Title: Moving On Author: Caroline McKenna Spoilers: Apocrypha, deals with Melissa's death. Teaser: What happened after Mulder met Scully at Melissa's grave at the end of Apocrypha? Category: MSR, angst, Mulder/Scully friendship Rated: PG Email: JC_SizzlinSpike827@yahoo.com Feedback: I LOVE feedback! Praise, flames, constructive criticism are all welcome here. Nothing too nasty, though, if you don't mind. Disclaimer: I don't own them, I never will. They belong to Chris Carter, FOX, 1013 Productions, and I like to think they belong to GA and DD. They're not mine. Don't rub it in. Archiving: Yes, just tell me where you're taking it, and include my name and email Author's Note: from Scully POV He walked up silently, a bundle of fresh flowers in his hand. I didn't notice his approach at first; the tears clouded my vision. Only when Mulder set the flower's on my sisters' grave did I recognize his presence. We stood there, quiet reserve between us, staring at the headstone which bore my sister's name. Melissa Scully Beloved daughter and sister 1962-1995 I blinked back my tears. I didn't want Mulder to see me cry. Sure, he had seen me grieve before, but I didn't like to show it nonetheless. In my eyes, tears are a sign of weakness; a sign of fear. I didn't want Mulder to see it, but maybe I needed him to. "You gonna be okay, Scully?" he asked me. Of course I'm not going to be okay! What kind of question is that? My sister was murdered, cold-blood in my apartment! Does that merit the word 'okay'? "Yeah, Mulder, I'll be fine." I struggled with my words, annunciating each one, using them for all they were worth. He knew I was lying. "You will, Scully. I know you will, you just need time." Only then do I realize that Mulder knows how I feel. He knows better than anyone. Maybe in his case, it's worse. "Is this what it feels like?" I manage to say without my voice cracking, "When you lost Samantha, is this how you felt?" His head fell, a sign of submission. "Yeah. But, it's probably more difficult for you. When Sam was taken, I was only 12. I didn't know what to make of it. I guess I didn't know her that well. You, you're an adult and so was Melissa. I can only imagine how much harder that must make it." He looked at me, the pain written all over his face. If he wouldn't hide it, neither would I. Besides, I don't think I could have held in the tears for much longer anyway. I felt the sobs wracking in my chest, hammering their way out into the open. Before I knew it, my face was wet with grief's own marks, and yet I still found myself trying to talk. "I guess, Mulder," I said in between sobs, "But then again, maybe it was easier, because adults have a better coping mechanism than children. Especially for us. You'd think, being in the FBI that we'd have seen enough deaths to..." I couldn't finish my sentence. It hurt too much. He put his arm around my shoulder, squeezing me tight. "We'll never get used to it. If we ever get used to the death, the horror, we have lost our humanity. Nobody gets used to it, Scully." My eyes were still locked with Melissa's headstone, as if in some final attempt to bring her back by winning a staring contest with her grave. It wouldn't work; I knew it wouldn't. But still I tried. I turned to Mulder, weeping openly to his chest, holding him and letting him hold me. The crying did not stop. Don't get me wrong, it felt incredible, being in his arms, but it was no match for the sorrow that overtook me, swallowing me whole. We stood like that for several minutes, until my anguish subsided some. It would never recede entirely, and I understood that, though not quite. "Why her, Mulder? Why Melissa?" The questions where rhetorical but I paused for him regardless. When he didn't answer, I continued, "The thought she was me, you know." It was a statement, not a question. "That man came in to my apartment, and initially shot me. Or who he thought was me. It should have been me, not Melissa. She was innocent, she didn't deserve to die." It shocked me that I had managed to speak in full, complete sentences without breaking down again. My words surprised me even more, before I realized their truth. He looked at me again as I moved out of his arms to kneel by the tombstone. He gave me his best You're-Crazy expression and then spoke. "Neither did you, Scully. No one did. But someone was shot, and someone was killed. I doubt we could have changed that. You can't lay the blame on yourself, Scully. Trust me. I, along with everyone else, thought I was to blame for Sam's disappearance. In school, I was outcast because the kids thought I had murdered my sister. Spooky Mulder killed poor Samantha. I can't tell you how much that hurt, not only blaming myself for her abduction, but having others do the same. What happened to Melissa is not your fault, don't try to make it that way." His voice was gentle but firm, and a cold shiver ran down my spine. I don't know if it was visible or not, nor do I very much care. His eyes held the raw emotion of decades of loss, and I could no longer view Mulder as just a partner, just a friend. He had shared something with me that I'm sure he told no other, and that was special. But, as I gazed at him, admiring him for his courage, the only thing I saw was a boy; a boy afraid of the dark, of losing a loved one. I saw a boy crying to me for help, so that the young boy could finally grow up fully. Part of Mulder was still that young boy, and the memories of another's harsh accusations tied him to that child, until it utterly consumed him. He had carried this weight on his shoulders for so long; unassisted, with no way to ease the burden. Until now. "That's awful," was all I could croak out. I must say, I felt like such an ass for not being able to say anything more comforting, more helpful, but those were the words that emerged from my mouth. He knelt beside me, and brushed away the ash that dirtied Melissa's memorial. "It's time to say goodbye, Dana. I know it's hard, but you need to move on. We both do." I hardly reacted when he used my first name, but his advice hit me head-on. I did need to. After all, it had been over 5 months since her death, and I was still grieving as though she passed away yesterday. Maybe, moving on hurts the most. Maybe the hardest part is to keep on living, even when the world around us is crashing down. But, it needs to be done. We need to find ways to lessen the pain so we can live our daily lives. Maybe when we find those ways, it won't be so difficult to drag ourselves out of bed in the morning. Simply living won't bring so much pain, and we won't have to tell ourselves to keep on breathing every second of the day. A tear fell and landed in the lush green grass, and then I stood, finally ready to wake up and face reality. "Goodbye doesn't mean forever, Scully." I had forgotten Mulder was there, beside me, agonizing for reasons that were different, yet very much the same. But he always was beside me. When we turned a corner, his hand was always there, on the small of my back, the place he had claimed for his own. When I was lost with no where to go, he was there to lead me to safety. He was my eyes when I couldn't see, my ears when I was unable to hear. He won't shelter me from the unknown, but if he can he prepares me for what's coming. Here and now I realize that he has always been there. It has always been Mulder. Always will it be forevermore. "I know, Mulder, I know." He stood also. Taking his hand in mine, I decided to live a little better, laugh a little harder, and smile more often. Though we know our time on earth is limited, no one can ever be prepared for the moment it will strike us down, and when it does, we have to know we got the most out of the time we had. Now, I think making the most of my time includes a nice, romantic dinner with Mulder, and a game of football that'll knock his socks off.