By Angelfirenze

Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, and Bobby are not mine. I don't want to think about it. Lyrics by Death Cab For Cutie.
Summary: Bobby stands at the mouth of a chasm, seeing an inner apocalypse...
Timeline: Set during Mulder's funeral in 'Deadalive.' This is also chronologically set before Year One of CI. So, in my view, Bobby hasn't met Alex yet.

Reviews are always encouraged and deeply appreciated.

Love of mine some day you will die
But I'll be close behind
I'll follow you into the dark

His fingernails cut deeply into the palms of his clenched fists. He feels nothing. He can't see Mulder and, for some reason, that suits him just fine. He thinks of fire and ice, a perfect description of his current state. The world is staticky and somehow surged with the noise of silence in the graveyard where Mulder—no, not Mulder; his soul is long-departed—lies in his plain pine box (because Scully has insisted on a Judaic burial and Bobby had agreed, unable to bear the thought of Mulder going to Hell) and all he can register clearly are colors. The fiery red of Scully's hair in the autumn wind—the green of the grass...

No blinding light or tunnels to gates of white
Just our hands clasped so tight
Waiting for the hint of a spark
If heaven and hell decide
That they both are satisfied
Illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs
If there's no one beside you
When your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark

In his mind, all he sees are Mulder's eyes, hazel, mischief shining in them and his smile, teeth glinting white. He feels something solid brush his hand and looks down to see nothing. It used to be this way and now it was again. He was alone again. Always had been, really. Now was just made apparent. Both of them had been, but when they were together they could distance themselves from it. Pretend it wasn't true. It was irrefutable now.

If there's no one beside you
When your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark
In Catholic school as vicious as Roman rule
I got my knuckles brusied by a lady in black
And I held my toungue as she told me, "Son,
Fear is the heart of love,"
So I never went back

The blade of his knife now shone brightly with the red wetness of his own blood. The sharp sting and the swirl of the steamy water mixing with his inner self, sweeping it down the drain, is comforting. He closes the blade, turning and moving through the improvised darkness of his hotel room. He remembers the last time Mulder slept in his bed. The images of their joining are seared into his memory like a series of photographs. He savors each like Mulder would one of the pepperoni pizzas he shouldn't have eaten. Bobby had always made him brush afterward, declaring that he wouldn't join Mulder in his mission to defy the laws of his mother. Mulder would be quick to point out that his mother had defied them, too; that it had been Bobby's father who had been Jewish which, in his eyes, should have been reason enough to devour the forbidden food. Bobby would have none of it. Mulder would resort to pointing out that, technically, Bobby wasn't Jewish but Catholic and could eat anything he liked. Bobby ignored him.

If there's no one beside you
When your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark
If there's no one beside you
When your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark

Bobby's fingers reach up and touch the spot on his left temple that Mulder swore he loved to kiss. It tingles and itches, a strange brushing sensation that won't abate. It's raining outside and he's standing in front of the window, his hands on the ledge. The shiny darkness of downtown Raleigh is looking back at him. To his left, his service piece lay, loaded and warm from his body heat. A single bullet idles in the chamber. The drops of water dancing mere millimeters away languish momentarily before screaming down the thick pane of glass. He closes the curtains and turns away, eyes barely glancing at his clothing—normally pressed and immaculate—adorning the floor. He steps over them on the way to bed. He is asleep moments later, Mulder's shirt—one that he had forgotten months before—gripped his in his hands.

You and me have seen everything to see
From Bangkok to Calgary
And the soles of your shoes are all worn down
The time for sleep is now
It's nothing to cry about
Cause we'll hold each other soon
The blackest of rooms