Title: Afterlife Author: Susan E-mail: susanf34@comcast.net Classification: post-ep vignette Rating: PG-13 for some bad words Keywords: Mulder angst Spoilers: DeadAlive Archive: No archive without permission. Disclaimer: This character doesn't belong to me. I sure wish he did. Author's notes: This Mulder isn't the Mulder I usually write, but tonight he wanted to be heard...and so I listened. If you like stories that are positive and hopeful and have closure, then this story isn't for you. More notes at the end. Summary: All they've told me so far is what *they* could handle hearing, not what *I* could. ********************************************************** Afterlife by Susan ~~~~ It's strange what a person thinks of when they're lying in a hospital bed. Toes. I've been thinking about toes, other people's toes specifically and how many of them have also been under this sheet that's covering me. How many other men have had their feet under this white hospital sheet, their toes scraping against its scratchy surface? How many women? Which of them had broken bones or gunshot wounds? How many suffered from cancer or had heart attacks? Which ones came back from the dead? Yesterday when they brought me back from the x-ray room, I saw a guy out in the hallway who looked like he might have. Is that how I looked when they dug me up from the ground, my face puffy and gray, my fingers swollen and stiff? Oh yeah, that's right. No one's told me yet about all the shit I went through, all the drugs and tubes it took to bring my dead body back to life. All they've told me so far is what *they* could handle hearing, not what *I* could. Sure, Skinner finally came out and admitted to me that it was his idea to 'raise me from the dead', but that's all he told me. And Scully...what can I say about her? She's pregnant. For two days now she's been walking on eggshells around me, wearing baggy clothes so I can't see her belly and be reminded of the fact that she's been carrying a baby around with her for the past several months. Jesus. I knew we had a problem communicating with each other when it came to our personal relationship, but why can't she just come out and tell me that it's my child growing inside of her? It's my child, I know it is. I'm going to be a father. Could I be any more unqualified for the job? I can't even get myself out of this damn bed, let alone take care of a kid. What do I know about being someone's father anyway? I couldn't protect Samantha. I couldn't stop my dad from being killed. I couldn't stop my mother from ending her own life. And I sure as hell haven't done a very good job of keeping Scully safe since we became partners. So, how the hell am I going to raise a child? ~~~~ It's funny what a person thinks about eating when they're stuck in a hospital. Sunflower seeds. I want some sunflower seeds, an eight-ounce bag of them and salted. They have to be salted. I asked Scully for some soon after I became one of the undead, but she still hasn't brought me any, telling me that my teeth aren't ready to chew something that hard and that the roof of my mouth is still healing. What does she know? I want some sunflower seeds, damn it, and I don't care how much they burn my mouth. For Christ 'sakes, just give me what I want, not what everyone thinks I need. Give me something I know, something from my life before. Something normal. ~~~~ I don't know why these nurses don't just leave me alone. It's not like they're helping me get any better. I still have holes in my cheeks. I still have a mouth full of blisters. I still have a 15-inch scar dissecting my chest. And I still have memories. They're not completely real to me yet, but they're with me all the time, little flashes of light that permeate my brain 24 hours of the day. And saws. Round whirling saws slicing through my skin, hitting bone, but still moving, always moving. No amount of Demerol or Vicodin is going to make that sound go away. Ever. ~~~~ Scully's hovering over me again. I hate it when she does that. Not because I don't love her, I do, but because it's not what I need right now. I need her to talk to me, tell me what she's feeling, tell me about the baby. Tell me what was done to me, how I was able to survive. Why can't she stop looking at me like that and just talk to me? ~~~~ Odd thoughts pop into my head at odd hours of the day. This morning, I couldn't stop thinking about what it would be like to fly, not the way that I flew when I was on Their spaceship, but the way a bird flies, its wings outstretched, its streamlined body gracefully gliding through the sky. What if my arms were like the wings of a bird and I could fly away from this place? Would anyone try to stop me or would they just let me go? ~~~~ I actually slept for an hour straight this afternoon, and when I woke up, Scully was sitting beside my bed giving me that look again. I hate that look. I want her to look at me the way she did before, when my body worked the way I wanted it to and my mind knew exactly what it was thinking. I want her to look at me like she loves me, not like she feels sorry for me. Please look at me that way again, Scully. Please... ~~~~ Supposedly, it's been four days since they brought me back from the dead. At least that's what I overheard one of the nurses say outside my door tonight. I wonder what I'd be feeling right now if they'd just left me buried in the ground. Would I be able to sense that Scully and I had created a child? Would I feel pain? Fear? Anger? Or would I feel nothing? Looking over at my window, the blackened sky staring at me from the other side of the glass, I think I already know. ~end~ *It's strange what a fanfic writer writes about when she thinks about how horribly Mulder was treated when he was abducted and when he came back. This story was born out of frustration and flowed onto the keyboard in one big emotional wave. It's not pleasant and it's not what I usually write, but for tonight, it's what I *needed* to write. If you feel so inclined, here's where you can reach me... susanf34@comcast.net possibilities http://possibilities.bravehost.com/ the bare essentials http://www.geocities.com/filesfan34/ Originally posted July 2003.