Title:    Marred 
Author:   Abigail Leigh 
E-Mail:   littlemiss_spookymulder@hotmail.com 
Rating:   PG-13 
Category: MSR 
Classification:  Vignette 
Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully aren't mine. They're Chris Carter's 
and 1013's. Although I feel the CC didn't do the best job with the 
finale, all are entitled to their own opinion, and that is only my 
own. Which is exactly why I am writing this.

Summary:  Scully can't believe he's gone.

Xxxxxxxxxx

You are gone.

I'm in a dream, a nightmare in which the world is dark and cold 
and I am standing over the body of my protector, my endangerer, 
my savior, my downfall. In my dream I can do nothing, nothing 
but watch you as they attempt to drag me away. It must only be a 
dream.

It has to be a dream.

But I know somehow it isn't.

This can't happen.  Not to me.  Not to you.

I have seen your precious face many times in the break of morning 
as you slept in my bed, for the only times in our lives peaceful and 
undisturbed. As I lay next to you, I would watch your sleeping 
face, memorizing it, knowing that at some point in our life together 
that you would have to leave me.

And leave you did.

When you were gone I would think back to those times that I 
watched you and smile softly at the recollections of our love.

But now I see you here, gone, marred, and every moment that I 
spent watching you is erased by the one I am in now.

I stand above you, and what I first notice is your face, pale, 
lifeless. How can something so beautiful, so full of life suddenly 
be nothingness?

Oh, I ache to touch you, to lay a healing hand on you and make 
you live. But it cannot be, Mulder.

You are covered in an old fraying blanket, and all I want to do is 
rip it off, to see you as you really are. I want to memorize every 
line, every muscle, every limb, every hair, every expression that 
you have and keep that knowledge with me for all of time.

You aren't dead. You can't be dead.

And yet I know you are.

I now see that wounds, wounds that shall never escape, mar your 
face. My heart bleeds profusely and I cry out your name in vain.

I want so to be in a dream, to wake at any moment to see you next 
to me again, alive and well. I want to wake up.

A cold hand slips from the blanket as they pick you up, and I grasp 
it tightly between my own, as if an effort to warm it will somehow 
bring you back. They push me aside gently, chiding me with a 
"Scully, he's gone."

The two, they hold my arms firmly and whisper that they are sorry. 
But I can break away. I can find the healer. He will help you.

And yet he is gone in a bright haze, in a circular light that 
envelops.

This is not happening.

I am still in the dream. I must be.

Wake up, please wake up...

THE END.