This takes place when Mulder was believed to have commited suicide at the season finale of Season 4, and Scully was still dying of cancer. There isn't really any shipper moments so noromos please read on.
All characters and situations belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and 20th Century Fox. No infringement is intended and no money will be made off of this. The writing here is for private use only. Please do not put this on any other archive without my knowledge.
Dear Mulder
I don't write this because I think you are still alive for I know without a doubt you are gone. They took you from me. I inscribe this more so for myself. I feel as if these past four years have been in vain, and now that they are over I feel as if I can't go on.
I dream sometimes that all of this has been a nightmare and you are still beside me guiding me through a maze of deception and untruth, but I know now that was all a lie.
Truths are illusions we create for ourselves, perpetuate, and hold sacred. Like so many things though; dreams in the light of reality always diffuse into obscurity; as has our quest.
At times in the night I awake and can almost feel your presence. I walk through my darkened halls and your smell wafts to me agonizingly familiar and comforting, yet elusive, and far away.
Like a ghost of the past reaching out, but never far enough. And as quickly as you come; you vanish in that moment leaving me more acutely aware of the emptiness that surrounds me.
I cannot rest now. My feelings steal upon me in the twilight where I cannot retreat until finally sleep does come. The shadows close in then; enveloping me; seeking out all the recesses of my heart and mind. Nightmares advance finally as an escape; a lucid drug to dull my senses and quell my fears. Since yours have been denied; it's arms are the only comfort I know.
Oftimes in the morning I awake and forget the pain to the sun, and for a brief instant things are as they were before this crusade turned to a war. But then in another breath I remember and it is like experiencing all the trauma of my life over in unison.The pain floods my body and numbs my mind over and over any time my memory fails.
Each day I am torn opened anew always as painful as the first injury. The vacuity and anguish shatter me in shards, and leave my withered limbs paralyzed; all of my life force drained with my hurt.
But I go on; my cancer slowly eating away at me; invading each new crevice of my body daily. I have lost the will to live now, and only await the inevitable. I feel no physical discomfort; only ecstasy in knowing how soon I am to join you. I was once told in one breath it can all be taken away, but also in one breath it can all be given back.
There is no truth Mulder. There are only lies. I informed you of that once. It died with you so many months ago. Your truths will set me free to wing my way back to you with the small strength I have left in this body and the small resolve I have left in this soul. I grasp at death as many do life, but I will not be turned away. I stand at it's threshold, and am not afraid. It feels as if it is welcoming me to my own asylum.
Love,
Your Scully