From: PeachAcid Date: 4 Aug 1998 01:09:02 GMT Subject: New: Copycat (1/1) V, slight MSR Title - Copy Cat Author - Jodie E-Mail address -PeachAcid@aol.com Rating - R, how about Category - um...X? V cuz it's short? Spoilers - none, at least, I don't think so. Keywords - Mulder/Scully romance, but not detailed, also Character Death Summary - From another character's POV Disclaimer: What, you really think I created these characters? Think I'm that smart? Or are you that dumb? Sorry, that was mean. No, I didn't create them. Oh well. =) For as long as I can remember, I haven't liked being me. I've always wanted to be someone else, to act like someone else, to look like someone else. I pick people--a teacher, a friend, an upperclassman, a doctor, a peer--and I try to be just like them. In tenth grade, there was the teacher, the short, pretty, skinny one, who I wanted to be so, so badly. She was perfect, in my eyes. She drank diet-coke. I began to drink diet coke. She had black doc marten's--greasy. I got black doc marten's--smooth, so as not to copy. Ha. She was an English teacher. I decided to be an English teacher. Every decision I made I scrutinized and thought about. 'Would (insert person I idolized at moment) do that?' 'Would they like that?' 'Would they want that?' 'What would they do?' As I grew older, I tried to stop. I tried; I failed. I had lived my life trying to be someone else, and I had no idea who I was. I had only one triumph my entire life. The decision to join the FBI was all mine. All my own. I made it. I tried harder to kick the habit of modeling myself after other people. I had almost gotten to the point of being me, of liking to be me, when I saw her. She was short; I always idolized short people because I am short. She had beautiful red hair. I worked in violent crimes, and she came in one day to get some input on a case she was working on. She worked on the X-Files, with 'Spooky' Mulder. Despite my idolization for her, I felt bad for her. A beautiful, talented, doctor like herself shouldn't be stuck in the basement with some kook, I rationed. Her name was Dana. Dana Scully. I wanted to be Dana Scully. I knew nothing was going to stop me from becoming her. I carefully followed her home one day; lovely apartment complex. I didn't go in; she'd recognize me. And flip out. The years of struggling to be myself were over. I knew that if Dana Scully were me, and I were her, then I would be okay. I would be fine. I began to take my lunch when I knew she would. I watched her eat, sometimes with her partner, 'Spooky', and sometimes alone. Once--only once--when she was alone, I approached her. "Hello," I said, and she looked up, surprised to hear someone speaking to her. "Hello," she said carefully, eyeing me with slight suspicion. 'That's the work of her partner,' I thought. 'The paranoid weirdo.' "My name is Janice Spaulding. I couldn't help but notice you alone. Mind if I join you?" "No, sit down. I'm Dana Scully." "I know." She looked at me, question and paranoia raising in her face. "Your badge," I reminded her. We spoke at that all too short meal. It wasn't a real conversation--mostly me asking questions and she responding shortly, abruptly. She didn't seem to like me much. But then, how could I hold the interest of someone like Dana Scully? The day came when I was to become her. I walked calmly into the building, and to my work station. My gun rested safely in my hip holster as I got up, excusing myself to go use the bathroom. I exited the room, and walked quickly down to the basement. 'Fox Mulder,' read the door plate. 'The kook can't even get her a nameplate,' I thought bitterly. 'I bet she doesn't even have a desk.' I knocked on the door and she answered. She looked surprised and I looked around the small office quickly. Nope, no desk. "Janice, are--" she began, and I pulled out my gun, shutting her up. A shot to the head would do it, I knew. I clicked the safety, aimed, and fired, all too quickly. The weirdo cried her name, running to her fallen body. He looked at me with hate filled eyes, then back at Dana, tears running down his cheeks. I stood, speechless, hearing people running from upstairs to see what the shot had been about. The kook, the weirdo, the paranoid freak, was in love with her. And she had been in love with him, I realized. 'Too late, too late,' my mind sang as I lifted the gun to my own head. I pulled the trigger just as Agent Mulder jumped me from the front and the agents from the floor above tackled me from behind. I know no one cried for my death.