TITLE: Threnody: Domani Non Viene
AUTHOR: stellar_dust
EMAIL: stellar_dust_x@yahoo.com
WEBSITE: http://katycat.net/xfiles/
SPOILERS: Specific for Detour, Requiem, and all things
RATING: R
SUMMARY: Mulder copes, remembering Scully.  An interlude.
KEYWORDS: series, AU, angst, vignette, MSR, season 8
ARCHIVE/FEEDBACK: Sure thing.
DISCLAIMER: Mulder and Scully aren't mine, except in
spirit, and I'm not making money from them.  "Forget Domani" 
is performed by Frank Sinatra.
DATE: April 2004
NOTES: This vignette is part of an alternate universe 
season 8, in which Scully was abducted instead of Mulder.  
You might want to read _Threnody: Divested_ first.


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Domani Non Viene

"One man alone cannot fight the future."  -- Strughold, 
The X-Files Movie


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"Let's forget about tomorrow,
let's forget about tomorrow,
let's forget about tomorrow, for - "

" - tomorrow never comes," Mulder softly finished the 
refrain with Ol' Blue Eyes, his own hazel ones closed and 
leaking slow tears.

Fox Mulder liked his music the way he liked his science 
fiction - vintage, comforting, and well-aged.  There were 
those who might take exception to calling "Revenge of the 
Blob that Ate Cincinnati" "well-aged," precisely, but that 
wasn't one of his favorites, anyway, and hey, it was the 
thought that counted.

That was why he liked Elvis: he'd grown up on those 
records, the strains of "Jailhouse Rock" and "Blue Suede 
Shoes" filling the house, a background to childhood 
memories from the time before his life went to hell and 
back.  Just as his parents' Sinatra records would play in 
the evenings, after he'd gone to bed, when they were still 
in love and dancing in the living room hadn't yet given 
over to screaming around the kitchen table.

Scully was different.  She was younger than him, he 
reasoned; but not *that* much younger.  She was mostly into 
classic rock: Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, the Doors, Three 
Dog Night.  "Never understood a single word he said, but I 
helped him drink his wine - " If those words didn't sum up 
their relationship, what did?  She liked some of the newer 
groups, too: Metallica, Moby, Green Day, Counting Crows.  
Some of her tastes were starting to grow on him, he had to 
admit, but - how in the world could he have let himself 
fall in love with a *Beatles* fan?

Anyway, after Scully had appeared at his door that night, 
like a vision in the starlight, bringing him release and 
perfection and everthing he'd ever dreamed of - afterward, 
with Scully nestled snugly against his body, as he strove 
to memorize every facet of her, every square inch of her 
skin and hair and face, each scar and bruise and every 
twitch of her muscles, her perfect nails, one of them 
ragged, her full lips open in sleep, still wet and swollen 
from his kisses, marveling at the peace she seemed to find 
here, with him, his mind clamoring at him to preserve this 
moment that might never come again, that in the morning he 
could be dead or back in the nuthouse, finally succumbing 
to his fevered mind and never knowing what the rest of his 
life with this woman would hold, happy beyond expression 
that they'd finally shared this night, even if no more 
would ever, could ever follow - 

He'd spooned up behind and pulled her closer, wrapping both 
arms around her and resting his chin on her shoulder.  
"This is it, Scully," he'd whispered in her ear.  "This 
moment is forever.  No matter what happens tomorrow, or the 
next day, or the next, I'll always be right here with you, 
right now.  And you're with me."  He'd shifted and buried 
his face in the curve of her neck, infusing himself with 
her scent.  "I'm stopping the clock right here, Scully, I'm 
freezing time, I'm taking these seconds and engraving them 
in stone."  Let's take the minutes as they speed away, and 
hope it's true what people say: when you're in love - 
"Tomorrow never comes."

"Mmm, Mr. Bond," Scully had turned slowly in his arms, 
moving to face him again, her eyes heavy with sleep and 
smiling.  "Don't you mean 'Tomorrow Never Dies'?"

"Mmmm, no," he'd thrummed deep in the back of his throat, 
covering her collarbone with kisses.  "The name's Mulder, 
miss.  Fox Mulder.  And I always say what I mean."

She'd laughed and swatted lazily at him, told him to go to 
sleep and not to worry, she'd always be there and so would 
he, they had years and years ahead of them full of moments 
just like this one.  And he'd taken an inviting nipple in 
his mouth and sent one hand questing between her thighs to 
quiet her so he wouldn't have to tell her that she was 
wrong, not that night anyway - he could always tell her 
tomorrow, and tomorrow never comes.

She'd gasped and moved toward him, protesting that they had 
a meeting tomorrow and he should stop so they could sleep - 
sounding as though they'd been lovers for years instead of 
only half a night - which he supposed they had, really, if 
he thought about it - but he hadn't stopped, and she'd 
climaxed around his fingers, gasping out his name as her 
arms shuddered clasped tight around him, her mouth worrying 
the tender skin of his neck, leaving a mark that he took 
special pains *not* to cover up for the meeting the next 
day, earning him an exasperated look but an apology and 
another kiss to make it better when they'd finally made 
it down to their office.  He had no idea what the meeting 
had been about.

He hadn't told her that day, or the next, or any of the 
too-few tomorrows that had followed.  He'd told himself 
that she would find out eventually, and in the meantime 
there was nothing she could do: he would give her as many 
blissfully ignorant days as he could, and shower her with 
love and affection while he was still around to do it.  
She'd had no idea that this outpouring of emotion came from 
anything other than the sudden release of seven years' 
worth of pent-up tension and firmly bottled love; she 
laughed, gently, at his overeager attentions, but never 
suspected a thing.  When she'd caught him staring at her, 
brooding, melancholy written on his features, he'd said he 
was afraid of the future - he hadn't specified *which* 
future and had let her soothe away his fears about 
colonization.

And now it was too late.

"Let's forget about tomorrow, for
tomorrow never comes!"

"God damn liar."

Mulder hit "stop" and threw the remote at the stereo, 
unsure if he was directing that at Frank or at his own 
words of not even a month ago.  He creaked himself upright 
- he was creaking a lot lately - and rested his forehead
on his hands, massaging the headache that never seemed
to entirely disappear anymore.

Tomorrow had come - and by all appearances, had every 
intention of continuing to come - and Scully wasn't there.  
That moment engraved in stone was eroding fast, awash in 
the tide of reality; he grasped at it desperatly, running 
his mental finger over the words even as they faded into 
dust.  Scully was his reality, his eternity; and without 
her his entire world crumbled into a single dark point of 
dust in the trash pile of the universe, fading silently and 
unheralded into nothingness.

I don't want to die without you, Scully, he thought, even 
as he felt himself doing that very thing.  His nightly 
litany as he curled up on his couch for another sleepless 
night, or, more often, in her bed in her apartment.  I want 
another tomorrow, just one more, with you, Scully.

Tonight, as he drifted in the state between aching and 
nightmares, he could swear he heard her answer as plainly 
as if she were sitting next to him:  Yes.  Mulder, don't 
give up on me, or on yourself.  I believe in you.  I won't 
let you go alone.

He wrapped himself in those words and slept peacefully for 
the first time since Bellefleur.


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Fin


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