From:             DiLisky@ix.netcom.com
Date sent:        Sat, 25 Oct 1997 11:37:42 -0700
Subject:          He is My Fire (1/1)


Title: He is my fire
Author: Kristyn Collins
Category: VA
Rating: G (my very first G, piece!)
Spoilers: Anasazi
Keywords: Mulder/Scully UST
Story Summary: What Mulder means to Scully, first person.

Disclaimer: I'm not ever going to use this for money, so it doesn't 
matter anyway.  But Mulder and Scully belong to Chris(t) Carter, 
1013 Productions and Fox Entertainment and not me.  Plus to Gillian 
Anderson and David Duchovny, who breath life into words on paper.

Author's Note: This is just a first person short vignette, metaphorical in 
nature.  I like it, hope you feel the same way.

Feedback statement: Please E-mail me with feedback, specifically on 
how the metaphor worked and the Mulder characterization.
*********************
He is My Fire
By Kristyn Collins
        There are some in this world who would disagree, but I have
a fire burning near me.  It engulfs my every fear, my every feeling, 
my every breath.  It consumes me, and melts my heart, and brings 
no pain.  Instead, it brings love, beauty and light to my life.  This
fire is my partner, Fox Mulder.
                Slowly, he melted the ice around my heart.  In this frigid
world, this fire is my salvation.  Not only warmth does it bring, 
but passion as well.  There is no other in the whole of this world 
who is so dedicated and passionate.  Who can find a way to 
forward his beliefs in almost everything but Fox Mulder?  Who,
after being double crossed, tricked and led astray, still clings to hope,
still continues to spread?  
                 So many have tried to extinguish this beautiful fire, including 
myself.  Oh, I've never tried to hurt him without good cause, and I've
never attempted to blow the whistle on his strange investigative procedure, 
but it's the subtle ways in which I effect him.  I debunk 
a theory, I keep him from working all hours in search of his sister, 
and I put a stop to his roaming around the country.  In this way, 
I control the fire.  But then again, who really controls any fire?  The 
firefighters think that they can, but they are wrong.  They get 
burned in the process of fighting nature's more resilient force.  
They get hurt.  But he is my personal fire.  He burns now only for 
me and for  a woman who may never return.  I can stop him when 
I want to, I can give him more fuel.  I feel like a goddess.  He makes 
me a goddess.
                 When he takes an idea, he spreads it, burning every mind
in the process.  He finds every crook, every small space, and pushes
his way inside, until there is no more fuel.   But then still, a fire's
memory remains.  It remains in the people who were burned by 
it.  And even though I control this fire, I have been burned by it.
He has left me alone, and I thought he was dead.  I thought that they
had finally put him out for good.  Indeed, his undoing was another
fire in a train.  But he survived.  He lived to burn another day, 
and he came back to me.
                  But without my control, I wonder if the fire would have
burned too much, too fast in the beginning.  Would it have been long
dead?  Or maybe, perhaps, would it have been tamed by someone
else.  No, in working with him, I have come to realize that very few
people can control a fire such as this.  Very few can look into the
face of pure determination, and tell it that it is wrong.  Harness it,
make it productive and then turn it loose, but always have it come
back to you.  It feels wonderful.
                 What the future holds for this fire is so uncertain.  Will it
go out in a blaze of glory, finally burning its way through the smoke?
Or will it go out quietly, without a fight?  That is so uncharacteristic
of a fire, to go out without a protest.  But I fear this because my
fire works for me.  It protects me at all costs.  I fear it will depart
for me.  It will sacrifice it's life for mine.  But what happens to me
when the fire extinguishes?
                 Since meeting Fox Mulder, I have come to love him more than
any other man except for Ahab.  But if he were to leave me, then
all that beauty, all that light would leave as well.  I would be cold
and I would be in the dark forever.  I would not be able to live for 
very long without him.  I think I would die very soon after, in fact.  
Because who can survive such a world, such a cruel, fierce world, 
without something to keep them warm?