Melissa's Funeral by Leigh Alexander leigh_xf@geocities.com First posted: January 10, 1996 RATING: PG CATEGORY: SA SPOILERS: Paper Clip KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully friendship SUMMARY: Everyone gathers at Melissa's funeral and the special bond that Mulder and Scully share as they grieve together is highlighted. DISCLAIMERS: 1) Dana and Fox belong to Chris and Ten Thirteen Productions and the other Fox. Absolutely *no* copyright infringement is intended - I'm not doing this for money, I'm doing it for love. I *love* these characters, I wouldn't want to hurt them! :) 2) OK to archive, but if it's going anywhere other than Gossamer, please drop me a line just so I can keep track. 3) Feel free to distribute and discuss this, as long as my name and addy remain attached. INTRO: OK - I've been reading this newsgroup for a while now (the Gossamer archive site, to be precise) and I've finally decided to take the plunge and post my own story. Please allow for the fact that I'm from Australia. That means that although I've tried to use American terminology where I can, I may make mistakes in that regard. Of course, I welcome any corrections via e-mail. :) Also, we're a little behind over here, so I won't have seen all of the episodes that my North American counterparts have. (Although thanks to Fox, I have seen the first two eps of season three - I love those guys!). As I mentioned, this is my first story, so please be gentle. I'm fairly happy with it, although I'm not sure if it really achieved what I wanted it to. I welcome any _constructive_ criticism, but no unnecessary flaming, please. A final note: there is no romance or sex in this one, just grief and understanding. ----------------------------------------------------------- Melissa's Funeral ----------------------------------------------------------- It was a miserable day. The clouds, black and threatening, covered the sky, occasionally dropping a few spots of rain on the crowd gathered below. The sun tried in vain to peek through the black curtains, but was thwarted at every turn. Scully didn't mind the weather - it only complemented her own feelings of gloom. It would have been too painful to farewell her sister on a bright, sunny day. She was seated between her mother and Bill Jr., and Charles was on the other side of his older brother. The four of them sat in silence, listening to the priest. Were they actually listening, she wondered, or were they, like her, lost in their own thoughts... The priest spoke softly, regretfully. He had known Melissa since she was a child, and he genuinely felt the pain her family was going through; the Scullys had always been a close family, and he could only imagine how hard Melissa's death must be for them, coming so closely after the death of their father and husband. At the conclusion of the service, Father Thomas joined the family, embracing each of them in turn and whispering his condolences. He noticed that Dana seemed miles away - barely acknowledging his presence, and returning his hug without warmth. She had remained stony-faced, and clear-eyed throughout the funeral, and seemed determined not to let her guard down. One by one, family and friends filed past the four remaining Scullys, unintentionally mimicking the priest's actions in the vain hope of offering some sort of comfort to the family. Whilst Margaret and the two boys responded warmly to their hugs, Dana seemed to find it an imposition and remained steely-faced throughout. What they didn't know was that Dana Scully was struggling. Struggling to control her emotions, which threatened at any moment to erupt in an unstoppable flow of tears and despair. But she couldn't let herself go - not here, not in front of all these people, and especially not in front of her family who, right now, needed her strength more than they'd ever needed it before. She could feel her mother's pain, emanating from her as powerfully as if it were part of her own body scent - she knew that she had to be strong for her mother's sake, but God, it was so hard. Finally the endless procession was over. Scully let herself relax ever so slightly, as she turned to smile weakly at her older brother. She didn't notice the quiet figure who had hung back waiting for the crowd to disperse until everybody else had left; she still didn't notice him, even as he approached her and her family. It wasn't until she heard her mother whisper "Fox" that she realised that her partner had joined them. She turned slowly back to her mother, and saw Mulder standing in front of her, with his hand lightly resting on her shoulder. "Mrs. Scully, I'm so sorry for your loss. If there's anything I can do, please don't hesitate to ask." While the words were not dissimilar from those that had been uttered by everyone else who had been before, the sincerity was unmistakable and the emotion in his voice could not be manufactured. Mrs. Scully looked at him intently, trying to find the right words to say to him, to embody her feelings of gratitude and comfort at his presence. In the end, all she could say was, "Thank you Fox..." her voice drifting off as she realised the inadequacy of the words. Mulder nodded his head, and she saw from his expression that he had understood her unspoken meaning. Scully watched this exchange in silence. Seeing Mulder brought on a wave of emotion so strong she had to look away. She sensed that he was now standing in front of her and her face turned towards him - fighting the desire to let go of her pain. Their eyes locked - Scully breathed in sharply; his eyes were so full of understanding and knowledge, but most of all they were full of pain...His eyes were a mirror of her own, and suddenly the feelings that she had tried to repress throughout the funeral erupted, deep from the pit of her stomach, she felt a choking sob catch in her throat: they had both lost so much. "Mulder..." Scully haltingly spoke his name, before her face crumpled and the tears started to flow. Confronted with Scully's grief brought back memories of his own and Mulder - whose own pain was never far from the surface - was unable to stem the gentle flow of his own tears. Scully reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, gently lowering his head onto her shoulder and resting her own on his. He wrapped his arms tightly around her back and they stayed like this for a long time, drawing comfort and strength from each other. There was no need for words; they understood each other completely. They each desperately needed to grieve for everything they had lost. They needed each other like neither of them had ever needed anyone before in their lives. Memories of Melissa intertwined with those of her father, rushed around in Scully's head: Melissa yelling, throwing a hairbrush, Melissa tranquil and playing with dolls - her father looming above a young Dana, she was just a little girl, hugging him that last time and then the vision she'd had of him when she'd been in the hospital. Her sobs became more violent, her whole body shook and then she felt Mulder's arms strengthen their grip on her - she wasn't alone, they would get through this together. Mulder couldn't get the image of his sister out of his mind. She had remained the 8 year-old of his memory, although he knew, of course, that she would now be twenty-two years older. He had always teased her about her plaits, pulling and tugging them whenever he had the chance. Now he never had the chance... Now he had another pain to cope with: not only the death of his father and the subsequent alienation from his mother, but the pain brought on by the knowledge that it was because of her involvement with him that Scully was now dealing with similar grief. Her sister was dead and she herself had been taken - and returned, thank God - by an unknown force... and it was all because of him, because of his obsessive quest for the truth. Slowly their tears subsided. They remained intertwined for a long time afterwards, neither of them yet ready to leave the safety and comfort of the embrace. It was Scully who moved first, gently sliding her hands down until they rested by her sides. At her retreat, Mulder slowly straightened, lifting his arms from his partner's back so they gently rested on her shoulders. Once again they looked into each other's eyes, still wet from tears. Mulder wiped her damp cheeks with the back of his hand, and then let it drop to his side, leaving his other hand on her shoulder. Scully felt a presence behind her and turned to find her mother standing there, with her two brothers hovering not far behind her. Margaret Scully's face was tender, "Dana, honey... the boys are going to drive me home. Do you want to come back with us?" "No... I think I should go home." Dana's voice was barely a whisper, and she couldn't look her mother in the eyes, fearful of what she might see there. Margaret Scully looked at her daughter, trying to decide what would be the best path to take, eventually deciding that it would be no good trying to force Dana to come home with her: if she wanted her mother's help, she'd ask. "OK then, will you be all right getting home?" "Sure mom, I'll be fine," she replied automatically. Margaret looked worried, "I don't think you should drive yourself home, Dana-" She was cut off by Mulder who swiftly reassured Mrs. Scully that he would see to it that Scully got home safely. The older woman's face relaxed into a smile. "Thank you Fox." Scully said nothing, grateful that she hadn't had to ask for Mulder's help - she didn't want him to feel that she had turned into a helpless fool, but on the other hand she knew that his company was just what she needed at the moment: right now she needed someone to lean on, after days of being the strong one for her mother. The two of them headed up the hill towards Mulder's car. They moved slowly, not speaking. Mulder's hand lightly rested on the back of Scully's neck - a comforting gesture that she found deeply reassuring. The short drive to Scully's apartment was silent. The rain had finally started in earnest, and Mulder was happy to concentrate on the road, occupying his mind with thoughts of driving, suppressing the images of Melissa, Samantha and his father that kept plaguing him. At one point they stopped at a set of traffic lights, and he had time to glance over at his friend. She had her face turned towards the window: the rain dribbled down the window pane, reflecting on her cheek and giving him the bizarre impression of seeing tear-like shadows, rolling down her face. She looked tired and worn out. He wondered how long she'd gone without sleep: from the look of her drawn, pale face he guessed it had been a few days at least. He could clearly imagine what kind of hell she must have been going through these last few days - not only having to cope with the death of her sister, but also needing to come to terms with her own feelings of guilt and responsibility over the matter, and all the while also struggling to be the strong one for her family: for he knew that that would have been the role that she would have immediately assumed. That she blamed herself for her sister's death was a certainty in his mind - and he knew the kind of agony that you could inflict on yourself with feelings of guilt... he knew, because he had been doing it for years. For him, it was a well-worn path of self-destruction: he had been blaming himself for his sister's disappearance for 22 years. No matter how many times people - his mother, his therapist, Scully - had tried to assure him that he wasn't to blame for her disappearance, his self-loathing for his inaction continued to gnaw at him. His father's murder - and the subsequent events - had only served to further cement these feelings of guilt. And now, he could see the same thing happening to Scully: like some sort of eerie repetition of his own life. "Mulder, where are you going?" He was pulled out of his thoughts by his partner's question. He looked at her quizzically, "I'm taking you home, Scully," he replied. "Well you've just gone past my street." His eyes snapped back to the road and he softly cursed himself for doing exactly what he had wanted to avoid: getting caught up in thoughts of Samantha and his father. He cast a sideways glance at Scully and saw, to his surprise, that she was looking at him and smiling, "I seem to recall you assuring my mother that you would get me home safely, Mulder... Maybe I should be driving?" As she spoke he quietly rejoiced in the familiar tone in her voice: slightly mocking, yet infused with warmth and humour - it was a voice he had heard many times before, and he had wondered whether he would ever hear it again. He smiled back - a relieved smile, mixed with his own distinctive wry grin: "No, it'll be fine, Scully...you don't have to worry about a thing - you can count on me." His words referred to more than driving her home, and she knew it. She acknowledged his comments with a nod, and returned her gaze to the window, and the passing scenery. Mulder did a U-turn and within a few minutes they were in front of her apartment building. ************************ Mulder saw it first: a tiny fragment of yellow crime tape still attached to the wall next to Scully's apartment door. He quickly reached out and ripped it off the wall, but not before Scully had time to glance at it. She froze at the sight of it, but then quickly regained her composure, not wanting Mulder to see how much it had affected her. He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and softly asked if she was OK. She nodded silently, pressing her lips together, and busied herself rummaging through her bag for her keys. Finally her fingers found the cold metal and pulled them out of the bag with a movement so violent that they continued to chatter together, even as she moved them towards the door. Then Mulder realised that the keys' agitation wasn't caused by the jerk from her bag, but from her hands which were shaking uncontrollably. She avoided his eyes as his hands gently covered hers and slid the keys out of her grasp. She stood aside to let him pass in front of her and clasped her treacherous hands together, in an attempt to stop the trembling, as he unlocked the door. Mulder entered the room first, turning around to look at her as she stepped into the room, while simultaneously flicking on the light switch. And so he saw, in infinite detail, the intense shock that flashed across her face, before being replaced with grief - grief so powerful it hurt him to look at her face. He followed her eyes, which were fixed on the floor near his feet, and felt the colour drain from his face. Blood. There was blood everywhere... Melissa's blood...oh God. Before she knew what was happening, Scully felt herself being lifted up and carried into her kitchen. Mulder placed her gently down on a chair and knelt in front of her, grasping her hands in his and willing her to look at him. Her eyes were fixed on the table: she wasn't crying - she had so much pain that she couldn't cry. All she could do was look at the table. She didn't feel Mulder's hands, or hear his voice desperately saying her name: all she could feel, and hear, and see was blood. She squeezed her eyes shut, but to no avail - her eyelids were awash with red - was this going to be the image that would haunt her the rest of her life? She opened her eyes and looked at Mulder: his face was white: desperately concerned about her. She looked over his shoulder - she could see through the doorway into her living room.... it was just in there....she looked away quickly and her eye fell on a photo frame on the bench. The photo was of two young girls, standing next to each other, arms around each other's waist. They both had long hair - a sort of light reddish colour...who were these two girls, why were they smiling so cheerfully - didn't they know that her sister had just died...had just been murdered - didn't they know? Their smiles mocked her - she jumped up and grabbed the picture frame, ready to throw it on to the ground and crush it under her foot. But suddenly she stopped, and held the photo close to her face - she gently ran her finger across the face of the elder girl and softly whispered, "Missy?" Mulder moved just in time, and caught her as she fell. For the second time that night he gathered her in his arms, this time carrying her into her bedroom. He lay her on the bed, and softly stroked her arm as he waited for her to come round. He didn't have long to wait - her eyes soon fluttered open, and then filled with tears. Her sobs echoed throughout the still apartment, winding their way into his head and into his heart: he could feel her pain as if it were his own...it had, in fact, become his own. He didn't know how long he stayed there stroking her: it was long after her tears had subsided and long after she had finally fallen into a fitful slumber. He continued his soothing caress, not only to comfort and reassure Scully, but also for his own peace of mind - he had an absurd fear that if he stopped she would fade away... disappear as she had done before. Finally, after she had been sleeping for a few hours and while her breathing was deep and regular, Mulder lifted himself to his feet and set out to deal with what was in the other room. As he tentatively approached the doorway he realised that it wasn't as bad as he had initially thought. Whilst there was certainly a lot of blood, most of it was confined within the limits of her welcome mat. He knelt down and examined the area closely; in fact only a few dribbles seemed to have escaped the straw mat and - as he carefully lifted it - not much had oozed through to the carpet underneath. He suddenly had a vision of another welcome mat - the one that he had shoved in the back of his cupboard on his return from the Vineyard last Christmas. He silently thanked his great-aunt Maud who, for the first time in his life, had actually given him something that was now going to come in use. Five minutes later he was back in his car - the bloody mat, wrapped in newspaper and plastic, discreetly lying in his trunk - having checked on Scully to reassure himself that she was sound asleep. The rain had stopped, and he allowed himself to relax. It had been a long day - he felt drained and exhausted, but he imagined it must have been ten times worse for his partner. And then for her to come home and confront that sight... he didn't want to think about what that might have done to her already fragile spirit. He cursed himself for not having thought ahead to what would have been waiting for her at home. He couldn't plead ignorance - he had known full well that she had been at her mother's house since Melissa's murder - her own house having become a crime scene. He should have known that there would be some reminder (though he never would have imagined the horror that had actually been there) of her sister's unnatural death waiting for her - ready to haunt her upon her return. He slammed his palm onto the steering wheel in frustration: were things ever going to end up all right for both of them? Or was this pain and suffering going to dog them for the rest of their lives? He didn't mind so much for himself - he had almost become used to his pain - but Scully.... he remembered how eager and spirited she'd been when he first met her, and it made him ache to think of the agonies that she'd had to endure since becoming involved with the X-Files, and him. He pulled up outside his apartment, but didn't move immediately. He sat there mulling over the changes that had occurred in his own and Scully's life in the last two years.... so much had happened, so many lives had been altered, or lost. He wondered what the next two, three, four years would hold for them both... He abruptly pulled himself out of his reverie, remembering that he had left Scully sleeping at home, and not wanting her to wake in an empty house. He quickly jumped out of the car and ran towards his apartment, eager to complete his mission and return to his slumbering friend. Within half-an-hour he was back at Scully's apartment: on his hands and knees, scrubbing at the blood which was slowly fading away at his efforts. After a while he sat back on his heels and examined the floor: he had managed to get rid of most of the blood, although a few stubborn splotches remained on the carpet, under the spot where her doormat had been. He reached over and grabbed the bundle that had been lying against the wall. His own mat was bigger than Scully's had been, and it covered the remaining stains nicely. It was only a temporary measure - he was sure that as soon as she was ready to face it, Scully would have that bit of carpet replaced - but for a temporary measure he felt sure that it would be effective. Having completed his task, he was suddenly overcome with fatigue. He looked at his watch: it was one am - was it really eight hours since the funeral? So much had happened in the intervening time... He decided to lie down on Scully's couch and attempt to sleep - for he was sure that sleep would be as hard to find tonight as it had been on so many other nights in his life. He settled onto her couch, his long legs hanging over the edge: the uncomfortable position practically guaranteeing him a fitful night's sleep, he mused as he slowly drifted off... ******************** Scully woke with a start; she felt disorientated - she could feel that something was wrong, but she didn't know what. She looked down and saw that she was fully clothed then, looking around her, reassured herself that she was actually in her own room. As she swung her legs off the bed, a vague memory of the dream she had awoken from stirred in her mind: a funeral... someone's funeral; she was crying and holding on to someone....there was blood... Then with a rush the realisation hit her that none of that was a dream... it all came back to her. Melissa was dead. Melissa had been murdered. Melissa had unknowingly sacrificed her life for her sister's... Scully slumped back into bed: the tears filling her eyes once more as she re-experienced the impact of her sister's death, as though she had just learned of it for the first time. She still couldn't believe what had happened: it was just too fantastic. And the harder it was to believe, the harder it was to accept - and the more guilt she felt. Knowing that she was responsible - that if she hadn't asked Missy to come over... if she had waited for her outside.... if she'd just done something different, Melissa would now be alive - made the pain she felt almost impossible to endure. She started to wonder if she was going to make it through the next few days... the next few months... After a while she became aware of the sound of breathing in the next room. She remembered that Mulder had been here last night, and she assumed it was his breathing she could hear. She padded out into her living room and saw his long frame spread out on her couch. She moved closer, trying to go as silently as possible, fearful of waking him. She squatted down in front of his prone form and examined his restful face. She had always been fascinated by sleep, and its affect on people. For Mulder, sleep was sought after and cherished when attained. In sleep, his face was so relaxed... he looked so young and... carefree - as though nothing in the world bothered him: something that she knew was far from the truth. Looking at his slumbering face, Scully was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of comfort and ... assurance - she could hear the echo of his words to her the previous night: "you don't have to worry about a thing - you can count on me", and it was then that she realised that maybe, just maybe, everything *was* going to be all right... ~ THE END ~ ----------------------------------------------------------- Thanks for reading. Comments are welcome. leigh_xf@geocities.com