Title : Paper Heart, desperate tears
Auteur: Valérie
Émail :
Category : MulderAngst
Spoiler : see the Title
Rating PG
Category. MSR A
Summary: What if Roche had really killed Samantha?
DISCLAIMER: I don't own'em. I'm just borrowing them. They'll be
returned in the state I found them in. :o) They do, however, belong
to CC and 1013 Productions and that's about all I have to say about


I leave the laboratory, heart in my throat, my legs weak. I still can't believe it, the finality of knowing for sure. Skinner closes the door behind me and puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. His voice is sad and I know he's truly concerned.

“Will you be all right, Scully?”

“Yes...sir, It's so... unimaginable. After all this..time. What it will do to him.. ”

“I can tell him, if you want.”

“No.. Thank you. I have to do it. It will be better if I tell him , I feel that duty lies with me.”

“As you wish. I'm coming with you though.” She nodded sadly, letting her eyes close against the pain inside her.

The hallway to the basement seems terribly long. I pass people who smile at me or give me a nod, but I'm unable to answer. My throat is so tight that I can't even swallow my saliva any more. We stop in front of the office door. Skinner gives me a sad glance; asking me once again if I want him to remain here so we can impart this sad news to Mulder, together.

“Thank you, Sir. I think that you should simply prepare a sick leave form for Agent Mulder. He will need time.” ‘Maybe a lot of time’, Scully left unspoken

He shakes his head, hesitates a second at the look on her stricken face and goes back up the stairs.

I'm alone now, with this terrible responsibility, mouth dry as sand, heart pounding, I feel I might faint. I open the door slowly and go towards Mulder. He's seated in front of his desk, his expression fixed, his eyes dry. His paleness is alarming; he's exhausted from the trauma of these last few days and several sleepless nights. I also know that he didn't eat anything substantial since the discovery of the first body, too focused on the case, unable to think of little details like eating. I had to put a sandwich several times in his hand, just so that he could eat without even thinking about it.

I’m suddenly by his side and I notice that our breathing is in sync, I’m almost afraid to face him, His eyes...

“..Mulder, It is Samantha, I'm so sorry.” My words trip over the expulsion of air from my lungs on their way out.

My voice broke at the last word. Why do I feel like I have just signed his death sentence, along with words that declare his long lost sister dead? My hand is suddenly on his shoulder. He remains motionless during an interminable amount of time, and then all at once his whole body starts to shake. I feel the quiet sobs shaking his shoulders, and then his face breaks up brutally into a mask of absolute distress. His eyes fill up with hot tears, which run down his cheeks. I pull him against me tightly. I put his head against my belly and wrap him in my arms. We both cry, the room thick with our shared distress.


I whisper any words of comfort I can muster into his ear, leaning over him, stroking his thick silky hair, but I know that no words can currently comfort him; if they ever will again. I fold him tightly to my body, my hands stroking his back in soothing circles, aware of nothing but his warm sobbing body against me, gently rocking him like a sad child.

“ Mulder, I want to take you back home. You have to rest.”

His tremors intensify and he huddles against me like a frightened animal. I take his face in my hands and I urge him to look at me. His lower lip trembles and his eyes are like two pearls with sparkling lights, so desperate with grief.

I help him to get up and I put a light kiss on his face, then on his wet, hot cheek. My lips taste his tears. Without a word, I give him his coat then slip my hand firmly into his; he squeezes back in a desperate gesture of connection in mine. He follows me through the hallways that lead out into the car park, silent, absorbed by his pain.


He's lost. Literally. I look at him strolling in his hallway, unable to recognize the door of his own apartment. He's lost all of his bearings, like a ship without anchor. I gently push him in the right direction and open the door. He enters the corridor then remains motionless, his arms hugged painfully to his chest, barely breathing, shoulders shaking, his eyes half-closed. He's in
shock now and I have to put him to bed as soon as possible. I’ve never dealt with this kind of situation before. I'm not a psychologist, but I trust my instincts. I can't bear to see him like that, to see his empty eyes, his lips whispering senseless words, the pain in his face, his quiet sobs. I never saw him like that, so bruised, so despairing and I am afraid I’ll lose him forever. I am afraid he will lose himself in this abyss of despair.

He's like a rag doll, completely inert. I try to speak to him but he's not answering me any more, he's elsewhere. He doesn't even look at me when I drag him gently towards his room.

In front of his bed, he remains motionless, rigid; but his body shakes more
than ever, he's like a feverish child. I barely hold back my tears in front of him, because I don't want to worsen his distress with my own.

I remove the bedspread and draw back the fresh sheets but I look around for another blanket. He will need heat, and this light sheet is not enough. I open his cupboard, feeling a certain embarrassment for my intrusion in his personal belongings, but he doesn't even see me. He hasn’t moved since we came into the room. I put the warm blanket down on the bed and start to strip him, barely touching him. His breathing is fast and irregular, and shivers go through his frozen body. Delicately I take off his shirt, and then unhook hispants. I'm ashamed of my thoughts, but I take almost pleasure making these gestures. I know however, that he feels nothing. His clothes accumulate on the fitted carpet as quiet tears run down his cheeks again, I wipe them away with the back of my hand. When he's finally in just his underwear, I guide him towards the turned down bed. He rolls into a ball, his chin against his knees, tucked tightly against his chest and starts to rock gently.

I cover him with the warm blanket, but I hear his hoarse voice whispering like a prayer. I lean over him and his words reach inside me and affect me to the depths of my soul. He asks me to stay close to him. I’m on the bed with him now, and his arm encloses me against him tightly like a second skin. I'm under the impression that I am what he needs the most in the world right now.

His hands try to find mine and I feel his hot breath against me, the frantic, grief weary beat of his heart. I turn delicately toward him and press my forehead to touch his, his eyes never leaving mine. I am his touchstone, the only chance he has not to sink into a deeper despair. He clings to me like a drowning man to his anchor, and the sobs begin again, stronger, so strong. I hold him tighter in my arms.

“It hurts, Scully... It hurts...” he pulls my hand to his heart, the enormity of his pain flooding me.

“I know, Mulder. I'm here.”

I put small light kisses on his face, and then my mouth trails softly down the nape of his neck, towards the base of his shoulders. His skin is soft and I gradually feel his hands answering my kisses. They trail over my whole body, fingers shaking and light. Shivers go through me. I free myself gently to remove my jacket and his expression suddenly becomes transfixed, his breathing quickens and I feel anguish in his eyes; but soon I meld back against his skin, and his hands again try to discover my body.

He caresses me shyly, and I open my shirt for him. My eyes never leave his half-closed ones, looking for a glimmer of hope in his wet pupils. His hands on my breasts burn me and I close my eyes from desire. Our caresses become more eager, more intense, our breaths mix, but tears are sliding down his cheeks now and the sobs start again, stronger. His voice is nothing anymore but a hoarse murmur.

“I’m so tired... Scully.” My eyes silently tell him that I know.

I kiss his full lips. He's exhausted by pain. I try to leave slowly, keeping my eyes on him, then I feel the tug of his hand urgently on mine.

“Please don’t leave me, Scully.”

“ Don’t worry,I’ll come back soon.”

My leaden legs hardly carry me as I move towards the bathroom. I search in his toiletry cupboard for something help him sleep, and come back with a glass of water in my hand. His eyes are half-opened, and his gaze is lost towards the ceiling. I take his hand and help him to straighten up, then give him two sleeping

“ You have to sleep. Take these.”

Without a word, he swallows the pills, eyes closed, then slips again into the ruffled sheets, his body racked by shivers. His face relaxes when he feels that I'm lying against him again. Our two bodies coil one against the other and I feel him relax quickly. His breathing is slower now, but he’s occasionally shaken by spasms of sobbing. A few minutes later, he's asleep at last. I gently caress his face, ruined by sorrow and tears and I let my thoughts escape. What does this new intimacy mean? I liked what we did, our caresses, our kisses and the way he makes me feel. I’ve awaited them for such a long time.
But what about Mulder? Wouldn't this be simply the means for him not to break completely? He needs me. He needs me. Needs... I am there to comfort him, but then? He needs to be loved, to not be all alone in this world, where he’s been alone too long.

For me though, it's not the same. For me he is the one who makes my life brighter. I love his presence; I love his humor, his intelligence, and his mind's swiftness. I love it when he looks at me, when he caresses me, so often, so little... I love his boyish looks; I love his chameleon eyes, his lips... I love him... and he needs me.


Slowly, I open the shutters of the room. He's still sleeping. He's been sleeping for twelve hours, struck by exhaustion and by the sleeping pills. I let the sunbeams caress his face for a moment. The traces of tears make up furrows under his swollen eyelids. I gently caress his disheveled hair, raising a dark damp strand from his brow. A quivering goes through his eyelids and they open gently. I smile to him tenderly. He answers me with a sad smile.

“She's really gone, isn't she?” Reality hits him like a sucker punch to the gut.
I shake my head wordlessly.

The tiny smile vanishes and in his eyes, I can read such a despair that I feel my eyes drown with tears. His voice is hoarse.

“I believed... I hoped that I’d had a nightmare...”

“No, Mulder. I wish that’s what it would have been too, I feel so sad for you.”

“I know, Scully. Yesterday I was so... lost that I think I disappeared a little, no? Mentally anyway.”

“You needed to have someone near you, Mulder. I was here. You know I’m always here for you.”

“Yes, but...” guilt cut through his grief as he remembered details.

“ Please, Don't say anything.”

I put my fingers on his lips, swollen by the tears of yesterday. He takes my hand and kisses me gently but I see in his eyes that nothing has changed.

I'm still his friend; I'm still the shoulder on which he can break down and cry. I have to accept this situation. Last night was about need, the need for comfort and reassurance. The timing for love is all-wrong at this stage.
We remain a long time that way, eyes locked on eyes, and then gently kissing him, I leave the room slowly.

He will have to learn to live without her, to cherish the memories which remain from his childhood. He will have to do his mourning, work as if she had died yesterday. Not dwell on the gaping hole her absence has meant for most of his life. He will have to find in himself the force to live without the reason for his quest, whichval guided his life during so many years.

I will be there for him. Always.