Nothing II: Finding the Jewel
by Slippin' Mickeys
red_phile@yahoo.com
CLASSIFICATION: V, A
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: Everyone can discover their treasure. The trick is to hold onto
it.
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully, I suppose...
SPOILERS: The Beginning
DISCLAIMER: They don't belong to me. CC, 1013 and the bigwigs at Fox own
em. I just borrowed them to drag them through hell. Better them than me,
they are after all, fictional. (BTW- "Nothing- the poem- is by James
Fenton. That was established in Nothing I.)
IF YOU DIDN'T READ "NOTHING" YOU WON'T GET THIS!
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: This one is for the Monday night girls. Come on, who else
would it be for?
ARCHIVE: Go for it, just let me know precisely where it is so that I can
visit!
FEEDBACK: Do you want me to beg? Do you really? Cause I'll do it, you know!
I crave and love feedback! Constructive flames are greatly appreciated,
although I just use the flamey flames to light the sh** bombs that I will
throw at your house should I receive one! ;-) red_phile@yahoo.com
Nothing II: Finding the Jewel
By Slippin' Mickeys
I almost didn't open it. I'd recognize that chicken-scratch anywhere. He'd
actually sent me a letter. I didn't even know he knew how to communicate by
means of something that wasn't considered a modern technology.
It had been weeks since he last tried to reach me, I had almost given up
hope that he would. Sighing gratefully, I opened it.
Expecting a letter that began "Dear Scully, come back to me," I was
surprised when a small piece of paper fluttered to the floor. I picked it
up and read the hastily written score that is Mulder's handwriting.
"I take a jewel from a junk-shop tray
And I wish I had a love to buy it for.
Nothing I choose will make you turn my way
Nothing I give will make you love me more.
I know that I've embarrassed you too long
And I'm ashamed to linger at your door.
Whatever I embark on will be wrong
Nothing I do will make you love me more.
I cannot work. I cannot read or write.
How can I frame a letter to implore.
Eloquence is a lie. The truth is trite.
Nothing I say will make you love me more.
So I replace the jewel in the tray
And laughingly pretend I'm far too poor.
Nothing I give, nothing I do or say,
Nothing I am will make you love me more."
I stared at it, the tears welling up in my eyes. I didn't, couldn't move. I
simply stood there for a good ten minutes gazing at the scrap of paper with
gentle tears sliding down my cheeks, forming a bouquet at my chin.
I knew when I left that it would kill him. In fact, that knowledge was what
led me to resign in the first place. I didn't do it out of spite or
animosity, as he and others might think. Our partnership had been so torn
to shreds, that I knew hurting him was the only way to get him to open his
eyes.
I think it may have hurt me even more so than him, though I've always held
my feelings better than he. It killed me not to return his phone calls,
messages and pleas to simply explain myself. I didn't intend to be
malicious or hateful. To tell you the truth, hearing his honey-over-gravel
voice would have crumbled my resolve, and I would have been back at his
side in the span of one breath. I was doing this for his own good, and I
couldn't even tell him.
It was a huge gamble on my part. One of the biggest chances that I've ever
taken. The possibility of it backfiring was astronomical, but I couldn't
live another day knowing he doubted my trust, and feeling the fleeting
doubts of his trust in me. He very well could have committed suicide, given
up on his quest for the truth, or my greatest fear, turned his back forever
on me.
I looked down at the paper once more. I had gotten through to him. My
gamble had paid off, but at what price?
I finally moved out of my statuesque stance, and right out the door. I
stopped only to grab my keys and my purse. I didn't bother with a jacket.
The cold outside couldn't touch me, I was feeling too much to feel the
chill.
I knocked a couple of times at his door, then used my key to open it.
The darkness inside didn't surprise me. I shuffled in past the accumulated
mess on his floor, and walked slowly toward his living room. I stopped at
the entrance, and had to stifle a gasp. He looked utterly horrible.
He didn't look up at me, and to tell you the truth, I don't even know if he
was aware of my presence in the room. His hair was greasy and unkempt. His
clothes were baggy and limp. His eyes were downcast at the floor and his
arms rested weakly at his sides. He had at least two weeks worth of beard
growth on his face, though his cheeks were gaunt and sallow. Had I passed
him on the street, I doubt I would have recognized him.
I paused momentarily then moved directly to him. I sat on the floor at his
feet and took his head in both hands, pulling it down to me, where I
planted a firm kiss on his forehead.
"Mulder."
His eyes slowly came up to register with mine. He opened his mouth, but no
sound came out. Then, softly, "Sc- Sc- Scully." As soon as the words were
out of his mouth, his face squeezed together, and he started to silently
cry.
His shoulders quaked with each noiseless sob, and I moved from the floor up
to the couch to sit next to him. I wrapped one arm around his shoulder, and
pulled his head down to my chest with the other. He gave no resistance, and
slumped over to bury his head in my lap. I stroked his hair, and he wrapped
both of his arms around my legs possessively.
"Don't ever leave me, Scully," he murmured in hushed tones.
I kissed the back of his neck softly in answer, and whispered, "I won't,
Mulder. I can't."
He sighed against me, and I knew we'd make it. It had taken much effort,
but we'd sifted through the tray, and discovered our gem.
We'd found the jewel. Now we just had to hold onto it.
End
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