TITLE: There But By the Grace of God SPOILER WARNING: One Breath; One Son RATING: PG CONTENT WARNING: MulderAngst CLASSIFICATION: VA SUMMARY: Post-ep for "One Son" There But By the Grace of God by Brandon D. Ray They were some of the most powerful men in the world, but most of the world didn't even know of their existence. And now they're nothing but ashes. Literally ashes. I sit at the desk in my cold, dark apartment, and I pore over the crime scene photographs. Crime scene. What a prosaic term to describe that horror chamber. I can still smell the acrid odor of charred human flesh; it fills my nostrils and seems to permeate my soul. I don't know if I'll ever get rid of it. I don't know if I ever WANT to get rid of it. A phrase keeps drifting through my mind, over and over, as I stare at these photographs: There but by the grace of god go I. There but by the grace of god. The phrase doesn't really apply to me, of course. It has been many years since I believed in god, and it's been even more years since I believed god manifested grace to his creations. But still I can't seem to chase the phrase from my mind as I examine these photographs. Still it continues to haunt me, echoing and re-echoing inside my head, reverberating in my soul. There but by the grace of god. There's always Scully, of course. Always Scully. If I could believe in a god who cared, it would be Scully whom he cared for. It would be for her sake that I was moved to call her on my cell phone, allowing her voice to drag me back from the depths of despair. It would be for her sake that I sent Diana on ahead of me, alone. It would be for her sake, always for her sake. There but by the grace of god. Diana. How could I have been so wrong about her? How could I have failed to see the signs? Especially when my own partner, the one I have come to trust as no other, my one in five billion, kept trying to get through to me, kept rubbing my nose in the unpleasant facts that I didn't want to see, didn't want to hear, didn't want to know. How could I have been so blind? God, Scully....I'm so sorry. There but by the grace of god. She came to me earlier this evening and tried to talk it out. She was so gentle and understanding, so open and caring. She wanted to forgive me; I truly believe she wanted to forgive me. But I would not allow it; I shut her out and kept her at arm's length, and finally I sent her away. I couldn't face her; not tonight. Not with these horrible photographs freshly burned into my memory. Not with the sure knowledge that if events had followed the course I intended there would be two more charred bodies on that hangar floor, and one of them would be hers. There but by the grace of god. I remember another time, another place. I sat in a hospital cafeteria, and a woman eerily like my partner, yet very different, sat across the table from me and pleaded with me to save her sister's life. I was in a very dark place that day, and somehow she could see that and tried to pull me out. "You could spend the rest of your life finding every person who's responsible," she said. "And it's still not going to bring her back. Whoever did this to her has an equal horror coming to them." And I asked her, "Including myself?" There but by the grace of god. I think now perhaps Melissa was right after all. For certainly the men who died in that hangar were partly responsible for what happened to Scully, both then and subsequently, and they have all now faced their own horror. Whether death by fire is commensurate with their offenses I cannot say, but what's done is done. And now only one of us remains, and surely my own punishment in the months and years to come shall cause theirs to dwindle to insignificance. And that's as it should be. There but by the grace of god. Tomorrow I'm going to have to face her again. Tomorrow I'm going to have to walk into the office and look her in the eye, and somehow I'm going to have to work with her. Spender has asked for a meeting with the two of us, and with Skinner and Kersh. I don't know what he wants, but for some reason I've agreed to go. I suppose it will just be more flogging, more recrimination, and I hardly even feel the beatings anymore. I hardly even feel that pain. There but by the grace of god. I feel a draft against the back of my neck and I turn to look, but there's no one there. I didn't really expect her to return; I don't even really want her to return. She doesn't belong here in the shadows; she should be in the light and sunshine, with the wind blowing through her hair and a sparkle in her eye. That's why I sent her away, after all. That's why she isn't here. But god I miss her. There but by the grace of god. Something moves in the shadows and I squint into the gloom, but there's nothing there. Then it moves again, and I think I see a flash of red and I hear a woman's voice. "Why is it so dark in here?" she asks, and I want to say that it's because the lights aren't on, but I don't. I know what she really means. And she continues speaking: "Listen. I don't have to be psychic to see that you're in a very dark place... much darker than where my sister is. Willingly walking deeper into darkness cannot help her at all. Only the light...only the light...only the light...." And her voice trails off and is gone. There but by the grace of god. I sit numbly at my desk for a long time, still peering into the darkness. It never occurs to me to question whether she was really here; some things you just know. The photographs lie neglected on my desk, and somehow I no longer feel the urge to pore over them and examine them. I no longer feel the need to obsess on them. Something has changed. Something has changed. There but by the grace of god. I am startled from my fugue by a knock on the door, and I rise from my seat and cross to answer it. It never occurs to me to question who might be calling at this hour of the night; some things you just know. I stand before the door for just a moment, steeling myself for the ordeal to come, and then I twist the knob and pull the door open -- and it's Scully, as I knew it would be. Her eyes are red from crying, but still she is strong, unbroken and unbowed. And she says, very softly, "Mulder, we need to talk." And I nod slightly and I reach out my hand to turn on the light, banishing the darkness, before I usher her into my apartment. By the grace of god. Fini