From: "Elsie" Date: Wed, 9 Aug 2000 14:24:29 -0600 Subject: Faith (1/1) by Elsie Source: direct TITLE: Faith AUTHOR: Elsie RATING: G CATEGORY: V DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere FEEDBACK: Yes, please. elsiel@telusplanet.net SPOILERS: Requiem SUMMARY: Scully discovers what remains after the loss of Faith. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: Thanks ever-so-much to Georgia for beta-reading. DISCLAIMER: These characters are not mine. No infringement is intended. I have always prided myself on being strong, practical, and rational. Sitting here on your couch, I definitely don't feel that way. I can't believe I've been sitting here for God-knows-how-long - crying over the death of one of your fish. I don't cry. Not over little things like the death of a pet that's not even mine. I should be able to move past this easily. Why can't I? In some ways, I can understand it; I can decipher the reasons out of the emotional mess that my mind seems to be harboring these days. It's the hormones. Sometimes I don't even recognize myself anymore. I've become the kind of woman that cries over sentimental commercials on television. I find myself clumsily reaching for Kleenex when I hear snippets of songs about love and loss. I can't even read the newspaper from front to back anymore, since seeing the obituaries makes me tear up. Who is this stranger who is slowly taking over my mind and body? It's not the loss of your fish that saddens me. It's what he symbolized. He was yours. He was the lone survivor during that first week when you were gone. I was so preoccupied with finding you that I neglected to remember to feed your fish regularly. In moments of clarity, I told myself that they were hardy, that I didn't need to worry about them. You never seemed to. When I returned to your apartment on the eighth day, he was the only one swimming, oblivious to the two others belly-up on the surface of the aquarium. I did not cry when I found them. I don't cry at things like that. I did have to run to the bathroom, though. My stomach can take almost any form of death brought to a human body, but it could not take the sight of those two dead fish. The once-glittering scales reduced to mushy paleness, the tiny unseeing eyes, and the smell of death tainting the transparent water was too much for me that day. I replaced them for you. They're mollies. I thought about waiting for you before naming them. Then I realized that you probably didn't name them anyway. I felt an ache in my chest upon realizing that I really didn't know whether you named your fish or not. I had never heard you refer to them by name and I just assumed, since you replaced them so often... We were so new. I had known you for so long, yet I didn't even know if you gave your pets names! You said once that I knew you better than anyone else, but until recently, I didn't know that you took piano lessons as a child, that you made spectacular omelettes, that you once entertained becoming an anthropologist. Although these things may not be important in the grand scheme of things, discovering them was one of my favorite things about "us." Every time I was able to reveal another bit of information about you, I felt like I had unearthed a carefully hidden treasure. Now I wish I had more of these little treasures to comfort me. In my mind, the survivor was Faith. Hope and Charity were the new ones. It didn't matter whether they were male or female. I knew it was silly to give them names, especially those names, even if it was just in my mind, but it was something I just did. I wasn't planning on telling you anyway. You'd just tease me about "Freddy" having a sex change while you were away, I'm sure. I never gave up on Faith. Just as I have never given up on you. It is hard - extremely hard - some days. But I have always been a survivor. I told myself that I could handle it, that I could handle anything that comes my way. Because I believe that everything happens for a reason and if fate means for me to go through this, then this is what I need to get through. I had started thinking of us as traveling the same path and I imagine this obstacle, this separation, as a fork in the road that will eventually wind back to the main path. I refuse to believe that your path leads away from me. I think fate needs me to be on my own right now and if I don't experience this time alone, we won't be reunited. I can only pray that you will find your way back quickly. I have faith that you will come back to me - to us. When three months had passed and we had gotten nowhere, I faltered, but I didn't lose my way. I guess I had made up a deadline in my mind and three months was the lucky number. When time was up and you didn't return, I almost gave up. I didn't, though. I gave up on having a deadline instead. When I came in tonight after work, I had no plans to stay. I just wanted to feed the fish and collect the bills. I was unprepared for the scene that displayed itself in front of my eyes. I couldn't look away. My Faith was gone. He was there yesterday but now he's gone. Unconsciously, I sank down on my knees. I don't know when I started crying, but I know that once I started, I couldn't stop. I vaguely remember thinking, "It's just a fish!" But it's not just that. The loss of Faith reminds me that my faith in you weakens every day that you don't magically appear. I don't want to give up but it's becoming harder and harder to refute that you're not coming back. You have so much to come back to. Can't you see? I began to see last month. After the initial elation of realizing that the impossible had become fact, I was in denial. I admit it. The proof sat inside a manila envelope, sandwiched between a phone bill and a copy of JAMA on my desk, the contents scanned once, then carefully replaced. I did not study the results, not wanting to find that there were no errors. The baffled doctors had no explanation for me and one of them suggested that the revival of my fertility was a "gift from God." I'm not so sure. I had been so focused on you that I haven't started acknowledging my own state until recently. It took an old man at the grocery store helping me to reach a box of oatmeal on the top shelf because I "shouldn't strain myself" when I'm in "the family way" for me to open my eyes and really see. I have been afraid to notice what's been happening to me. So I pretended that everything was fine. I threw myself into the work - our work. I told myself that I'd worry about anything but you afterwards. But afterwards never came. But being in denial is tiring. I didn't like being a facade. I was as stoic as ever on the outside, portraying a strength I couldn't possibly have, while I was nowhere near fine on the inside. I was dying and I couldn't do anything to stop it. People around me walked on eggshells. They quickly learned not to ask me about my "condition." I left the grocery store and headed straight for Mom's. I told her everything. How I was afraid that fate pushed me into your bed that night so I wouldn't have any regrets after you were gone. And how I was terrified that the baby was God making sure you didn't leave me without a good-bye. I didn't want to acknowledge it if it was your unknowing way of saying good-bye. Mom assured me that life doesn't work that way and that the baby was truly a "blessing." I have slowly begun to believe it. It's hard to pretend everything's fine when your body starts betraying you. I fainted again at Mom's that afternoon. I talked her into letting me go home without a visit to the hospital. I already knew what was wrong anyway. I was exhausted. I was tired physically. I was tired of pretending everything was okay. "When will I be okay?" I asked Mom before I left that evening. This was the first time that I acknowledged that I wasn't okay, that I hadn't been fine for awhile now. I half-wished for an easy answer, some kind of reassurance, a specific time and day. I had been telling myself that the three-month deadline, when you returned, would signal the end of my misery before this. But now that that theory had been shot down, I needed something to replace it. She looked at me for a long time, the tears in her eyes refusing to fall, then wrapped her arms around me. We remained silent and I thanked her for her honesty by returning the hug. I didn't know either but I realized that the baby wasn't at fault. Denying its existence would not bring you back, no matter how much I pleaded for a trade. At one time, I would have eagerly given up the baby had it meant your return. But I see now that that would have been an utterly foolish mistake. I am not as strong as I'd like to think but I think I'm doing okay. I'm a survivor. I'll get through this. I'm definitely not being practical right now, sitting on your couch doing nothing when I should be at home working on a report. As for being rational, how sane can I be when I'm essentially talking to you inside my head, staring at your four walls in the dark? At least I don't feel numb anymore. I feel like a burden has been released and that this new freedom will strengthen me. It's late. I don't know what time it is, but it's dark outside. With the shortening days, it's hard for me to judge time by the color of the sky. It doesn't matter; these days, I tell time by how often I need to visit the ladies' room! I need to get myself under control. I need to take care of Faith, get home and finish that report. But before I return to myself, there's something I need to say. I am not a particularly romantic person. I will never buy you just- because gifts, write you little love notes, or agree to public displays of affection. I know you restrain yourself from these trivial things as well. We're beyond them, I think. Unfortunately, I don't think our silent conversations work in your absence. So I will have to say this to you, even if it's just inside my head. I'm sorry I let Faith die. I am not going to replace him. Hope and Charity have adjusted well to their new home and who am I to disturb their happy arrangement? They swim around oblivious to the death that permeates their life. I'd like to think that their innocence will sweep the darkness away like the water filter cleaning the filth out of the aquarium. They will survive without Faith; they have each other. I have seen how Charity follows Hope around the aquarium, almost like another appendage, another tail. At first, I thought that the clinging behavior was simple familiarity, but I have come to realize that it wasn't just that. After the novelty of the new home faded, their closeness remained. Hope always leads the way and Charity always follows. It's uncanny how their connection to each other seems telepathic. Their faith in each other seems endless and ensures me of their survival. They embody an optimism that is contagious. Their belief in each other, their trust, revitalizes my own faith. Glancing over at the aquarium, I see Hope and Charity circling the tank in their usual formation. They are not afraid of what the future will bring. It is as if Faith's death has renewed their commitment to each other. They are closer than ever before and their relentless devotion reminds me that I will survive, too. I have your love, the proof of it growing inside of me. I miss you. I have so many things I need to say to you and I'm sorry I never said them before. I have no regrets, though. Please come home. I love you. THE END Your thoughts? This is my first foray into fanfic and any comments would be greatly appreciated! elsiel@telusplanet.net