Author's Notes: This is just one of those, "I like to be mean to my characters." This isn't happy. It's one of my first Scully-is-sad kinda stories.

Without

written by Strausser

*He doesn’t love me.
And that is what hurts.*

A year ago nobody could have told Dana Scully that she would be sitting in her apartment with a gun in her hand, contemplating a bullet in the brain. She had everything going for her: a good job that she enjoyed (much to the surprise of onlookers), enough security so she wouldn’t have to take glances over her shoulder, a best friend who cared more about her than anything, and even a steady relationship with a man who needed her as much as she needed him. Every day was brand new to her, like she was a child experiencing the world for the first time.

Thrilled and excited. She thought nothing would make it end. Losing the X-Files changed everything. Her partner grew distant, her life became a bore, even the boyfriend she thought liked her ran off with some flight attendant floozy. The sky darkened around her. There was nothing else to do but plod along on roads of background checks and large piles of manure. Through it all, however, Mulder was always there. No matter how often she thought he was lost to the misery, he would always bounce back. That’s when she first noticed it.

It was small in the beginning, like a tick that ran through her eyes every other hour. A warmth would ease across her stomach, bringing a sliver of chills to her arms and legs. She was able to recognize the signs as soon as they manifested: love. Or lust, as it should properly be called at first. At first it was just when she was around him. He would spout nonsense that she whole-heartedly did not believe, and her heart would skip a beat. Every line on her face remained etched in stone, but the churning of her stomach was a constant reminder for her to keep in check. No need to let him know what she felt. Or at least, what she thought she felt.

She knew it for what it was after Mulder was returned from the Bermuda Triangle. He sat up in his hospital bed and told her he loved her. In that instant her heart stopped, but her befuddled mind could only say, “Oh brother,” and walk away. That was the cover-up. If she thought he was being serious she would have thrown her arms about his neck and screamed love at the top of her lungs. No. That probably would have made him suspicious. “Who are you and what have you done with my Scully?” His Scully. There was a time when she really believed that.

After that, she understood her feelings. Not a night would pass without thoughts of him in her bed. His smile, his jokes, his words of devotion meant only for her. She would climax to those words, and sometimes, because of stress, cry for his lack of nearness. But there would always be tomorrow, to see the sun shine in his eyes. Everything about him agreed with her, even his ditching habit or his radical ideas. If he wanted to have their wedding on an alien space ship, she would have agreed to bring the space suits. And no matter how many times he infuriated her, one sad look of the eye and a pout of the lower lip, and she’s be won all over again.

Then came the problems. It started when Mulder found out about CGB Spender. That entire fiasco cost her every piece of her sanity, partially because her partner was so distant, and partially because when he made up his mind to follow something, you’d better not get in his way. She had hoped that he wanted to go through this together, find out what happened to her and his sister. But his old flame got in the way. She couldn’t exactly put all the blame on Diana; Mulder didn’t really want her. No matter what actions he performed, she was the furthest thing from his mind. Diana Fowley was a means to an end, a way for him to get back what he most wanted. But Mulder never got it.

It also gave Scully a jealous streak that she never knew she had. Any woman who wanted him had to go through her first. The dog-lady had been personally introduced to the green face of Dr. Dana Katherine Scully, and if she had that to do all over again, even knowing what she does now, she’s probably do it again. Love, when understood, does strange things to people. Love was what she thought they had together. Turns out, she was completely off-base. Mulder didn’t love her. Maybe he used to, but now he just brushes it off as nothing. It stood out in his eyes each time he spoke to her. “Get over it, Scully,” is what she would hear from his soft lips. Just made the tears come along faster. Oh, she never broke down in front of him, but when she got into the safe nest of her apartment, she would burst. Not every day, but often enough for her to realize that the despair was taking over. If something wasn’t done soon, she would cease to feel anything. That, in her mind, would be the best option.

But not for him. No matter how much he didn’t love her, she still had feelings for him. She knew he would beat himself up if she grew cold to him. He would wonder what he did wrong. Then again, she wondered if she really cared what his thoughts were anymore. There would be no white wedding in her future. No Fox Mulder to cuddle her in their king sized bed. No adopted kids running around their two-story house in the suburbs. Just the pang of loneliness that ate away at the fine core of what she used to think was a person. Now, without him, she is incomplete. A piece of the puzzle that wore away with the years, not quite fitting in anymore.

She wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her gun hand. The metal was warmed and slick from the sweat on her palm. All she had to do was put the barrel to her head and pull the trigger. The safety was off. It would be so easy. Her hand trembled from the strain of thoughts. No. Death was the easy way out. She was too strong to leave life that way. Just get over it, Scully. Deal with the fact that he is not now, nor ever will be in love with you. Get over it, and move on.

A ring of the doorbell collided with her thoughts, sending them sprawling across the vast expanse of her mind. She sniffed once, wiped her face again, and opened the door. He stood on the other side holding a large, brown bag which smelled like Chinese. Figures.

“I was wondering if you’d like some dinner,” he said, voice soft and sincere as usual. He thrust the paper bag towards her to emphasize his point.

Her first thought was that he looked wonderful in faded jeans and creased leather jacket. A shorter haircut made him look older, more worn-in. And the laugh lines that creased around both temples gave him that fatherly look that she always felt suited him. Father, of the babies that she could never birth. She forced a sad smile. “Thank you, Mulder, but I’m not hungry.” The gun sat forgotten in her hand.

His eyes moved down, first on her face, then on the gun. “Do you want to talk about it? Suicide is not the answer.”

A curt laugh escaped her lips. Shaking fingers dropped the gun. “No. You have nothing to worry about. I’ll be in the office tomorrow at seven.” Not feeling up to looking at the face she would never kiss, she turned her back to him. Using her foot, she kicked the door in his face.

There were no more disturbances that night. He never tired to come back in. Probably got tired and went home. She vainly wished she possessed enough strength to pull the trigger of the gun, if only to hurt him as much as she was hurting. He wouldn’t live another day if she let bullet meet brain, she knew that. As much as he didn’t love her, he couldn’t live without her. But, then again, he may just carry enough strength to move past her death and go on with his life. Now that he isn’t alone, anyway.

So in the end she reholstered the gun, choosing to live out her non-existent life. Go to work, come home, eat some tofu and yogurt and a half-gallon of ice cream, watch boring television and dream at night of what she will never have. Mulder. Her partner, her best friend, her life. One half of the whole that she will never be. Empty, except for the little piece of herself that didn’t get lost when her dreams shattered. Perhaps someday she’ll find somebody who thinks her worthy enough to love. Perhaps someday she’ll get killed on one of their many strange cases. Or perhaps someday he will understand what she feels for him, and come to her with open arms, ready to take the next leap foreword. Or maybe, she should have just pulled that trigger.

FIN