From: "Ebsworths" Subject: New Story Date sent: Sun, 24 May 1998 11:08:30 -0600 Subject: NEW: 'Doll Parts' (1/1) by Catwoman Date: May 23rd, 1998 Classification: V, SA Keywords: Mulder/Scully UST Rating: PG - But again, the really little ones (who probably aren't paying attention to this anyway) won't understand. Doll Parts By Catwoman Disclaimer: Not mine. Belong to THEM. The song 'Doll Parts', as quoted at the beginning and the end of this vignette, belongs to Hole. Distribute: Sure. Fine. Wherever. Tell me where its going, don't change anything, don't try to sell it. Thank you. Spoilers: Up to 'The Pine Bluff Variant' but no further...anywhere in those few episodes before the wonderful 'Folie A Deux'. WARNING: MSR construction ahead! Note: Okay, I said I'd do a Scully follow-up---here it is! In other words, this is a companion piece to 'Release'. Thanx: Thanx go to Lass Mulder for reading and liking the 'I Want You' series, crider for her praise and criticism of said series, 'Verna And Loo' for some lovely, colorful feedback on '4am', BPL9tro for feedback on '4am', and Rebecca for dropping me a note praising 'Recovering The Satellites'. Thank you! Dedication: To Darkstryder, without whose upholding presence angst would surely shrivel and die. Just kidding! To Darkstryder, just because. Challenge: So, who can spot the reference to Anne McCaffrey's 'Dragonriders of Pern' in this story? Speaking of which, if you go back and read over 'Release' again, you may just spot my reference to an old superstition of Dartmoor---and both the superstition and Dartmoor are integral parts of one of my favorite novels, by one of my favorite authors: 'The Moor', by Laurie R. King. In fact, if you'll go back over all my other stories, those of you with eagle eyes will notice a lot of references to literature I've read. Anyone else have that preoccupation? Summary: So maybe Scully doesn't see it *quite* the same way...companion piece to 'Release'. ***** I want to be the girl with the most cake I love him so much it just turns to hate I fake it so real I am beyond fake And someday you will ache like I ache Someday you will ache like I ache ***** That bastard. I can't *believe* he's doing this to me. Oh, I see what he's doing. He may think I'm oblivious to his little plans, but I see perfectly well what he's trying to do. He's trying to get rid of me. Yup, he is. My partner of five years, Fox Mulder, has only now decided that he's had enough of me, that our time together isn't worth it anymore. Bastard. Oh, I'm sure he has his reasons. Mulder always has reasons. Despite what many of his superiors may think, he always thinks things out carefully, rationally (or his version of rationally), and he always has some idea, usually frighteningly clear, of what he's doing. And I'm also sure his reasons aren't as malicious as they seem to be; I'm sure he thinks he's doing this for my own good. But damn it, what if I don't want my own good? Hell, I know that if I'd left the X-Files years ago I wouldn't be in this mess. I wouldn't be stuck with the most frustrating man on earth for a partner, I wouldn't have nearly lost my life to cancer, among other things, and I wouldn't have lost my ability to conceive children. Wait, why am I talking to you? You're just a stupid journal. I should be talking to Mulder. Mulder, I mourn all those things, believe me, I do...more than you can ever imagine. But that doesn't change my opinion of you, of your importance to me, of the importance of what we do. I once told you that despite everything, I wouldn't change a day. I hold to that opinion. Despite everything that's happened to me because of the dangerous nature of our work (notice I say because of our work, *not* because of you---despite the fact that I also hold the opinion that you have a dangerous nature yourself), I would never want to change anything, and you want to know why? Because everything horrible that's happened has brought me that much closer to *you*. I don't want to belittle my predicament. Particularly where my infertility is concerned, I wish with all my heart that I could go back, change something subtle so it never happened. I wish I could have saved Emily. I wish a lot of things. But most of all, Mulder, I wish you would come back to me. I know you're worried about me. I know you're scared. I know you think that everything terrible that's happened to me in the last five years is your fault, and I also know I'll never be able to convince you otherwise. But Goddamn it, Mulder, it is my life, and I've come to think that my life would not be my life anymore without you in it. You have become the most important person in my life, the only one I think of to turn to when I'm hurt or afraid---and yes, I know that sounds odd because I never do turn to you when I'm hurt or afraid...silly pride and vanity hold me back from anything that would show so much blasphemous weakness. Odd to think that you're the only one I trust enough to let in on the secret of my vulnerability, but that you're also the one I most wish to hide it from. After Emily died, I know I shut down. I just couldn't bring myself to *be* myself---I felt like half of my soul had died, like my dragon had fallen. So I retreated into myself, where I sat with myself and thought things over and myself realized it was time to reemerge. Much to my surprise, when I did reemerge, you were not there to greet me as you usually are, but instead you were far away, standing against the distant horizon, and you hadn't even the friendly courtesy to wave down at me where I stood at the bottom of the canyon you'd created for us. You may never have known this, Mulder, but when I shut down like I did, when I close in on myself and you and don't let anyone, including common sense, in...well, let's just say it's no more of a pleasant experience for me than it is for you. I don't like being so out of control that I can't handle my own mind, that I regress into dark, sinister memories. What I'm trying to say is that when I cave in on myself like that, I'm not crying out to be left alone, but instead the exact opposite: I'm crying out for help. I don't want to lose myself in my own memory; all I needed at that time and all I've ever needed is for you to reach out your hand and pull me up, pull me back to the safety of your tight, trusting, melancholy embrace. Can't you see that? I suppose not. My cold heart won't even let that secret past. I don't like being the way I am, Mulder. Maybe it's the principles of discipline I was brought up on, or maybe its the fact that I'm a woman in a predominantly male institution and I often get penalized for it...or maybe its just because I feel like I have to look strong in your eyes because you need an article of strength to hold onto...but somehow its been ingrained into my very soul that vulnerability, weakness, is a big no-no. Not allowed. Uh-uh. I can't help but listen to that calling; it runs deep as the blood in my veins, and is just as hot, just as insistent...and just as cumbersome sometimes. Sometimes I really want to open up to you, Mulder. Sometimes I just want to break down and cry in your arms, and let you pretend you can make it all okay. Is that so terrible? To the average human: no. To me: yes. I hate it. I really do. I had hoped that by now you understood the way I worked, and that you understood that I can't help it; that's its not something I can change just like that. But obviously you don't understand, because now you've truly given up on me. You think I've been hurt too much by you for one woman's good, and you're trying your best to send me away, preferably bald with the fingers of my frustration. You ignore me, you disrespect me, you get angry with me at the drop of a hat. I know you don't mean it. I know you think you're doing right. That knowledge is the only thing that makes your behavior forgivable, if not in the slightest excusable. I'm sure you were upset by my supposed lack of trust when I closed off after Emily died. Now I'm appalled by *your* lack of trust. Do you really think you can make me leave? Do you really think you can turn five years of intense trust against yourself? You've got another think coming, Mulder, and if you don't quit this damn soon, if you don't realize the futility of these methods, of your very *cause*, then I'm going to have to put my foot down. And I don't know how I'm going to do that. Maybe I should just throw caution to the wind, take off my heels, climb into your lap and plant my mouth right on those beautiful lips of yours. Would that get your attention? Pardon me while I chuckle...that's quite the mental picture. As I was saying...Mulder, this is ridiculous! I swear, if this doesn't stop soon, I may just have to take drastic measures like the ones outlined above (i.e. involving kissing you passionately and telling you how much I love you, how much I always have, and how much I trust you and how I would never, ever leave you...). I don't know what else to do. Obviously getting angry at you in return won't do any good...I've tried that. Besides, maybe it's better if I tell you the truth. That I love you with every part of myself capable of love. That I always have in some way, but that its deepened to a rich, passionate, red hot love that burns in my belly every time I look at you, making me wish we didn't work for such a stupid institution, that my self-discipline was just a little looser---that I could, just once, taste your lips on mine. It's become a physical ache, Mulder. That's how much I want you, need you. And you think I could leave? It is better if I tell you my truth, but I'm hoping it won't come to that, because frankly, I don't think I could do it. So maybe someday you'll find this journal, and you'll know. You'll know. And maybe someday, you'll read this, and you'll realize how I ache for you. And you will ache like I ache. ***** I am doll parts, bad skin, doll heart It stands for knife For the rest of my life Yeah, they really want you, they really want you, they really do Yeah, they really want you, they really want you But I do too ***** And someday you will ache like I ache ***** THE END-Whoa, I'm on a roll! 'I'm standing on the edge of common sense here." ***Feedback is REALLY appreciated***Flames will be used to feed Cassie- Lou---turns out she has a taste for 'em! *** Author's Note: So, wondering who the hell Cassie-Lou is? The answer: she is the bored basset hound I have spoken of in previous pleas for fanfic! And she's SO cute... "There are three sides to every story: yours, mine, and the truth." - The Director, 'Kangaroo Court', Once A Thief