maybe i'll find out a way to make it back someday | to guide you through the darkest of your days
Characters: Fox Mulder and Dana Scully ♥ (and CAMEL)
Rating: PG-13
Time Period: Modern day
Location: The Curator Room
Relative Date: Evening, 3 days after the dance and Mulder talks to Camel
Status: Closed. Completed.
Fox Mulder had been as good as his word. He'd fastened on to hope, kept his head on his shoulders, done his damndest to keep it together every day since Scully's death.
And he did. During the days. But night time was the hardest. And his strength would slip. Just like today - when the sun went down, his spirits seemed to sink in time, and he found himself heading down the hall and stopping outside Scully's room, across from his own door.
He laid a hand on the door, closing his eyes and imagining pushing it open, to find her seated at the little desk, writing furiously - taking notes in the middle of all this madness, because someone had to document it all, like a reasonable person. Despite the fact that there was nothing reasonable about this place at all.
He could see it as plainly as if it were real, pushing the door in slowly: one hand buried in her red hair, keeping her head propped up so she wouldn't nod off as she recorded dutifully.
When he opened his eyes, the image lingered, though it was somewhat different. Either way, it was as clear as if it were honestly there before him. He didn't mind that this meant he was probably going even madder. Hell, imagining Scully was probably much healthier than having full conversations with a camel in a top hat.
Rating: PG-13
Time Period: Modern day
Location: The Curator Room
Relative Date: Evening, 3 days after the dance and Mulder talks to Camel
Status: Closed. Completed.
Fox Mulder had been as good as his word. He'd fastened on to hope, kept his head on his shoulders, done his damndest to keep it together every day since Scully's death.
And he did. During the days. But night time was the hardest. And his strength would slip. Just like today - when the sun went down, his spirits seemed to sink in time, and he found himself heading down the hall and stopping outside Scully's room, across from his own door.
He laid a hand on the door, closing his eyes and imagining pushing it open, to find her seated at the little desk, writing furiously - taking notes in the middle of all this madness, because someone had to document it all, like a reasonable person. Despite the fact that there was nothing reasonable about this place at all.
He could see it as plainly as if it were real, pushing the door in slowly: one hand buried in her red hair, keeping her head propped up so she wouldn't nod off as she recorded dutifully.
When he opened his eyes, the image lingered, though it was somewhat different. Either way, it was as clear as if it were honestly there before him. He didn't mind that this meant he was probably going even madder. Hell, imagining Scully was probably much healthier than having full conversations with a camel in a top hat.