This was written in one lonely night at about two in the morning, 
when I was *supposed* to be writing a Lit paper. Enjoy. Or not. (Your 
choice.) I'd love to hear what you think of my ramblings. Write me at 
LiziBeth@aol.com. There are some inconsistencies, but take them in 
good fun cause it's fanfic! And maybe it's too cheesy, but that's what 
happens in the wee hours of the morn.   S'Alright? S'alright.

The title, by the way, has nothing much to do with the story itself--it 
was blatantly stolen from one of Talula's many beau-ti-ful poems.(Go, 
VirginPoe!) 

Many, many thanks to **Shana* and her editing expertise, not to 
mention -honesty-.<g> and ~dulce~ for her unending support here and 
elsewhere.

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully? MINE?? Pshyeah, *right*.(the 
sarcasm indicates that suing me     would be beyond futile.) I hereby 
pledge my respect(for whatever that's worth) and admiration to Chris 
Carter for creating such fabulous characters, and Fox &Co. for 
upholding them and continuing their adventures. Now, onward! to 
more serious matters. Ahem.

(Uploaded to EMXC 7/30/96
   The following work is for the distribution and entertainment of 
EMXC members only. Any further distribution of this work without 
the author's consent is in violation of international copyright law.)
 
*Absolution and Oblivion*

~*This is for Kipler, one of the warmest and wisest people I have 
known. For all her patience, good humor, and understanding. (And, of 
course, for every bit of much-needed Lit paper advice.) ;D*~ * * * 

Scully lay on her rather uncomfortable striped sofa, in a half-seated 
fetal position, her arms curled protectively around her knees and chin 
contemplatively resting above her interlocked hands.  It was at times 
like these that she somehow sorely missed that damn yippy ball of fur. 
Even that barking hamster with a brain the size of a pea was better 
than this empty, weighted stillness. Immediately she chided herself.  
"Oh, Clyde's dog was fine, Dana, you're just feeling hostile." Hostile. 
Just add that to the list of negative emotions she could use to describe 
herself at this moment...lonely, unhappy, even hopeless...and now 
hostile. Scully let out a short sarcastic wisp of a laugh. If only Melissa 
could see her now..she'd be very disappointed of her pessimistic 
attitude. Unlike anyone else she knew, Melissa had believed in 
brighter, better things. 

Melissa. Her thoughts churned over one another restlessly. She'd been 
trying to avoid that direction of thinking all day.  This day, of all
days, 
bit with the most pain.  Today Melissa would have been 36. Hardly 
half a lifetime lived and now gone. Outside her apartment, a roll of 
thunder rumbled menacingly. Dana resented having to spend this 
night alone. She'd been dreading this date, avoiding all thoughts on 
the topic in the hope that the day might come and go in an ignorant 
peace, with her somehow overlooking the date's significance. But from 
the moment she opened her eyes that morning, alarms echoed 
hauntingly in the void within. She'd somehow masked it throughout 
the day, stumbling through her mundane duties at the office. She 
busied herself with paperwork so that Mulder wouldn't take note of 
anything unusual. Although...a part of her (larger than she cared to 
admit) yearned for his attention. She had wanted to be left alone to 
wither away in the privacy of her own thoughts...so why did she feel so 
abandoned? There was no possible way for him to have known what 
today meant to her.

Scully had thought she was solid; capable of handling everything 
herself. She was not one to break down in front of others, to need other 
people there for her. Yet, Mulder gracefully accepted that very human 
part of her, and she surprised herself by feeling secure in letting her 
guard down with him.  Sometimes she could hardly believe how far 
they'd come together. So, the sixty-four thousand dollar question was: 
why didn't she feel comfortable reaching for him now? She supposed it 
had a little something to do with her pride. 

But it was far more than that. It was something that ran deeper, which 
she reluctantly recognized as a grief so raw and throbbing that she 
feared to release it from the confines of her mind. So she tormented 
herself by leaving it where it was inside her, piercing parts of her that 
already ached and bled. She felt altogether beyond hope, beyond 
help...even Mulder's.

The thunder which had threatened earlier gave way to a tremendous 
downpour outside. Something about the rain pulled Dana out of herself 
for a moment. With forced movement, she roused herself from her 
position on the couch and made her way to the telephone. She knew 
she should call her mother. Dana felt comforted in the fact that at least 
she was needed somewhere. Besides, she needed movement and 
action...distraction from the horrible knowing silence which wrapped 
tightly around her when given the opportunity to suffocate. Scully 
numbly dialed and prepared to force a convincing lightness into her 
voice for her mother's benefit. 

The phone rang quite a few times before Mrs. Scully actually 
answered. "Hey, mom," Dana managed quietly. 

"Oh, Dana dear, how are you?" Scully felt a bit of warmth melt her as 
she heard her mother's voice.

"I'm fine, Mom. Just calling to see how you were doing."

The casual ease of the sentence carried a hidden weight, as mother and 
daughter were both painfully aware of. They chatted for a bit, touching 
only on the safe ground of superficialities. 

Just as they seemed to be nearing more penetrating subjects, Margaret 
interupted gently with, "Dana, I'm sorry, but I'm on the other line with 
your brother long-distance. I'll call you  right back," Mrs. Scully 
assured her. 

"Sure." She pushed the word out with more false cheer than she had 
intended. "You should've told me you were already on the phone."

Margaret paused, wisely hearing the true emotion in her youngest 
girl's voice.

"But I wanted to talk to you. I'll call you as soon I'm off." Margaret 
hoped that the intensity and sincerity of her voice would assure that 
Dana believed it.

"No problem, Mom." Dana added lightly. "Bye."

Scully replaced the receiver in a deliberately gentle motion. All she 
truly wanted to do was pitch it across the room, shrieking her feelings 
aloud. But Dana Scully, the grounded Doctor Dana Scully, didn't do 
things like that. But slowly the tremors within began to emerge. 

She began to consider...something she hadn't allowed herself to dwell 
upon before...the issue of her responsibility for events that caused her 
family members such hurt. It simply couldn't be ignored that she was 
to blame for her own sister's death. She wondered if, even 
subconsciously, her mother faulted her younger daughter for the 
other's death. Dana certainly felt accountible, and the burden of such a 
guilt was unreal to her.

She found herself staring, gaping solemnly at the spot where she 
supposed Melissa had fallen, soaking in her own blood. Inevitably, the 
manipulation of memory and regret took hold. She should've waited. 

*Goddammit*, Dana, you should've waited for her! That cold 
gravestone was engraved with the wrong name. And it's your fault. 
You got her involved. You told her that you wanted her over that 
night. You abandoned her to take *your* bullet. Her dizzying mantra 
whirled the guilt inside to an incontainable upset as her thoughts sped 
on... It wasn't her world. It was you who thrust her into your violent 
existence, selfishly not concerning yourself with the consequences. 
You pulled her in and you left her there. 

She relived the night, following herself out the door in her mind...she 
envisioned the shot, imagining how Melissa probably cried out and 
twisted to the floor. How she may have desperately attempted to move, 
to breathe, writhing in pain until the blackness solemnly draped over 
her.... 

A bang of thunder outside rattled Scully, and she became aware of the 
level of her anxiety, and her sudden need to be anywhere but in 
Apartment 402. She snatched her keys and her trench and slammed 
the door behind her.

***********

Mulder felt extremely uneasy. He couldn't place it, but something had 
really had ahold of his petite partner today. He had sneaked concerned 
glances in her direction as she bent over mounds of Bureau paperwork. 
He'd contemplated asking her, but the words evaporated on his tongue 
as he'd interpreted the stony look on her face as reading "Butt out." 
Besides, she hadn't really seemed aware of him. 

You just have to face the fact that she doesn't need you, Mulder. 
Fox sighed and sank into the worn couch wondering what exactly he 
was doing with his life. His off-time life, that is.

The phone buzzed over the blare of his television.

"Mulder," he answered in monotone.

"Fox? This is Margaret Scully."
Mulder lifted himself upright with immediate sharp concern and 
curiosity.

"Mrs. Scully?"

"Fox, do you have any idea where Dana could be? No one is answering 
at her apartment, and...and she was expecting my call."

Mulder was baffled as to the nature of Mrs. Scully's phone call. She 
was trying to be casual, he could gather, but it must be something far 
more serious than an innocent inquiry. Margaret would never 
normally call for this reason...unless she truly feared for her daughter.

"No. Did you try her cellular?"

"No answer. I--I'm worried about her, Fox. She's not dealing with 
things very well, I know."

"Things?" Mulder was truly stumped, and felt callous and stupid to 
have to admit it.

"Well, today being Melissa's birthday..."
Melissa's birthday! Mulder could've smacked himself. He realized 
Margaret's voice had trailed off, weak with unspoken emotion and 
uncertainty.

"Don't worry. I'll just run by her apartment and check it out. I'll call 
you. Ok?"

"Thank you, Fox," Margaret replied in a soft and grateful voice.
Mulder hardly heard her, for in his mind he was already out the door.

                   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

By the time Mulder reached Scully's front door, he was appropriately 
drenched.  He wondered when it had started raining. Mulder felt a 
vague panic, which had built and swelled on the drive over. She's 
probably just not answering the phone. Mulder pounded on the door so 
he could be sure he was heard over the roar of the storm. He waited, 
clenching his jaw in frustration. He tried again, with more desperate 
force. Still nothing. He abruptly turned and rushed back down the 
stairs to where his car was parked...and hers wasn't. Mulder stood 
immobilized, taking in choking breaths of air and rainwater. Maybe 
she went to see a friend. Maybe she went to the store... And maybe she 
went to see Melissa. Mulder decided to trust his instincts, sprinting 
back to his car for a ride to the cemetery.

                    *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

As soon as Mulder pulled up, he saw her. He didn't know whether to 
feel relief, or an even greater disturbance at the sight of the kneeling, 
hunched figure in black, seemingly unaware of the torrents that 
continuously soaked her. He pulled out his cellphone and dialed the 
number he had memorized long ago-- a number usually reserved for 
unfortunate and frightening circumstances.  Margaret answered 
immediately.

"Hello?"

"She's all right, Mrs. Scully." He reassured her, although he wasn't 
sure how true his statement actually was.

"Oh, thank you, Fox. Can I speak with her?"

"Well, she's actually drying off right now--we were outside, and you 
know how it's pouring. I just wanted to let you know right away. She'll 
call you as soon as she's cleaned up." 

Mulder only felt a slight twinge for his lie. He saw no reason to worry 
her unneccessarily. Mulder suspected Margaret might know better, but 
hoped she would let herself believe him... for her own peace of mind.

"All right. Have her call me sometime tonight." Margaret relented in a 
relieved tone. She knew that her daughter was in the best of care. 
"Goodbye, Fox. And thank you."

Mulder smiled briefly, wondering how she could give his name such a 
pleasant ring. He then impatiently abandoned the phone and made his 
way out of the car and into the rain towards Scully.

As he approached, he noticed her long-forgotten umbrella lying on its 
side in a grassy puddle. She was kneeling before her sister's grave, 
looking forward, staring into some abyss within another dimension. 
With one cold hand she absently fingered the engraved stone, while 
the other lay limp at her side; she apparently didn't notice her lanky 
partner's presence. Her hair was dark with wetness, flattened against 
her head and face. Mulder's insides wrenched to see her tiny saturated 
body so frighteningly lifeless. Scully hardly stirred when Mulder 
placed a tender hand on her shoulder, and knelt beside her.

"Scully," he implored for her attention in a low, intense voice.
She turned her head towards him slowly, her countenance revealing no 
emotion. Thunder and lightning chased eachother in the sky. Mulder 
retrieved the umbrella and opened it over them.

"Scully, let's go." She looked away and distractedly trailed her fingers 
down the surface of the gravestone. He tried again."Scully."

" *Scully.*" With the force of the word he brought his hand down on 
hers, holding it tight within his and tearing her fingers from the stone. 
Again, she turned to meet his gaze, and there was a sudden elongated 
moment of undescribable gravity. Scully moved to stand, and Mulder 
realized she was trembling slightly, though from what combination of 
factors he could not be sure. He only wished he could erase the 
dullness in her eyes. Mulder took hold of her waist, taking her with 
him as he rose to his feet, somehow still holding the umbrella aloft. He 
practically dragged her to the car, her feet seemingly not in good 
working order. Even seated in his car, her nearly imperceptible 
shaking continued. She still hadn't spoken a word.

Once on the road, Mulder found it difficult to focus on the slippery 
pavement ahead of him. The drive to his apartment was silent, save for 
the pattering rain and the occasional squeak of protest from the 
windshield wipers. Scully's attention appeared to be entirely focused 
ahead on their rhythmic motion. Mulder had no idea how to begin a 
conversation, so instead he pressed his lips together in concern.

Scully revealed a small expression of surprise upon the arrival at his 
apartment. He wondered where she had thought they were going, and 
how she had entirely missed that they were heading in that direction. 
She silently and stiffly exited the car without protest, and Mulder once 
again sheltered them under the umbrella on the trip up to his door. 
Once inside, Mulder felt a bit more certain of what action to take in 
the situation. He quietly brought her a towel and one of his smaller 
sweatsuits and led her to the bathroom. 

"Take a shower," he ordered. Mulder himself felt chilled to his core, 
and was alarmed at the bluish tint to his partner's lips. Her only reply 
was a blink and the shut of the door.

Mulder changed and prepared some coffee during her time in the 
bathroom. And when Scully emerged she offered him the smallest of 
smiles, revealing her amusement at the fit of his sweatsuit on her 
diminutive frame. He couldn't help a brief half-chuckle at her 
ridiculous-- yet as always, engaging-- appearance. He extended her 
cup of coffee and she quietly received it with a nod of thanks, joining 
him on the couch. Mulder noted how she seemed to have pulled 
herself together... although locked herself up may have been the more 
appropriate term, as he knew. In their stillness the storm could be 
heard raging on, and Mulder refrained from commenting, vowing that 
he would *not* resort to bringing up the weather. Scully made no 
move to speak, either. Finally, Mulder broke in.

"Scully, why didn't you tell me?" His thick voice was nearly a whisper. 
Scully lowered her head and shook it, almost violently. She had curled 
herself protectively on the very edge of the sofa, her hands tightly 
encircling her mug. Mulder was truly lost. He didn't know what she 
needed, and worse...he didn't think he had whatever that could be to 
give to her. Scully placed her mug on the table before her and assumed 
the slow, nervous movement of twirling her hair about her fingers, a 
habit which Mulder was not aware that she had. Her head was still 
lowered, and he could practically hear her sinking into herself again, 
her eyes staring blankly through the cushions below.  Mulder felt 
incredibly helpless.

He surged forward grabbed her shoulders with a sudden force that 
even caught him off guard.

"Scully," his voice betrayed his emotion with a desperate rasp.With 
one hand he lifted her face upward. "Scully, why can't you trust me? 
Why won't you let me help you? Why can't you let me care?" Her face 
crumpled at his words, and she allowed herself to be taken into his 
embrace. She sobbed into his chest so powerfully that he had to hold 
his own tears back. He felt unsure, and so guilty for not noticing this 
earlier. For letting whatever it was wrestle her wordlessly from within, 
and go overlooked this far. She was unfailingly at his side when he 
needed her, and he had almost ignorantly abandoned her on this issue. 
He waited, his arms tightly surrounding her comparitively tiny frame. 
When she at last spoke, the words muffled against his shirt and he was 
forced to pull back and ask her to repeat them.

"It's all my fault, Mulder. I might has well have pulled the trigger 
myself."

Mulder was shocked. Not only that his sensible partner could think 
such an outrageous thing, but also that she had been carrying this--so 
much more than simple grief, as he had once believed-- around with 
her all this time. He instinctively reached forward and tucked a wet 
clump of hair hanging distractingly over her face carefully behind her 
ear.

"Scully, I don't have the answers. But I can tell you that what 
happened to Melissa ultimately had nothing to do with you. If it was 
her time, it would have come one way or another."

"How do you mean?" Scully whispered, barely audible.

"I told you, *fate*," Mulder continued in a low, empassioned tone, "In 
the end, the circumstances are unimportant. No one can be blamed. 
Melissa *knew* more than what was said. I remember you saying 
earlier that...she died for you." Scully snapped her head away with a 
sharp sigh.  Mulder gently guided her chin back towards him.

" *If* she did, it was her choice. It was never up to you."

"But it shouldn't have happened. It--"

Mulder cut her off, "How much longer are you going to dwell on this? 
What will it take? Find the light, Scully. Please. It's what Melissa 
would have wanted."

Scully pondered the statement, her lips parted slightly in thought.

"Melissa always talked about that light," She began in a hushed, 
uneven voice, "She was a better person than me. She would have done 
a lot more...good...with her time." 

There was a pause of disbelief on Mulder's part. Then, taking her head 
firmly yet tenderly in both hands, as was his touch,  

"Don't you ever say that," he told her slowly, so that the weight of each 
word would reach her, "You know that's not true. Scully, you have so 
*much* to offer. So much you give every day. To the world. To your 
work. To your family. To...to me." 

Mulder released her head and placed his hands on hers. He wryly 
suspected this was begining to be as hard for him as it was for her, but 
he still continued, "You're here for a reason. Many reasons. Pull out of 
this, for her sake and yours... Feel the part of her that you'll always 
have, but don't let it hold you back. Take it with you."

Scully eased her gaze towards his, letting out a jagged breath. With a 
tentative smile, she sank into Mulder's outstretched arms, where he 
pressed her close in an unyeilding embrace. The thunder released a 
retreating rumble, and the rainfall outside pattered to a drizzle. 

               * * * * * * *  *  *  *  *  * 
end.

"I watched her. It was like watching my very own 
life raft floating away towards the open sea. 
And yet somewhere in my mind's eye I thought I 
could see the faintest outline of land. 
Then it came to me that maybe that's the only thing 
life rafts are supposed to do. Taking the shipwrecked,
 not exactly to the land, but only in view of land. 
The final mile being theirs alone to swim."
      --Bette Greene, "summer of my german soldier"

Now write me, please. I *love* honest criticism/comments.
 I do hope you didn't hate it!
Thanks.
Lizibeth@aol.com