Goodbye

By Longdog
 
 
 

It was well after 2am, and the hallway was only dimly lit, since few people came down to the basement by choice, and even fewer to the room at the end of the hallway.  The tall man's footsteps echoed, each step a beat in the dirge playing in his heart.  He paused outside the door, contemplating the sign that revealed both the name and purpose of the room … MORGUE. 

With a deep, miserable sigh he opened the door, stepping inside hesitantly.  In truth, he wanted to be anywhere but here.  In the months since his lover's abduction…he refused to call it anything else, to put any "spin" on it other than the truth…he had prayed that it wouldn't come to this.  That somehow, his lover would return to him unharmed. But it was not to be so.  Mulder had been found, and found dead.  Mulder, dead. Mulder, dead.  It kept repeating in his mind.  

He slowly walked over to the bank of doors, to the one marked MULDER, FOX WILLIAM.  He stood with his hand on the handle, staring at the name.  Oh, God.  Why? He opened the door, and carefully pulled out the stainless steel drawer containing the remains of his lover, Fox William Mulder.  He stood contemplating the sheet-covered body, 
trying to marshal his control for the next step.  He reverently drew the sheet down the body.

Another sigh, this one more miserable and heartfelt than the last. There was no denying it anymore.  Yes, he had seen Mulder under the trees in the field where the body was found, but denial is a strong adversary.  The tears began to fall silently as he scrutinized his lover's horribly tortured body….the scars on the face that he so loved, dried blood still on the once-lush lips, the wounds on the graceful neck that he had loved to lick, kiss, and leave his mark on, much to Mulder's consternation.  Dead leaves and dirt in the hair he loved to run his fingers through, the beautifully expressive hazel eyes thankfully closed, though no illusion of sleep was possible given the state of the body.  

He looked lower, to the long vertical midline wound, partially "healed," if such could be said of that horrible mess.  What had they done to him?  Was he awake and aware when it was done?  

The tears came more freely now, as he inventoried the abuse his lover's body had been forced to endure.  That there was force involved was obvious due to the wounds in the arms and legs where some kind of rod had clearly been driven through flesh and bone, to pinion an unwilling subject so the horrors could begin.  Oh, God!  Why was there no mercy for Mulder?  

There were other wounds scattered here and there on the body, some older, some new.  He thought of how he had made love to that body…the wonderful nights spent in carnal bliss with the man he had come to realize he loved.  The man who had, just before the fateful trip to Oregon, told him that he was loved in return. They knew it was dangerous, but danger was their business, and both men had been alone for a long time.  They deemed it worth the risk, and had not regretted a moment of it.

His lover's lower body and groin were deeply bruised, from what cause he didn't know, and didn't want to know.  Looking at the wounds, and knowing how tough a man Mulder had been, he didn't want to imagine the pain and agony his lover must have endured before he died.  Then to be discarded in a field like trash… it broke his heart.

His sobs were audible now.  He hadn't cried since he was a boy.  He was a Marine, and they don't cry.  But this one did.  He cried for the man he loved, for the loss of both the man and the love he had given so freely.  He vowed that he would someday avenge the death of his lover, just as he had vowed to protect the baby his lover had created with Scully by IVF.  The baby was all that was left of his lover, and he would gladly give his life to protect it and Dana.  It was his purpose now.  

He reached up and caressed his dead lover's scarred face for the last time, pulling the sheet back up and slowly closing the drawer. Again, he contemplated the name….MULDER, FOX WILLIAM.  The last of the Mulder family, except for the baby growing in Scully.  Yes, Mulder would want him to go on, to do the job that Mulder now could not do. He strode from the room, and down the hallway. 

Walter Skinner would never be the same, but he had purpose again.