From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: Wed, 6 Sep 2000 15:35:03 -0500
Subject: NEW  \"The Fantasy\"  1 of 1 by Marie Endres
Source: direct

Reply To: joemimi@prodigy.net


  "The Fantasy"
by Marie Endres
joemimi@prodigy.net

Classification: Scully Angst

Rating: PG

Spoilers: Vague

Summary: See title

Disclaimer: Mulder & Scully are not mine. They 
belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and 
Fox Broadcasting.

Thank You's as always to dear Georgia-Your 
input and friendship make me a better writer 
and person.     



  "The Fantasy"



          The fantasy was always the same. It usually 
came when she was hot,warmer than she thought 
was humanly possible. It was a heat of mind and 
of body. It was the sort that made rivulets of 
sweat begin at her neck and continue down, ever 
downward, to her breasts.

      Moist heat, everywhere, on her skin, 
under it. It made her want to scream. It was 
not a scream of ecstasy, however. It was quite 
the opposite. Sometimes the frustration got so 
overwhelming that she did the only thing she 
knew would alleviate this straight jacket of 
need, desire, longing. She let her mind go 
where she could not. She indulged her weary 
psyche in her favorite fantasy.

      She had played it out so often in her 
thoughts that it seemed like a well-worn video 
tape. The familiar sensations comforted her; 
the repeated sights strengthened her resolve.

      She would walk through the door of her 
apartment and regardless of which chain smoking 
conspirator or one-armed slime was present, she 
would begin the ritual. Her outer jacket was 
removed first, flung anywhere. Tonight was not 
the time for tidy clothes hanging. Next, were 
the shoes. Depending on her mood, they may be 
gently removed and left toward the right of the 
door. Tonight, they were each sent flying, 
first right, then left, each one with a four 
letter chaser. She stood as still as her 
adrenaline would allow while savoring the 
delicious softness of carpet meeting tired 
feet.

      Moving to her bedroom, she would begin to 
shed the next layer. As her nimble fingers 
touched each button, she would relax just a 
little bit for she knew that sweet release was 
coming ever closer. The fabric of her blouse 
would slip off first one shoulder and then the 
other allowing a caress of gentle air to cool 
her. It would be easy to stop here when a bit 
of peace had been restored to her. She knew, 
however, that in order to be fully herself 
again the fantasy would have to be enjoyed in 
its entirety. It was almost as if she needed to 
feel totally out of control to be in control 
once again. And so she would continue.

      Her skirt would be next. Button and then 
zipper, the reverse of her morning work. Her 
armor now almost completely removed, the most 
heinous offender still remained. Whoever 
invented pantyhose must have been an angry, 
disturbed man.

      Ah, at last. It was as if taking off each 
layer of clothing detached a hidden weight from 
her shoulders. She remained absolutely still, 
savoring the freedom. Freedom was what this all 
about and so she did not even bother to put on 
anything else. She just stood there in the 
middle of her bedroom, listening to the quiet. 
Her eyes would inevitably flutter shut, 
blocking out any reminder of where or who she 
was.

      She began to visually plan her next 
moves, those that would bring her closer to her 
goal. She saw herself clothed in her flirtiest, 
prettiest dress; some strappy sandals would hug 
her feet. She would leave behind her need for 
professional respect with the shedding of her 
"take me seriously" clothing. Next, would be 
the packing of her suitcase- destination 
unknown, but arrival sure. A trip to the bank 
was also in order, because credit cards could 
be traced. The last thing she needed was 
someone following her in her new vocation.

      It may not have been the most prestigious 
of positions but it would serve her purpose 
well. This was the crucial moment of her 
fantasy: the minute when she could picture her 
dream life. It would be a life where the 
biggest question was not believing or doubting, 
but rather "Scrambled or fried." If she really 
had the goods, she'd do it right now. Scully 
would leave it all behind and become a 
waitress.

      She knew the job wasn't an easy one- God 
knows, waitresses put up with more than their 
share of the dregs of humanity. At this point, 
though, waitressing would surely beat global 
conspiracies and alien abductions any day of 
the week.

      To just leave it all behind. This is the 
thought that reverberated throughout her 
waitress fantasy. She knew she wasn't the only 
woman in the world to entertain such "radical" 
ideas. Sometimes, she just needed to release a 
little steam from the pressure cooker that was 
her life by dreaming of an existence so far 
removed from her own.

      She always knew she was beginning to calm 
when she began to think about what, whom she 
would miss. Neighbors, family, friends and the 
one who could not be defined by any of those 
categories. Mulder. He was more than her friend 
and closer than her family. With him were so 
many possibilities, extreme and otherwise, that 
she could not bring herself to leave. It was 
not just the work. It was him, always the 
thought of him, that would draw her back to 
herself. She would never know how the story 
would end if she left now. And once again, 
"they" would win.


      A startling ring of her bedside phone 
brought her back from an unknown bus depot in 
her mind.

      "Hello?" she said, her voice a bit 
unsteady. Thoughts of changing one's entire 
life can do that to a person.

      "Scully, are you OK?" Mulder asked.

      "Yes, yes I think I am," she replied.

      "I managed to get us an earlier flight 
tomorrow. So be ready to leave at 5:30am for 
the great state of Idaho," he said with 
enthusiasm.

      "Mulder, have I ever told you about my 
waitress fantasy?" she said trying to block out 
his travel info.

      "Does this involve anyone kissing anyone 
else's grits?" he said with a slight chuckle.

       "Well, you would if I asked you to, 
right?" she asked hesitantly.

       "I'm puckering up as we speak," he 
replied.

        And so was she.


END


Author's notes: If anyone reads Sarah Ban 
Breathnach's brilliant "Simple Abundance" 
you'll recognize the "Waitress Fantasy" from 
the September 3rd entry. It is with respect and 
gratitude that I appropriate her thoughts to 
our dear Scully.

Feedback: Scrambled or fried, your response 
will make my day, joemimi@prodigy.net