, nothing could have quell it, not even the news of her upcoming death.
She hates him for loving her when she is unloveable. Broken and weary, unable to return his affection even though her heart still clenches at the sound of his voice.
‘’It’s not- I don’t-‘’ She inhales deeply, forces herself to remember it’s Mulder behind the door. Her best friend. The man she trusts more than anything. ‘’I don’t think it’s really about you. It’s about me. It’s about how I don’t want to appear weak. How I don’t want to feel weak.’’
‘’Because, unconsciously, you think I would find you weak.’’
Words leave her before she can reply anything. Somewhere inside her throat, there’s the taste of blood. Somewhere inside her throat, there’s the taste of love. And there’s no way to tell the difference. Maybe it’s like that.
Death and Life so close, embracing one another, each tendrils curling around each other until death is life and life is death.
‘’I would never, Scully,’’ Mulder says, softly. His shadow settles at the bottom of the door, slowly pouring in the bathroom as he presses closer. She spreads her legs, until each of her feet is bathed in his shadow. ‘’You’re the strongest person I know. And even sick, I still think you’re the strongest, badass, woman ever.’’
‘’You don’t have to-‘’
‘’Oh, but I have to. Don’t you see yourself ? You’re-‘’ His words dies down in his throat, drowned in his awe. A tear slips out, despite herself, drying on her skin before she can wipe it out. ‘’God, Scully, you’re amazing. Half of the time, I just stand there, watching you do all the work and kick ass, thinking to myself ‘wow’,’’ he adds, chuckling to himself. His smile is bright in her mind, not like the small, subdued one he usually sends her way since he knows of her cancer. ‘’Seriously, Scully, you’re struggling with something so… Dark and insidious and yet, you’re still standing on your feet. How could I ever see you and think of you as weak ?’’
The urge to open the door, to burrow into his arms, to cling to him until everything fades away, is so strong, her muscles tense, ready to move and let him in. She struggles against it, remind herself of how she looks, how she feels. Reminds herself what it would cost to let Mulder in now, when she’s at death’s door.
‘’But I can feel it in my bones, Mulder. My body is betraying me, and I just feel so… Powerless. Like the wind could blow me away. It’s…’’
She doesn’t finish. She doesn’t think there’s a word for the emotions raging in herself.
‘’I know.’’ He doesn’t, not really. But she allows him to, because there’s something comforting in hearing someone say this. She’s not alone in this, no matter what she may think at times. ‘’But that’s why I’m here with you, okay ? It’s alright to feel weak sometimes. To feel like you can’t control everything, not even your own body. What matters is that you have someone to lean on.’’ For a moment he stops. She wonders why, wants to see his face, see what makes him stop. The wooden door keeps her from him. ‘’Someone to catch you if you fall.’’
There’s silence as she digests this, what he’s offering her. ‘’You would do so ?’’ she asks, hating how small her voice sounds, hating how it crumbles in on itself. (She is crumbling. This is the ugly truth, this is what her voice betrays.)
‘’Scully, I’m offended you even have to ask. Of course, I would catch you,’’ Mulder says, and his voice comes closer, like his mouth is pressed against the wood, trying to cross the distance between them. ‘’I would catch you even if I was falling myself.’’
Oh, and this is it, isn’t it ? She doesn’t want him to catch her if it means he’ll fall. The image of him, crumpled in agony on the floor of a house who saw him grow and cry, flashes in her mind. The gun, quivering in his hand, the self-loathing and desperation.
He fell that night, and she caught him, stumbling under the weight of her own burden. She caught him, but their added weight sent her falling even farther into the abyss of her own making.
That night, she woke up to cough blood. That night, spitting blood in her sink, she realized he was going to let himself die.
That night, she cried. Not for her. For Mulder. For the boy of twelve losing his sister, for the man losing his best friend. A circle of lost girls, with one man inside, alway losing.
‘’The truth is,’’ she says, deciding in a instant that he must know, ‘’I’m afraid, Mulder.’’
‘’Of what ?’’
Breathing deeply, she crawls to the door and presses her hand to the wood. Somehow, she knows he’s doing the same on the other side, as if the warmth of his palm seeps into her own.
‘’I don’t think anyone can catch me this time. I’m plummeting towards my own demise and… I don’t want you to fall with me. I don’t-‘’ It slips out of her then, tumbling outside her mouth, fear and pain and anger. ‘’God, Mulder, I don’t want you to follow me in the darkness. I’m dying, but you’re so alive still. If I hide myself, if I cover every part of my body reeking of death, then maybe, it won’t tug you into its arms. Maybe you will ignore its call.’’ Her whole body is pressed against the door. She doesn’t move from it, lets herself melt against the cold wood. Speaks the words in a feverish tone. ‘’I might have to die, but you don’t have to.’’
His only answer is silence. She deflates, closing her eyes, hanging her head against the wave of pain hitting her between the eyes, rippling to the point in her brain sucking the life out of her.
‘’Please, Mulder,’’ she whispers, so, so tired, ‘’go away.’’
‘’Open the door.’’
Her eyes snap open. ‘’What ?’’
‘’Open the door, Scully.’’ He’s pleading, in a tone she’s never heard before. It strikes her then. It’s the sound of tears, of heartbreak and loss. ‘’Let me in. Don’t let yourself burden this alone.’’
A spark of irritation ignites her belly. Her hand curls into a fist.
‘’Did you even listen to what I just said ? Mulder, I-‘’
‘’If there’s no hope for you, there’s no hope for me either,’’ Mulder says. She stops, struggling not to cry, not to throw herself against him and shakes his thick skull until he understands what it would cost her to take him with her. ‘’You’re half of me now, have been for years. I can’t lose you, Scully. Wherever you go, I’ll go.’’
There’s a scream stuck in her throat. She wants to yell at him until her voice his raw, until his life matters to him more than hers. But there’s something inside her mind, something that imagine how it would be if the situation was reversed, if Mulder was dying of cancer. She thinks of him, pale and hollow like she is, telling her to live her life fully, to move on from him.
The thought squeezes her heart, makes bile rise in her throat once again.
He can’t live without her, and she used to think it was too overwhelming. It’s not. She can’t live without him either.
‘’Mulder-‘’
‘’Please, open the door.’’ She realizes then, that they aren’t really talking about the door now. Maybe they never have been. It’s always been about her in the end.’’ Let me see you. Let me help.’’
There’s a pause. Time stays still, her hand hovering above the door’s handle. Behind, Mulder’s breath is not making any sounds.
She is going to die. No matter what. In the face of it, of eternity without him, baring herself to him doesn’t seem as terrifying.
I would argue - based on the amount I think about it - that the green sweater was not a minor character. Nor were her black suit in triangle or her white Maine shirt in Chinga.
Dana Scully's Emotional Support Lesbian @t-ruthisoutthere - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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