From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: 24 Aug 2001 05:05:20 -0000 Subject: Chess Master by Straylighter Source: direct Reply To: big_empty_space@hotmail.com CHESS MASTER Author: Straylighter Spoilers: None Rating: PG Classification: V, A, Summary: Can you put away the real world, press pause, to play a game? Or is one thing inextricably linked to the other? Notes: *sigh* I'm sorry, my writing abilities are SEVERLY lacking. But I keep forcing this stuff upon you..Why? M'eh. This was an experiment for me. I'm not overly proud of it...in fact, I wrote half of it while driving [No, I wasn't at the wheel] from Antigonish to Halifax on my PalmPilot. SAD. But I wrote it, so I'm posting it... Feedback: Please. I need all the help I can get: big_empty_space@hotmail.com Archive: LOL! Sure, but I'd LOVE a note so I can giggle at the improbability of it. *** CHESS MASTER At 4:30, on the second Sunday of the month Mulder set out the chess board. He set it carefully on the table, parallel to the edge. Along side it, he placed one bowl of sunflower seeds and a glass ashtray, still flecked with gray ash from the last game. Mulder poured two iced teas, and sat to wait. At precisely 5:00 pm, a knock sounded at the door, and Mulder rose swiftly. The old man didn't like to be kept waiting. He swung the door open, and his sense were assailed with the familiar appearance and smell of his guest. The old man acknowledged him with a nod, and abruptly asked "Still Reynard?". "Yes." Mulder replied. "It takes too much effort to come up with something original." The man nodded. Mulder gestured for him to take a seat. "And what would you like me to call you today?" "Good question. You've always excelled at asking good questions....Reynard." Mulder shook his head, vehementally. "Not now. We're not on the playing field right now." "True. Let me see. I'm quite tired of Carl, and Carlton sounds far to aristocratic." Mulder let out a short bark of laughter. "And Charles--" "No. Not Charles...Scully's--" "Ah yes. I'd forgotten. Well, what do you suggest?" Mulder looked away for a moment, and a thought struck him. "Carlos. After Carlos Santana. " The old man nodded. "Very well. Carlos it is." They were now both seated at the table, but neither had made a move to begin the game. "So, Reynard. How's work?" Mulder looked up sharply, and the old man flinched a little. "It's a general question. Sociably acceptable, don't you think?" Mulder seemed to accept this, and nodded. "It's..well. I enjoy....my work." The older man nodded, and offered a slightly reluctant response. "I'm glad. It isn't easy to find work that you...enjoy. " The man seemed pensive, pausing for a moment. "It isn't easy to find people you enjoy being with, either." Mulder simply nodded, refusing to rise to the bait. "And you? Carlos. How do you enjoy, your work?" Mulder asked in a sharp tone of voice. The man fliched again. "That's a little unfair, Mulder--" "Reynard." "No. I'm addressing Mulder here." "Then maybe you should leave. Otherwise I fear I might be tempted to shoot you." The man nodded, his eyes downcast. "My life is one continual game. I wish the rules could be as defined as those we use when the two of us play upon this board." He looked up at Mulder. Mulder looked away. "Just...make a move." The man grasped a pawn, with his yellow stained fingers, and slid it forward two spaces. Mulder nodded, and did the same with one of his pieces. The man spoke, hesitantly. "Set perimeters. Defined spaces within which one can move. A metaphor for life, really, except in life, one often is unsure of the limits of one's space...until it is too late." Mulder stared at him, angered. "What is it you want from me? This isn't how we play the game." The old man calmly moved a knight forward, three spaces up and one to the left, into the place where the pawn had been. "I'm surprised at you. You, of all people should realize by now, that I am the one who changes the rulebook." Mulder stood, suddenly afraid. "No. I thought we had an agreement. You wanted...you promised to play the game. Nothing we do here is relevant outside." The man nodded. "I did. Indeed, I did. And I will keep that promise, Mulder. But the time will come when I'll have to declare checkmate. In this game," he said, gesturing at the board between them, "or that." he finished, pointing to the window, leading to the outside world. "And before I do, I want, for once. To have one certainty, one defined rule, one truth. An anchor." "You, of all people, wanting a truth." "I do. I have sacrificed a lot for my cause--" "Your cause! You have no right--" "Mulder. Give me this. My life has been as fleeting as that of a pawn...to be used. I have tried to escape the bindings that leave me in that position. I am, however, mortal. Not carved in ivory or stone." "And my life?" "I can only hope you will escape the defined space that cages you. There are things I have to do. A time is coming. So give me this. My anchor...let me know that you feel its truth too. Let me say goodbye to you this day.... as my son." Mulder grew rigid in his seat, grasping the tables edge tightly. The old man rose, and prepared to leave. As Mulder's silence continued, the old man walked slowly to the door. "We didn't finish the game...father." The old man turned, and nodded in silent thanks. "It wasn't that game of chess I came here to play. I won't be coming back to finish it, either." "But still...did you declare checkmate? Or stalemate?" The man didn't answer. He took a drag of his Morley, turned, and left, shutting the door behind him.