He had watched for another 5 minutes for the gravediggers to finish up and set the numerous wreaths and flowers around the grave. Soon, they left him to stand alone among the dead.
    He approached the site tentatively. Careful not to step on the bare dirt of her grave, he set the white roses just below her epitaph:

    He sighed. It didn’t even come close to saying enough. What about her faith in both God and science? Her strength, strong will, her kindness? Somehow, the epitaph angered him. When only Dana’s tombstone was the last thing to carry her memory, how were people to know who she really was? How were they to know that she was a loving mother once? Or that she had once tried to give him a jar of juices and other liquids that could have meant her survival when both of them were near death? Or that she cared for his broken finger even after he had kept her in the dark for days about a secret assignment? Tears of anger fell to the ground. How were they to know she risked her career, her life, and practically everything else to keep up the ruse of his false death? Or that she risked getting blown up in a room full of pure oxygen when the Pusher decided to play a sick game of Russian Roulette with him? Or that she held him in her lap and sang to him in a dark forest so that he could be assured she was awake and watching over him? Or that she trusted his judgement, his intuitions, and his hunches when no one else would?
    “Why were you so good to me, Scully?” Mulder asked in a whisper as he knelt beside her grave. “I didn’t deserve it. All I’ve ever done was get you into trouble and terrible situations. I’d go to far off, dangerous places without a moment’s notice, usually needing you to save my ass… I can’t imagine what you saw in me. Not that I don’t think you have good taste. But what could you possibly see in a pathetic loser like me? A 36-year-old man chasing aliens, government conspiracies, and a sister who might not even be alive anymore.” He paused for a moment. This was not what he wanted to say.
    “I guess I should thank you. For keeping me out of trouble, for helping me get my priorities straight, for keeping me from getting so caught up in the chase I forget about reality. For teaching me to love again. I was married, once. I know I haven’t told you about that. And it’s not really all that important. I’ll spare you the details. Partly because, even now, it still hurts to talk about it. But my experience with marriage kind of stopped my search for love or even a meaningful relationship. What I’m trying to say is that you helped me to love again. I couldn’t help falling in love with you. Your strong beliefs, your conviction, your strength, your kindness, your pure goodness, your intelligence. I fell in love with who you were long before I noticed you looks.” He smiled dryly. “For me, I guess that’s a bit of an accomplishment.” He sighed. You’ve been gone for only a few days and I miss you already… I promise to come and visit you whenever I can. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday… I know that, with time, 3 times a week will turn to twice, then once, then once every other week, then once a month, then who knows. But for right now, that’s how it will be… Because I still need you in my life. Because I don’t know how to say goodbye…” He glanced down at his hands. “I-“ He stopped, noticing something. An imprint of a cross was in the center of the palm of his right hand. A cross. Dana’s cross. “I haven’t touched it since the day you died… I think it’s even still in the pocket of the pants I wore that day. Why didn’t the imprint go away?” He glanced down at the tombstone and smiled sadly. “Even now, you find a way to let me know you’re looking after me. Thank you. Thank you for everything.” He stood up and left, leaving Dana to wait until Monday.

    The next 3 weeks were always the same. Mulder would wake up and get ready for work. He refused to take time off. His reasoning was that if Scully could work while she was dying from cancer, then he could work despite Scully’s death. It wasn’t as if he wouldn’t know what to do if he did take time off. His vacations were always the epitome of fun and excitement… Mulder kept telling himself that. Somehow, the concept never really took hold.
He would often forget that his partner had passed on. He usually realized it while getting ready, but there were days when the realization would come much later, when she would fail to show up for work or if a fellow agent expressed sympathies. Understandably, those moments of clarity would destroy any chances of a good day.
    The three days a week he had promised to visit Dana were morbidly looked forward to. Or perhaps not quite so morbidly. He just knew that he still needed Dana. She was still the bright point of a day. He brought her flowers every time; six white or red long-stemmed roses, symbolizing what might have been six years together. Also because it was much easier to order half a dozen roses than five. Sometimes he would tell her what case he was working on or what he did that day. Then there were times when he made small, cynical jokes and could almost see her remotely amused smile. But most of the time, he talked to her about how much he missed her. He felt awkward talking to a slab of rock, but found it to be highly therapeutic. It felt as if she hadn’t totally disappeared from his life.
    Mulder tried to go through his daily routine and go on with his life, but there was a place in the middle of his chest that felt as if something vital was missing. He always felt empty and depressed. Then there was the guilt. It was always there. The guilt never left. Even though he knew now that there was nothing he could have done. Nothing. Or was there?