Knowing Me
 

I remember telling Mulder once that I'd lost sight of myself, that my life had become an endless line:  a step forward and two steps back. At the time I thought I was sure about what I meant, that I had a handle on just where my life was going wrong.

So, for the first time in my life, I chose to run. Not in the literal sense, of course. Not my way, never has been. I've bravely faced down all the dangers that we have encountered - sometimes with him by my side, sometimes alone - somehow knowing that  the direction I had chosen, *the path* as Melissa once so poetically put it, was the right one for me.

And even as I had fled from all the horrors within me, seeking solitude, grasping solace, trying to deny all the things I feared, I knew somehow that I would always return to him. That my place was to be beside him. Just as his was to be with me.

I had pushed him away, ruthlessly denied all he could offer. I had watched helplessly as he in turn watched me. Felt his anguish as he tried in vain to ease my pain, knowing implicitly that he would gladly bear it for me if he could. But pain is a burden meant to be felt. I think sometimes it's what separates us from the evil that exists in the world.

Take away the pain and we are bereft, left to search hopelessly for our place in life. My Father once told me that in order to benefit from the joy we have to walk hand in hand with the sadness. I don't remember when he told me that. But I hear his words inside my head as though it were yesterday. A small fragment of my childhood, filed away in my heart. Meant to comfort during the dark times. To offer the solace I so desperately need.

My life, such as it is, was once so simple. I can still remember a time not so very long ago when I viewed all that it offered with an almost childlike naivety. To me my choices were black and white. I chose a path that would enable me to fight the evil whilst protecting the good. But somewhere along the line I forgot to protect those I loved the most. The quest - if I can reduce it to such simple terms - became all consuming. It was almost easy to justify my losses when balanced against the work we do.

Not so easy is the realisation that somewhere along the line I forgot to protect myself. I became complacent. I allowed him to curl his fingers around the barriers I had so carefully constructed, gaining purchase on my heart with every passing day. It wasn't something I ever wanted. Not because I didn't want *him*. But because I didn't want to ever have to deal with losing him. All futile now of course as I see the face in the mirror staring back at me. Because I see the hopelessness in my eyes. The realisation that I have failed.

When Mulder returned to the woods I believed that he would prevail as he has prevailed in the past. But I wonder now just when I let myself become so blinkered to the truth, when I put him on a pedestal so high he became invincible. When did I forget he was flesh and blood?

When did I forget that I was?

The woman who stares back at me looks tired. A face that once shone with the healthy vibrancy of youth has become older. The tiny lines that are etched on her skin a result of blood and tears. The path I chose has done that and I blink suddenly at the realisation that I no longer know who this woman is.

Dana Katherine Scully. A woman who has an identity that is uniquely hers. Shaped by the genes of her parents. Moulded by the world around her. An adult with choices to make. In control. Always in control. Or so it used to be.

But as I stare at myself, listening to the sound of silence that invades my life, I *know*.

Because if I close my eyes, I see the missing link. Can imagine him standing at my shoulder. Fox Mulder. The man who has made me what I am. My whole life has become entwined with his. I can feel his pain when he is hurting, can chase away the shadows in his eyes with a simple touch, knowing somehow when he needs me. It's been easy to learn. All I had to do was watch him.

And now he's gone, trading half of my soul for half of his. The woman in the mirror is crying now. I watch as the tears pool in her eyes, wondering why the image becomes blurry around the edges as the tears spill over and make tracks down her pale cheeks. When did she allow herself to become so weak? Did it happen suddenly? Or was it a gradual process that stole up and invaded her very core as she slept in his arms night after precious night? Believing that to be beside him was to be safe. That to bask in the warmth of his love was the protection she sought?

I shake my head, turning away from the image before me, scrubbing my face with my hands, ridding myself of the questions that are clamoring inside my head demanding answers I just can't give.

Because how can I hope to answer questions when I don't even know the woman who is asking them?

End