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The characters herein are the property of 1013, Fox and Chris Carter. No infringement on their copyright is intended. Their usage here is for entertainment purposes only.

Author's notes: This is a companion piece to willa's After Monday, which is wonderful. I heartily recommend reading both. And thanks, willa, for inspiration, fun, and a shoulder to lean on.

---

Call it a feeling.

I didn't remember it all right away.

Not all of it.

It came to me in shadows, whispers, emotions.

---

At first, I only remembered the things necessary to break us out of the loop. Somewhere along the line, Scully must have taught me to be practical.

"He's got a bomb."

I heard those words in my head, standing in the bank, and I remembered what I needed to remember. The bomb. The woman outside -- Pam -- I still don't know if I learned her name in the paper this morning or if I already knew it.

But later, it all started to come back. Those shadows, whispers, emotions.

---

Suddenly, I knew why I had the oddest feeling of loss as I walked out of our office, paycheck in hand, without really talking to Scully. I couldn't have known it at the time, but I missed the conversation we were supposed to have. I needed to argue with her about fate and destiny. I needed to hear that odd curiosity in her voice when she asked about the waterbed.

But we didn't have time to talk, not in that final Monday. We didn't have time, so the memory of that amused curiosity sparkling in her eyes isn't real.

---

I also remember telling her, in a different conversation in our office, that we would never have met if she'd made a different decision when she was approached by the FBI. I remember telling her that, averting my eyes to the desk, fixing them on the check instead of Scully. I wondered what she was thinking, wondered if she could see how much the idea scared me. I wasn't even sure why I was saying it, trying to pass it off lightly, just another one of my weird theories.

But I think about it a lot. I always have. I've wished at times that she'd never heard of the FBI, never heard of Fox Mulder, never gone down this road with me.

And selfishly, I'm relieved, more than I can express, that she is here with me.

---

Speaking of fear, there's plenty of that to remember.

Just that memory of crouching on the floor, looking up through the windows of the front door, and seeing her coming towards the bank.

The words, the disbelief, rushed through my mind.

God Scully no don't come please turn around please don't

I tried to make him lock the doors. I tried to keep her out of danger, but I wasn't fast enough. There she was.

There she was, her hair glistening in the sunlight, looking like the proverbial knight in shining armor.

---

Before I knew it, I heard the shot. I prayed it wasn't for you. Part of me was thankful when I felt it rip through my chest.

She came to me, cupping my face after she'd ripped open my shirt, then trying desperately to stanch the loss of blood. Trying to save my life, just as she always does. And she was talking to him, Bernard, telling him anything she thought could get me out of there.

And I heard the fear in her voice -- "I've got to get him out of here."

---

I tried to talk, lying there, my life's blood seeping away. I remember now what I was trying to say.

"There were so many better opportunities to rip my clothes off, Scully."

What a great line -- but she couldn't hear it even in that non-reality. I couldn't get the sounds out.

I knew then that I was going to die.

And she tried to save me to the last, crying out in denial when she realized we'd all die there.

---

And I wonder if that's how we'll die someday. Random. No time to say good-bye.

---

And I wonder if we should learn something from this. If there's a reason life handed us an infinite number of opportunities to save ourselves from dying in that bank.

---

And I wonder if you'd ever believe me, if you could ever remember the variations we've lived through. I wonder if it would be fun to try to convince you, if I could see that look of frustration on your face, the one you save to use in response to my crazy theories.

---

And I wonder how you felt when you watched me get shot.

---

And I wonder if you'll forgive me -- I know now I'll be late to our meeting with Skinner this morning.

And I wonder if you'd expect anything less from me.

---

end

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