Date: Mon, 11 Jun 2007 22:44:41 -0800 Subject: Fight the (Immediate) Future by Ouroboros Source: direct TITLE: Fight the (Immediate) Future AUTHOR: Ouroboros E-MAIL: puritycontrol@gmail.com DISTRIBUTION: Please contact RATING: PG CATEGORIES: VA KEYWORDS: Missing scene SPOILERS: Fight the Future SUMMARY: What Scully was doing before she went to Mulder's for the ill- fated bee-encounter. Disclaimer: Poor college student doing this for fun -- no profit! She stared in quiet contemplation at the long-stemmed wineglass between her fingers. The burgundy liquid swirling around, leaving faint layers along the inside before being pulled into the soft vortex her wrist was creating. Peaking to the top, then diving back down to be consumed by the bloody-colored water below. Up, and down, down and up.. "Just like my fucking career," she snarled. She caught herself and stopped, surprised she had even spoken aloud. Who was she talking to? It didn't matter. "It doesn't matter," she stormily reminded herself. She created more angry vortexes, her angry heels making angry sounds on the placidity of her kitchen floor. She paced to the pantry and to the sink, and to the pantry again where she downed the glass of bitter wine. The sour, cheap taste left a nasty feeling on the back of her tongue and burned a path down her throat, where it fueled the acidic fire in her belly but it didn't matter. The bottle was practically gone as it was, so the taste and the scalding were muted. Yet the poor wine and the growing unsteadiness of her pace exacerbated her anger and frustration. Stomp, stomp, stomp. The sash of her jacket flapped behind her like a broken tail as she ranted and fumed. The last five years of her life were coming to mean nothing; it would see no climatic ending it deserved. Through all of her denials, her damning scientific explanations, and all the times she tried to find the reasonable in the unreasonable, she couldn't ignore the ever-maturing knot of willingness. Her willingness, to believe, to understand, to love. She stopped with her face almost making physical contact to the tacky gingham pot holders hanging from the pantry door. Her eyes crossed at the gaudy red-green-and-orange blend, and at that moment she remembered how much she really hated those holders, but kept them because Mulder liked them. Actually, he liked them for their hilarity, because the embroidered hen stitched in the middle was a nice touch. "A Scully touch," he had called it when he first saw the garish kitchen addition her slightly senile aunt had made her for Christmas. "Because in all of the blinding confusion, you're always a pleasant thing to see." She had rolled her eyes when he said that, because she was almost sure he was drugged or on pain medication or beer. She kept them, though, not only because she'd feel the slightly bit guilty throwing out a handmade.. treasure a relative crafted, but she also couldn't bring herself to removing an object Mulder playfully identified her with in her otherwise well-organized, well-designed, and aesthetically-pleasing apartment. Wait. Love. Love? Love?? "No way," she exclaimed. With a sweep of her hand, she sent the chicken pot holders and the big thumbtack that secured them to the floor. They gently flopped to the floor, one side staring up at Scully with its dull, stupid printed chicken eyes. And how she sobbed! Big, wrenching, shoulder-shaking sobs, coupled with the choking squeaks that burped out of her throat as she wadded through her tears and wails to catch a breath. The tears, which had an unexpected entrance, had no foreseeable end, so she just let them fall. Slick saline rivers dribbled down her cheeks and gathered at her chin, before they rained down onto the chicken. The fabric was stained with darken splotches of her laments. For the first time, in a long time, she admitted quietly to herself -- I'm afraid. Her sister could die, even though there was a bullet with her name on it instead. She could witness the most horrific atrocities of nature, and then perform autopsies on its maimed victims while pigging out on ribs or pizza beforehand. She had a cool head, and rarely let her composure dare shed a layer of icy, stonecold protective covering. She could experience the horrors of terminal cancer, and recover, but God show pity for a Scully who cries for a boy. She suddenly became terrified at comprehending the very near future and the undesirable things it held. She took advantage of the fact that the basement office, with its weird and musky, dusty smell, and the brown- haired beauty behind the big desk would always be there. She always assumed that some big shot up in the higher ranks of the government would be there, around the corner, waiting eagerly to bail Mulder out of a bad situation and right it. Not this time. The looming encounter with Salt Lake City and its dry, nasty desert and its hazy ranges, and its many Mormons and its not-Mulder was all too soon. There was no hand for her to grab, no invisible strength to save them. She looked up, red strands pasted to her face like she was just in a bad windstorm. She sniffled pathetically, suddenly feeling full-force, the delicious effects of a bad bottle of wine. She picked up the chicken pot holders and held them to her chest, silently apologizing for using them as a catalyst for her rage. She shuffled down the hall to her laptop on the coffee table. She couldn't burn the images of Mulder, smiling Mulder, sad Mulder, angry Mulder, Mulder, Mulder out of her mind's eye. She was not willing to make that sacrifice so soon. She couldn't! She never would readily accept a shitty card dealt to her, especially when it meant losing him. She made her choice, and made it quickly. Without so much as a sigh or pause, she fired up her word processor. Before she even realized what she was doing, she was typing out her decision. "Assistant Director Skinner, Please accept this letter as submission of my resignation from the Bureau, effectively immediately. Dana Scully" With one click, her little printer was churning and warming up. She stared at the line of text, swimming before her heavy, red eyes and nodded. This was the right thing to do. "It's the only thing to do," she whispered.