From: Just another xphile Date: Thu, 25 Jan 2001 04:24:18 GMT Subject: NEW: 'A Familiar Stranger' 1/1 Title: 'A Familiar Stranger' 1/1 Author: Just another xphile Category: MSR, angst, ummm... angst. S POV Spoilers: Requiem... it's a post requiem story I suppose. Rating: Q <- that's right, 'Q', for people who don't feel like rating their stories. (note: people looking for sex should look elsewhere) Summary: Scully is kind of feeling depressed. Though I couldn't possibly understand why... Archive: go for it! just keep my name attached. Feedback: God yes! Please, if you could? Send to: x_phile_01@hotmail.com ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ When I finally get home, the apartment is dark and quiet. I can sense its betrayal even before I enter. I feel ashamed, though I am not sure why. Disapproval. Of what I've become no less. An emotionally dysfunctional, unwed, soon-to-be-mother with a dangerous job and bad family relations. I stand at the door of my cave, listening. But there is only the silence and constant rumble from the street outside... a noise you don't notice unless you try. I have the feeling I should knock, to let the loneliness know that I'm home, though there isn't much point since it had been a room mate of mine for quite some time. It did leave for a little while, but now that it's returned it isn't half as pleasant as it use to be. It won't do anything with me anymore. I take a deep breath and step inside, cursing myself in my head for being such a child. I drop my coat to the chair near the door, which really couldn't be called a chair anymore; no one has sat in it for years. My purse falls down beside it, some of its contents spilling onto the floor. I don't think I could care less. I've noticed myself becoming more careless with every day that passes, maybe I'm trying to make up for the disorganization and spontaneity that disappeared along with Mulder. Maybe. I don't seem compelled to do anything. I don't feel the usual rumbles of hunger, or the almost physical pains of drowsiness. So I look around at the petty collection of things and garbage displayed around me. Things that should mean something to me, or represent something in me, but I find myself struggling to recognize them. I suddenly have the urge to push them off their neat little spots; I want to see them fall helplessly to the floor and shatter into a million pieces so that maybe they could feel a fraction of what I feel. But, the intellectually abhorrent part of my mind recalls that they can't feel, and that I don't have the energy to try. At least that's what I'm telling myself... of course some things never change. The emptiness is somewhat comforting for a minute, though. I don't have to deal with anyone, I don't have to explain myself, or surrender myself to others. Those were my reasons once, but now that I've been on the other side of the fence, the grass really is greener, and the sky bluer. My old life seems now more like a prison than a comfort. I can see him. If I think about it long and hard enough. If I stare at one point I can see him there, leaning against the door frame to my bedroom, grinning... or shuffling through my CDs to see if I had gotten anything new while he made snide comments about what CDs I already had, something he regularly did. He'd turn to look at me, and I'd smile at him. He once said that he lived to make me smile. He promised that we'd just be. We'd be because we could, and because we weren't afraid of anything. I had doubted, and this was why. The memory slips away and I shutter. My stomach is twisted in knots, telling me I should be doing something... eating, drinking, reading, working, in the desert looking for Mulder or at the office. It's warning me, trying to get me to leave and escape this madness. But there is nothing I can do, and I ignore the instinct to hide... because there is no sanctuary for me. I start towards the bedroom, but I don't make it inside. I can't, there are too many ghost in there. Ghost that want to make me cry and regret, and I think I have done enough of that for two lifetimes. I step back away from the door and freeze. The air feels chilled and I want to scream... or drop to the floor and curl up into a tiny ball. I'm not sure what to do, I'm so confused. Loneliness is standing behind me... I can feel it. I can hear breathing, and I'm sure I feel its breath brushing lightly against the back of my neck. I shutter again, closing my eyes and listening to the even inhale and exhale. I wish it to be Mulder. I ask God to let it be Mulder. I concentrate on it being Mulder, hoping that some kind of mental power I possess would make him appear to me. When I open my eyes, I can still feel it. I can feel both of them, Mulder inside me, living in me... but loneliness is all around me. It's angry and I know it won't be kind to me... it knows it won't be here for such a long stay as it's last, it knows that it will have to leave again once Mulder returns... or the baby arrives. But I know it will make the time until then the most horrible in my life. I spin around to confront it. But there is nothing but emptiness. Just the light from the bathroom seeping out from under the door and the light drip[ of the kitchen tap in the background. Everything is draped in a color that appreciates my mood. Everything that should be light and happy to celebrate such a wonderful moment is cast in shadow. But the celebration will only be with my toilet and fridge. Loneliness likes this atmosphere, and it will undoubtedly crash the party. It used to be a companion of mine. We would watch a movie together, or read email or a book together. It was always around. It would sometimes come with me to work, but it didn't really like other people, so it would usually wait until I was alone to visit. It didn't stay like that though. Loneliness became jealous as I started to spend more time with Mulder, and it made the time I spent away from him more and more torturous. All I could think of was being with Mulder. Once Mulder had started staying with me on a regular basis, loneliness had left and I had felt free. I was no longer trapped beneath its greedy hands. But now Mulder was gone, and I have no one. Loneliness has returned with a vengeance, and I am defenseless. Only for a short time, I assure myself, as I notice how my hand has migrated to my stomach. There's always tomorrow, and there's always hope. He will return. end ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Yeah, there it is. Hope you liked it. I did this a couple of months ago and I just found it today, so I thought better late then never, right? Just adding to the pile of depressing Mulderless fan fic... because you know there just isn't enough of it. ;-) Oh yes, feedback please. Please, please, please. x_phile_01@hotmail.com ~~~~~~~~~~~~