You'll Never Get Over Me

©MMI T h r e a d s

Dedicated to Leyla Harrison

Fox Mulder made the drive up to Raleigh ever weekend. It was the least he could do.

It was all he could do.

She lay there, buried underground. Row 28, lot 10. The Mulder plot.

He made his way briskly across the flat, a sharp green in color. He passed rows and rows of headstones. All with somebody underneath them; somebody who had been loved.

But not nearly as much as he had loved her… it couldn't compare.

He carried roses in his left hand. He had always wanted to give her flowers when she was alive. Why couldn't he have sent her flowers once? For no reason at all, just to show that he had cared.

His pace quickened as he made his way up a rise in the grass and saw lot 10's approach in the distance.

Mulder passed more headstones. Some were crosses. Some were flat slabs in the ground. On an old grave, from 1970, it read, "In loving memory".

His old shoes dug into the ground as he walked. Grass blades bent and broke beneath. His jeans were faded, his shirt unwashed, and the leather on his coat was patchy at best. His shaved jaw was set tightly to the pain this journey brought every week.

Lot 10 became ever more close, and Mulder passed more graves. A tree grew near her burial plot. It's long, spidery branches and thick head of green leaves stretched well out into the sky, and cast a shadow on her grave, and those that rest near her.

He paused as he observed the tree reaching out to him. It's branches clawed out into the open space, pining for air and for sun. The trimmed grass rolled out in front of him. A sea of green that waved slightly in the breeze, it's venerable existence serving only to the graves. The sky was almost clear- only a few thin clouds lined the horizon. The rest was blue sky. A light breeze rose up from behind him and sunlight fell down against his face.

His eyes fell on another stone. It read, "In loving memory".

Fox Mulder's dark eyes sat entombed with grim fascination as he looked at the colloquial vision before him.

It was so beautiful.

Like the day she was buried … why couldn't it have been winter then? Or even have rained, or been overcast? But no, it had been a day so beautiful that it only could have been gift from God alone.

But it always looked the same when he came. Always.

His hand squeezed the flowers tightly in his palm and he continued towards the tree. Towards her.

He approached her grave with hesitance, an apprehension that could only be explained as a fear for what lay there. That he almost refused to acknowledge it. He stepped up in front, and noted another offering at her stone.

Two purple lilies.

Perhaps Agent Doggett had already been here today.

Mulder stared at her grave, numb all over with disbelief. Every time he made this journey to here, to the end of his life, it became progressively worse. Where he was calm and collected in the car, he fell to pieces ever time he stood in the shade by her grave.

His fingers loosened and the roses he had brought fell heartlessly to the ground. The bouquet broke apart and white blossoms fanned out in front of her new home.

All in one motion Mulder fell to his knees and began to sob. He did not try to hide it; his dignity was long lost. He sat there for what seemed hours, a shaking monolith that challenged hers.

His eyes opened slowly and he threw his body against the cold, white stone. His legs moved with the rest of him, and the bud of a rose broke apart under the stress of his weight.

He brought his hand up slowly to the alabaster stone. His fingers dragged across the engravings on it. He traced the words with a stillness that frightened even him.

D…

"Mulder," She smiled, as she picked up a folder from off his desk. "I read this file over before you came in this morning."

He looked up and nodded for her to continue.

"I don't" She smiled slightly and paused to search for the right words. Fox Mulder knew that whenever she did that, it couldn't be good.

He leaned back into his swivel chair and stuck his feet up onto his desk in hopes of intimidating her.

Just to annoy her.

He loved doing that.

"I don't think we should investigate this case, Mulder."

He played the shocked and insulted partner.

"Mulder," She began again as she approached his desk. "There's nothing worth investigating here… I can tell you right now, just from looking at crime scene photos, a group of teenage vandals did this."

Mulder sat up from his chair.

"We've got witnesses. Four of them."

"All of which reported something different."

"But they all reported seeing a UFO."

"Yes Mulder, but we've got one person who says it looked like football, another says It was cigar shaped …and there's one that was reported as looking like a …" He eyes widened slightly as she trailed off while reading.

Mulder's head motioned for her to continue.

She slammed the file closed and straightened up.

"There's nothing here to investigate."

"Then why did it land in my inbox yesterday if it was nothing?" Mulder pressed as he rose from his seat.

"Mulder," She said sharply. "We're going to have to let this one go, okay? I know Deputy Director Kersh won't appreciate our flying out to Louisiana with this." She said, holding up the file.

"I don't know," He said slyly, crossing his arms. "Kersh might get a kick out of the fact that the UFO that was shaped like a woman's-"

He stopped as he saw his partner mouth the word "no" slowly.

A…

N…

"Mulder, can I ask you something?"

He looked at her, and nodded for continuance.

"Is this how you spend all your Saturday nights?"

He looked at her confused.

"What do you mean?"

"The Day the Earth Stood Still?" She said as she adjusted her position on the couch. "I know it's a classic, Mulder, but rent something new sometime. I don't know how many times I've watched this with you."

Mulder looked away quickly. She couldn't tell if it was from surprise or embarrassment.

"It was the only thing left at the rental place."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Well, that and porn." He added smiling. "You didn't want to watch porn, did you?" He asked with a little curiosity.

She shook her head and laughed away the idea. There was a moment of silence between the two.

Mulder put his arm around her anyway.

"You know I love you."

She sighed again, this time longer. "Yes, Mulder." She said as she rolled her eyes.

…A.

Mulder's fingers ran over the remainder of her name quickly.

KATHER… INE… SCULLY…

If only he had been there sooner he would have been able to save her. Why did Agent Doggett have to send her so far away?

(He had only been looking out for her.)

Mulder rested his forehead against her grave.

Why did she have to die now? Why so soon? She had wanted a child so badly, why did she have to be dead- her son now without a mother and father. He sat alone at his grandmothers, barely two months old.

It wasn't fair. This cruelty wasn't fair.

And he had never been able to tell her how he felt and for her to understand what he really meant.

Tell her how he felt- and for her to say it back… and mean it too.

But that would never happen.

Ever.

Mulder slowly got back up to his feet, his hand dragging across her grave as he did.

He stared down at the stone with belligerent eyes; his hand still grasped the edge of it.

Some days he could never understand the malevolence that had taken her, and some days, he refused to.

His visits would always end the same way- he would always stand there, wide-eyed with fear, unable to leave her grave, and always unable to let go.

Eventually his hand sliped from the stone. His tired eyes fell to the ground and met the scattered roses that lay around his feet.

A blurry white mess mixed with the green grass.

Two purple lilies lay neatly to the side.

He shook his head once and choked down a sob as he turned.

Turned and left.

FIN.

Note: I had this planned out before I actually decided to dedicate this to Leyla. Scully's death was not intended as a direct allusion to Ms. Harrison, just a meaningful coincidence. Though it can be taken as an allusion- and there are a lot of aspects in this story that are (mulder, the graves et al.), I don't want to be misinterpreted as being disrespectful for creating a tacky and predictable reference.

.back.