TITLE: Dimensions VII: Fringes
AUTHOR: Sasha Elisabeth Wolfe @>-----,-----'-----------
E-MAIL: eponine@idirect.com
ICQ: 5627782
RATING:PG 13 (bit of angst) suggestion of sex
LENGTH: 1/1
SPOILERS:Rideux and  Talitha Cumi
SUMMARY:A discussion between Cigarette Smoking Man and X
DISCLAIMER: Cigarette Smoking Man and Mr.X  aren't mine. Lilith is.  Song
is "Seasons of Love" from the musical "RENT"

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*Dimensions VII:Fringes*
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"And crawling on the planet's face
 Some insects called the human race
 Lost in time and lost in space
 And meaning"-From "The Rocky Horror Picture Show"


        "Do you want me to deliver a message to her?" X asks, sitting at
the computer. "No," I respond. "It's too much of a risk. We were lucky
enough not to have been detected when we were on the chat line." "You
know," X sighs, as he makes his way over to me in his in his wheel chair.
"It isn't easy living a dead man's life." "Tell me about it," I mumble,
placing a cigarette up to my lips. "Are you going to let her come work for
us?" he asks. "I mean for me, you and Deepthroat. She is, after all, dead,
according to government files." "Presumed dead," I correct, though the
thought had crossed my mind quite a few times. "You know I love her," I
say, as the smoke drifts through the room. "But can she be trusted? What if
she doesn't feel the same? She could go straight to the Elders and it would
be all over for us." "Yet, on the other hand," my friend continues. "She
could be a valuable asset." An asset. I can't bring myself to view her as
that anymore. Not after those nights together...the wondrous feeling of
waking up to find her sleeping body pressed to mine, traces of me still
evident on her lips and around her mouth. "Do you think we can trust her?"
I ask, flicking ashes onto the floor. "I think so," X replies. "But maybe
we should take it up with Deepthroat first. "It's ironic," I note. "That
for so many years we were the ones the had power over what the masses
watched, ate, thought, and believed. And now, we're the ones being
controlled." "What do you mean?" X asks confused. "We still have the one
power that the Elders don't-knowledge." "You're right," I nod my head in
agreement. "But don't you ever miss being just another face in the crowd? I
mean, when's the last time you've heard a friend, a lover or co-worker
speak your real name? Or when was the last time you felt free to walk in
the sunlight, or even the shadowed streets? We ARE the shadows now." I can
almost swear a drop is forming in the corner of X's eye. "It's been a long
time," he groans. "There really is something to be said for the phrase 'you
don't know what you've got 'till it's gone'" "We should have treasured the
moments while we had them," I admit, the lyrics to a song entering my head.

        "Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
         Five hundred twenty-five thousand moment's so dear
         Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
         How do you measure-measure a year?
         In daylights-in sunsets?
         In midnights-in cups of coffee?
         In inches-in miles?
         In laughter-in strife?

         Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
         How do you measure a year in the life?
         How about love?


         In truths that she learned
         Or the times that he cried
         In bridges he burned
         Or the way that she died"

        "Are you alright?" X's voice brings me back to reality and I
realise my cigarette had burnt to ash. "Yeah," I sigh. "Do you want me to
contact Lilith?" he asks. "Oh, why not," I shrug. "Misery, after all, loves
company."

        I can feel myself shake as she enters the room. She is one of us
now. The outcasts...the enigmas...the undead ghosts. Her sweet voice rings
through my ears as she greets me. My first desire is to take her into my
power and make passionate love to her, but my body won't allow me to move.
I can smell her intoxicating perfume as she nears me, quivering as her
mouth tenderly caresses my own. She collapses in my arms, leaning her head
on my chest, tears streaming down her pale face, a mix of pain, relief and
longing illuminating her waxen features. My hands lose themselves in her
thick, silver tresses. How can an angel have been christened with the name
of a demon? The same title which Adam's first wife bore. The one banished
from paradise and condemned to live on the fringes of Eden. Her fingers run
through my hair and I press her slender body closer. My fallen angel has
returned to me and this time I won't let her fly away.