From: Jinx451 Date: 01 Oct 1998 21:18:21 GMT Subject: NEW: Dark and Long (1/1) by Jinx451 Title: Dark And Long Author: Jinx451 Spoilers: Not really. Keywords: No, I don't think so. Rating: G? Feedback: Yes - good, bad, I don't care. I want to be good at this. Send it as a reply to this message. Disclaimer: Almost forgot - NOT MINE, NOT MINE - all characters copyright CC and 1013. No money's being made from this so they shouldn't be too pissed. Anyway, at least we take *risks* with the characters. Someone has to :-). Summary - It's late and the mind wanders. This is a nastier version of my own Insomnia - when it gets so late you can't get to sleep... Soundtrack to this would be either Dark and Long (Dark Train Mix) by Underworld (*lager, lager, lager*), or Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space by Spiritualized. Dark And Long Cold, long, dark, empty, night falls on the city and swallows it whole. Field work - somewhere away from home. Could be New York, could be Detroit. Another city on the road. Who cares where he is? He's working for a government no-one believes in any more. A government no-one trusts any more. Mulder walked to the window of the hotel suite and looked out onto the roads that criss-crossed and snaked around the square gardens in front of him. Neon lights illuminated the roads that stretch out into the distance. Lights from cars - trails in the night. Mulder leant on the glass, and saw the tiny people walking around the bottom of the hotel. They looked like ants from this height. That was all they were - ants. No-one cared what happened to them anymore - they didn't fit in the grand scheme of things. Too individual. Too real. But then everything looked like ants from this height. He turned, and doing so, pulled the curtains across. The tiny lamps that surrounded the room were all that were lighting the room. It was better that way. Mulder liked the dark - nasty evil things hid in the dark. He embraced them. There was always something hidden in the shadows, waiting to come out and make the world a little dirtier. Maybe that was where he belonged - in the shadows. Night time always heightened the senses. Murders always occurred at night, when the brain was just twisted enough to convince the mind that what was wrong was so, so, right. Night time made love bubble to the surface, and people started to admit what they never thought they knew. Things that maybe they didn't even believe, just came to mind. UFO's were always seen at night. Maybe they weren't really seen - people saw things that weren't really there when they were in the dream state. It was getting on for half past one, and Mulder was beginning to enter the dream state. He sat on the easy chair, and poured himself a glass of whisky. He couldn't sleep. Didn't want to sleep... Murder... First thing to happen at night. Mulder closed his eyes and tried to shut out the noise that roared. He'd killed people. He'd killed freaks of nature. Shot and maimed; mutilated people who had no free will of their own. What did that make him? He'd killed a Siamese twin that had been so deformed that it could barely move. He could have stopped. What did it make him? It made him a bigot, remorseless serial killer. He was what he had hunted for so many years. He was what he hated. Did that mean he hated himself? Course he hated himself. He'd been to slow to stop them taking Sam. He hadn't been around when his dad had wanted to talk - he was dead now, maybe he could have stopped that. He could have prevented them from killing Scully's sister. And Scully. Barry had taken her away... the closest thing he had to a friend. Now she was dyi... Why hadn't he done what they all wanted to do and killed himself, before he hurt anyone else? Serial killer. His own thoughts hung in his mind. Who was next..? He poured another glass of whiskey. Love... He finished his glass after what seemed to be an age. Maybe it had been an age. He looked at the clock. Getting on for three. Might've dropped off for a few minutes. Who do you love Mulder? Thoughts were beginning to grow and develop in his head. He'd shared so little love in his life - here he was heading toward 40. All his...friends? Maybe - he hardly spoke to any of them any more. They were all married. Had kids. Had pretty wives who doted on them, and who they doted on. Who do you have Mulder? No-one... But why bother? He counted in his head the number of broken romances and romances that were never even there to be broken. After a while maybe you think that it isn't worth the bother any more. Maybe it would be easier to give up and let love pass you by because youve got past records to go on. Past records of failures. Easy to convince yourself that you didn't need anyone, but those late and lonely nights didn't help, they just made it worse. It was worse in the cold nights. No-one to hold, no-one to love or be loved by. Who do you have Mulder? No one... but even then, not strictly true. He had somebody who he loved, but they could never know. Should never know. Now she was... he didn't even want to think about it. Blot it from the mind - shut it out. Supress it. Dig a deep dark hole and chuck the memory in, fill it over and leave it unmarked like so many others. Pour another glass of whiskey. Beliefs... He wanted to believe. So much. Some nights he wondered if he just looked so hard he couldn't even see the truth any more. He had that poster on the wall of his office, but did he want to believe anymore? Belief in a world that hated and feared what it didn't understand. maybe there were little green men, but the average Joe would rather take a club to one that ask it the meaning of life. Fear of the unknown. What was there to believe in? Gods that forsook us? A government that lied and cheated us? Extra-terrestrials that we couldn't even comprehend? What was there to believe in anymore. Mulder looked at the bottle infront of him. That's what he believed in - another drink to blot out the memories and the pain and the hurt and the love. Pour another glass of whiskey. Morning... The hotel room was cold - the gentle light from the hazy overcast morning filtered in through the blinds bathing evrything in a blue tinged wash. There wasn't much movement in the room. A gentle breeze from the open window blew a bottle across the floor, a few drips of whiskey spilling onto the perfect white carpet. The figure in the chair didn't move - he wasn't waking up for a while, maybe that was for the best. Knocks at the door go unanswered, and Mulder sleeps without dreaming - absolved? Maybe. But he'll wake soon. When it's dark, and the nights are long. Bad things hide in the dark. END? "Come on people, say you want a revolution."