From: Nellie Johnson Date: Fri, 16 Jul 1999 06:39:07 GMT Subject: Goddamned Messiah(1/2) by Nellie Johnson Title: Goddamned Messiah (1/2), previously titled Unrequited Love Author: Nellie Johnson, the fiend of nom de plumes E-mail: sgwm@mindspring.com Rating: PG-13 for the `b' word, but that's as bad as it gets kiddies. Category/Keywords: V, MSR Spoilers: Season Six Summary: Mulder's ex-partner comes to Samantha's funeral a few years after she has left. As she stands there in the rain she contemplates what might have been if she had stayed. Archiving: Gossamer. Otherwise, ask. Disclaimer: They're not mine. You know they're not mine. I know they're not mine. Everybody knows they're not mine. But, if you were somehow so moved by this vignette as to send me Mulder in the mail with a little red bow, I wouldn't be complaining... Authors Note: Hi guys. I'm new to the world of fan fiction, but I've never been very good at sinking into the woodwork. I get splinters and the giant woodpecker makes me nervous. I've been hoping to run into Krycek one of these days... But you know how it is. *chuckle* So, anyway. Enjoy the vignette, it's mostly all I can manage so far. I'll see you all around sometime. Until then, my friends. ########## The moment I see him all of my old feelings came rushing back. I had prepared myself for this-this onslaught on angst, but still I felt my knees turn to jelly at the sight of him. Rain pouring down from the sky in buckets, dripping off his face and mingling in his tears as he lets his well-established barriers slip down. Fox William Mulder, the ultimate enigma of the modern world, is coming apart at the seams. As I watch him I remembered when I left the X-Files, oh so long ago. Amazingly enough it wasn't a fight that drove me off. It wasn't because Mulder was slowly smothering me as he tends to do. I left because he stopped smothering me. The phone calls dwindled, our conversations grew shorter, and our once comfortable silences turned ugly and awkward. Mulder had fallen into the abyss of despair as he often did. Except that time I didn't believe he would be coming back. So I left. I requested a transfer and I got it. I had the experience and the credentials. I had tried to tell myself that we both knew it was only a matter of time, that Mulder and I both knew that I would have to move on eventually. But deep down inside I had hoped that he would try to stop me. That he would track me down and demand that I come back. I was kidding myself. Sometimes I wonder how long it took him to even realize I was gone. But now as I stand here I realize I still love him. I used to deny it, at first. He had done so much to hurt me there was no way I could still love him. Whether he meant to or not, in his incessant search for the Truth-with-a-capital-T he killed part of my soul. Took his boot heel and ground my innocence into the ground until it was no more. Well, maybe not my innocence, but somewhere along the line I lost too much. I gave too much to his quest. I was forced to cross a line no one should ever have to cross. I reason that if I could still feel the old flame, the tug of old attractions after all he had done to me, he must feel the same. But now I see the other woman standing beside him, laying a supporting hand on his arm, acting like she was his goddamned messiah or something. I hate it. I remember the first time I saw her, met her. She didn't like me because I was part of who Mulder was before he met her. I suppose she thought that before she came into his life there was no Mulder. What a bitch. Mulder, of course, couldn't see that. Still doesn't. I wouldn't be surprised if he think she *is* his goddamned messiah. He probably even thinks she loves him, but I know she doesn't. She can't. No one could ever love him the way I did, the way I do. I guess he just got so tired of sitting around in his dark little hole that the first person who appeared got his undying devotion. I think it's called imprinting. The bitch draws Mulder like a moth to an open flame. I wouldn't be surprised if it had the same effect as well. Still though, he won't see it. He'll just close his eyes and jump blindly, expecting her to catch him. She'll pretend to be remorseful after he hits the ground, but she won't be. Still, I could tell him. I could walk up to him and tell him how I feel. But I know it wouldn't matter. He might have loved me, once, but not anymore. He can only see the bitch standing next to him, her face contorted like she actually felt sorrow for him. So now, all these years later, when I got word that Mulder finally found his sister, although she was dead, I needed to see it for myself. I thought it might grant me a sense of closure for this aching void that fills a part of my soul. I'm not sure of the exact details of Samantha's passing, but I'm sure the bitch must have had something to do with it- who else? So I packed my overnight bag and go to the funeral, I figured after I lost so much on this goddamned accursed quest of his I should see the ending. And although I wouldn't admit it, I thought that maybe he'd see me and fall head over heels in love with me again. I glance at the coffin that holds the body of a young woman who even dead managed to ruin my life. I am ashamed of my resentment of her, but I can't help it. Because she disappeared over thirty years ago my life, my career, even my heart was turned into shambles. I shouldn't be here, I walked away from this a long time ago and I don't regret doing so. Apparently neither does Mulder from the look he's giving his bitch girlfriend. I turn to go before he and the bitch can see me, but a hand stops me. I look up and see Walter Skinner giving me an odd look. I must say I'm surprised to see him there, at Samantha's funeral, but a lot must have changed after I left. "AD Skinner," My voice is stoic, atleast I don't appear to show the turmoil of my emotions on the outside. I was always good at that, hiding things. That was my undoing perhaps, because I hid from Mulder so long I let him slip right through my fingers... and right into the fingers of that bitch. Skinner looks about to reply, but he only shakes his head as if to clear it. He never knew why I left all those years ago and he won't ask. He put a lot on the line for Mulder and me in our time, but I think even he could see that it was a lost cause with the bitch in the picture. I'm sure he atleast could see past her `loving' facade, I hope so anyway, because Mulder will need all the help he can get with that bitch on his hands. But I won't help him, Mulder hurt me one to many times. The straw that broke the camel's back being that even through all I did for him and the X-Files he didn't love me anymore. So Skinner let me go with a merely dismissive inclination of his head, "Ms. Fowley." As I got into my car I only spare one last look to the love of my life, willing him to glance up and see me, to say my name and run after me. But instead as he just stands there wallowing in the mud and the rain and he has eyes only for *her*. The bitch. The scourge of my nightmares. Special Agent Dana Katharine Scully, MD. Bitch. #########