After his his hospital stay, Agent Mulder had become obsessed with whatever it was he thought he saw the night he was discovered. He spent an entire month desperately attempting to reach out to whatever this entity was that had managed to form some sort of contact with him. Night, after night, after night he drove back out to that spot, holding onto a different photo each time he sat in the heated cabin of his car. Each time he was greeted with nothing. Silence. Disappointment. Regret. Each time he felt more and more defeated. Frustrated. He had been so close. He had been on the brink of something potentially ground breaking and somehow the universe had told him no. No Fox Mulder, you're not allowed to know the unknown, even if you're going to have it dangled in front of your face.
He begins to deteriorate. Fox's five o'clock shadow becomes more and more apparent as the days slip by. His hair becomes unkempt. His eyes more bloodshot. The curiosity of what could have been, and what this thing might be consumes his every thought. He insists that whatever this is could be one of the biggest X-Files yet, and dedicates hours upon hours just in the hopes that research might bring some answers. Of course, it doesn't, and so in one final act of desperation he takes all the photos he was given and drives back to that place. Back to where they met. Back to where she had so graciously extended herself to him before. He's not sure what may happen. He's not even sure if anything will happen at all, but at the very least it will blow off some steam to scream at the sky a little bit.
"What do you want from me!?" The agent bellows at the night as he stands next to his car. He takes out the lock box, holding it up to where she once descended and shaking it out of anger and spite, "Why did you give me these just to abandon me?! Why!?" Anger begins to replace itself with remorse, and the fatigue of his dedication finally wears him down. The lock box becomes cradled in his arms, and as the man begins to sink to his knees he feels the hot pinpricks of emotion forming at the corners of his eyes. "Please..." Mulder practically begs, "Please give me something. Anything. I'll... I'll do anything." Head hung in sorrow, Fox's shoulder's begin to shake as he lets himself weep. He's just so tired. He's just so desperate for knowledge. All he can do is cry from the frustration.
@spookyagentfmulder || Mulder & The Entity || unprompted.
The Entity is a patient beast. A timeless monster, an endless expanse of suffering and violent glutted on blood. A month to Her is goes unnoticed, save for the effects the passage of time had on her newest prey. No longer did she plague him with nightmares, with visions of tomorrow, of yesterday, of distant worlds long since consumed. No longer did she penetrate his skull with droning static or assail his nose with the scent of iron and sulfur. He was to be forgotten, abandoned, a man who had come so close to the skin of god and scorned it, unable to accept the gift of the divine. She could have let him deteriorate like this, let her presence fester in his mind like a virus, infecting his psyche until nothing but Her remained on his lips. An agonizing descent, a subtle sweetness of madness that even she could taste from beyond the veil.
But the Entity was a selfish being, envious and greedy. A mere taste of what Mulder had to offer her was not enough. Would never be enough.
But it would not be rejected again. And so it waits, watching as he begs, pleads, cries for her return. Mourns her absence as one mourns the sun during the hurricane. Embraces the hope of reunion. She lets him reach for her, desperate to know, but never allowed to see. Not until he sinks to his knees and prays to a silent god for release.
This is the price for the truth - devotion.
There is a time of silence, a heavy pause broken only by Mulder's own breath as he breaks. A familiar, unwanted quiet. Perhaps if Mulder knew to be contended with what he had, he would learn to appreciate this moment of peace, the last he was to ever have.
A cool breeze responds to his sobs and the air feels heavy, electric. A static in the air that drones like dead air on the TV. He has called her, begged for her, and he has struck his bargain with her. Anything for her.
The static grows and with it, too, does a fog begin to creep up the hillside. Black and dark, a swirling mass that pools around Mulder's kneeling form, curls around him in a soft embrace. Anything for her. How could she refuse?
It's a storm that forms next, clouds that blot out the sky as lightning arcs through the sky and thunder rumbles like a waiting beast. The sky is red. The air is burning.
Anything for her. Words not to be taken lightly, Fox Mulder. You do not make deals with the devil without sacrifice.
A flash of lightning illuminates the darkened sky and the clouds tear themselves apart with an explosion of thunder, a deep rumble felt in the earth itself as Her form manifests. A mass of claws descend, spearheaded by one she had summoned before. A beckoning talon that hovers just before Mulder. It curls, inviting, an old friend come to see him, a choir of pounding static to herald her arrival. She waits, finally within his reach, finally willing to accept him once again.
Are you willing, Fox Mulder? Are you willing? To give yourself to her? To give everything to her?
Will you abandon her now, Fox Mulder?
