Title: Milagro: The Long Walk (1/1)

Author: Ms. AM

Spoilers: Milagro

Rating: R

Category: post-ep,

Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me, sigh, I'm only borrowing them.

Summery: A possible trip inside Mulders psyche.

Authors Notes: This is told from Mulders POV, it's a little different from my other works hope you enjoy. And a response to the challenge issued by Jade.

THE LONG WALK (1/1)

I confronted him, gun in my hand. So sure, was I, that Padgett had an accomplice most likely Ken Naciamento. I kept my eye on him as I descended the stairwell my gun hand never wavering from his body.

"What do you think you're doing?" I demand.

"Destroying my book."

"Destroying evidence you mean." I step closer. "Let me see what you wrote."

"I'll tell you. He kills her."

<What?>

"You came down here to give these instructions to your accomplice?" I half state.

Flashes of Luther Lee Boggs and his connection with Lucas Henry spring to my mind. How Scully was drawn into his web of lies, just like Padgett. Praying on her weaknesses, twisting the thoughts in her mind, using her feelings against her.

"No. He told *me* how it ends."

"When?" I ask incredulously

"In my apartment."

Padgett is sick, demented, I knew that the minute I read of his fantasy, the fantasy he envisioned was Scully's. The 'stranger' how ironic, Padgett raped her, he used her as a character without her knowledge let alone consent. To me he was raping her body and soul, what would have happened if I hadn't arrested him when I did? Now I see he's most likely schizophrenic, he evidently hears voices and sees people that aren't there.

Scully and I have the evidence, the video surveillance to prove it. Evidence, like the novel showing clear intent, like the videotape up in my apartment. Scully's kind of proof not so much scientific but physical nonetheless. Something that will stand up in a court of law, it's here now in the pages I'm holding the rest are still in Padgett's hands.

"You were alone up there." I state simply.

*BANG* *BANG*

Gunshots fill my ears the sound familiar and frightening.

<Fuck>

While I've been down here, lured away from *my* apartment, from Scully's side, by Padgett himself. His accomplice is upstairs trying to claim another victim.

There is no choice to be made as I leave him, running, hoping I'm not too late.

<Burn it! For all *I* care you Son-of-a-Bitch!>

The shots have ceased, Scully must have used her entire clip, as I hit the forth floor I could swear I heard her...agonized wails of pain. But then nothing...silence...deep and empty silence...

<No...please...>

I open the door; gun ready and I see her.

My Scully.

My partner, my friend, my...my life.

I see blood, her blood...blood that should be flowing through her small body keeping her alive. Her blood should not be staining her clothing, the red liquid should not be splattered in tiny droplets on my floor, but it is.

Most of my brain shuts down as I proceed over to her still form. I feel like I'm on a long walk, perhaps my whole life has been nothing but a journey to arrive at this one point...this one moment in time.

The knowledge that I could have had love and still continued my search for a long, lost little sister. That my love for her and the love I am letting myself miss out on aren't interchangeable, they are separate and distinct from one another.

I *know* I love Scully, I've known for a long time. Yet I've pushed her away at moments only to conclude I can't let her go. Does that make me weak? Needy? Yes in a way it does without her I'm truly half the man I strive to be, I'm a better human being now than I was...before she came into my life.

I wonder if my face is as blank as my mind, I mean, thoughts are running through my head, but it's like they're far away, almost a memory, faint, whisper like. I know my mouth works at one point, but not a sound emerges...for if it did I know my cry of agony...of loss would never be silenced.

My long walk, only a few feet from my door in actuality ends as drop to the floor on one knee.

<Oh...no...no...it *can't* be...please, no...>

I want to speak; I want to break this deafening silence, yet I am mute. I want to call out her name and have her reply. I don't care what tone she uses angry, exasperated, sarcastic, thoughtful, soothing...I wonder if Scully has any idea what her voice does to me? How can she though, I never told her.

When we are both angry her tone just inflames me more, sometimes to the point of no return when I want to just reach out and strike her, shake her...something. But I don't because somewhere her defiance at taking me on, someone bigger, stronger...yes, a man humbles me before I lash out.

Her obstinate position, her overly rational mind frustrates me yet I yearn to give her the solid proof she requires. Her sarcasm, most of the time surprises me, mainly because she is so straight forward with most of her speech, she rarely allows emotion into her spoken words.

The calm tone, the soothing comforting voice she uses when I am on the edge or when I'm hurt. Does she know her voice is like music? A song that tames the savage, unpredictable animal inside of me, flowing notes one after the other that help to take me away from pain, even if only momentarily.

Scully has many voices, especially when focused on me, but the one that I cherish as well as dread is simple. She almost always pauses to gently wet her lips, tracing them with her tongue, before using *the* voice. When I see that unconscious motion I know I'm in for a fight. A fight to keep myself from becoming so painfully aroused that I have to flee the room or risk destroying the delicate balancing act we have been performing between platonic and something more.

Couple that voice with the intensity of her blue eyes and my control sometimes does snap. One time pops into my mind, very recently actually. I was upset she couldn't, although at the time I thought wouldn't, back me up in the OPR hearing that would determine our future re-assignment to the X Files.

"I don't like telling you this."

She also made a comment about running tests, *she* was just as frustrated as *I* was because she couldn't provide me with the scientific proof I needed. Oh Scully. I left her standing there, upset, I know, but I just barely made it to the men's restroom.

Hidden in a stall, like some pervert, opening my fly, hastily freeing my erection one, two rough strokes along my length and I came. One hand braced on the wall above the toilet as my body shuddered with the force of my climax; I had to draw my bottom lip in, biting down to stifle the cry of her name as my seed seeped around and throughout my palm and fingers.

I remember raising my hand staring at my own secretions, while the tension in my body slowly ebbed, dimly realizing the Mulder lineage would most likely fade out, just as the sperm, *my* sperm, died against my skin, by my own hand.

It seems the silence is gone.

All I hear are my own respirations and the pounding of my heart.

She is pale, my Scully...so pale.

Her face is peaceful, her lips parted slightly, serene almost.

An angel with hair like the finest spun silk, the color of copper set aflame, surrounds her head...a halo of earthly beauty. She's sleeping. A slumber of beauty and purity, if it weren't for the blood I could make myself believe, the peaceful pose to be true.

But I don't want to believe.

I want to touch her.

I should check her pulse.

I should make sure she's breathing.

But as I lean farther over her...gazing into her face...

I *can't*...I can't touch her yet.

Because if I do...I'm afraid to find out...

I'm afraid...she isn't sleeping.

End of Part One