From: Kelloggirl <kelloggirl2000@yahoo.com>
Date: Tue, 30 Oct 2001 13:34:31 -0800 (PST)
Subject: The Gift of Hope by Kelloggirl
Source: direct

The Gift of Hope (1/1)
By Kelloggirl
Rating: 
Classification: VA -- Vignette/Angst
Spoilers: Up to and including This Is Not Happening
Summary: If Hope is a gift, it is a sick and twisted 
one.
Feedback:  Always welcome at kelloggirl2000@yahoo.com

If Hope is a gift, it is a sick and twisted one. I'm 
exhausted, bone-weary at fighting the battle with 
Hope. Every morning I wake up and think, "Today is 
the day." 

Today is the day when we'll get some information, 
some news. Or maybe today is even the day that Mulder 
will stroll into the basement office with a lopsided 
smile and say, "You're never going to believe this 
one, Scully!" 

If Hope is the only thing that gets me out of bed, it 
is also slowly driving me mad and breaking my heart a 
million times a day. Every time the phone rings, 
Hope jumps up to answer it. Every time Skinner 
darkens the doorway, Hope runs to greet him and ask, 
"Any news today?" 

No matter how many times a day the answer is silence, 
no, or a solemn shake of the head, Hope never gives 
up.  But I am just about ready to. I'm deathly tired 
of the cycle of Hope and heartbreak that leaves me 
shaking with pain at the end of the day. When I drag 
myself home at night, the pain of knowing that today 
wasn't the day is overwhelming. I berate myself, 
plead with Hope not to make an appearance tomorrow, 
to leave me in peace so I can move on with my life.  
Don't get me wrong, I am not giving up on Mulder, I 
spend all my free time thinking about him, working 
with Skinner and the Lone Gunmen on new ways to 
detect anomalies that might be alien craft.  I have 
determination, devotion, and love firmly on my side 
to keep me looking. But Hope only adds to my anguish 
and erodes my soul, particle by particle, every hour 
that ticks by and it's not the one when Mulder 
reappears. 

This morning when my phone rings, it is no different. 
Hope rushes me along to the FBI, and carries me down 
the hallway to the basement office that has lost 
its luster, and plants me firmly in front of John 
Doggett, demanding an explanation.  He refuses to 
either dash Hope against the cold tile, or let it 
fly unfettered. Instead, he beckons me to go to 
Skinner's office with me.  As the words pour out of 
Skinner's mouth, out of Doggett's mouth, jumbled and 
incoherent to my adrenaline-soaked brain, Hope 
manages to force the words out of my mouth.

"Are you trying to tell me this has something to do 
with Mulder?"

I expect the same cycle to begin again - elevated 
Hope, followed by dragging Despair. But not today.  
For now, the chase is on.

END