From: RedDogg57 Date: 30 Dec 1999 03:20:31 GMT Subject: NEW: The House Always Wins (1/1) by RDX Author: RedDoggX Title: The House Always Wins Rating: PG. Tame is a better rating, don't you think? Spoilers: Beyond the Sea, Colony/Endgame, Anasazi, Memento Mori, HTGSC. Summary: Merry Christmas, Mulder. Mulder is assaulted by dreams on Christmas. Not even Santa can drive away the nightmares- Disclaimer: Ha. This piece of writing is so beneath Fox, CC and crew, and 1013 Productions that I would almost laugh if they did sue me. However, I am broke, so please don't. Deal? Author's Note: As always, feedback is the closest I can ever get to payment for my work, which I enjoy exponentially better with each piece of mail. If I get enough, I may lapse into catatonic schizophrenia, which means I won't have to take finals. Please? == He had never noticed the tangible vitality that seemed to ripple through the darkness. It contorted, shimmered, and enveloped objects effortlessly, casting its dark hue over the life that imbued each object. Vaguely, in the periphery of his mind, he barely noticed the sounds and smells of his surroundings. His mind wandered, down dark alleys and hidden overgrown paths that had not been traversed for many a year. The shadows comforted him, wrapping him in a protective shell of isolation. The silence of his wanderings slowed his heart rate, and his breathing became softer, easier to endure. However, the paths always took him in directions that he did not wish to go. Almost imperceptibly, the darkness in which he sat began to pulse stronger with each silent tear that welled in his eye. Images coursed through his mind, without continuity or focus. A long lost sense of fear stealthily climbed his spine as he relived the horrors and loneliness of years past. Each wound, each insult, each glance seemed to coalesce in his imagination, and their combined power was enough to cause him to shut his eyes tightly against the pain, tears teetering precariously over the precipice of his eyes. He did not notice as they fell, staining his hands with the hot sorrow of his quest. He pried his eyes open, his vision blurry and hot, staring into the darkness of his life that surrounded him on all sides. He looked deep into the life before him, swallowed by the eternal darkness, and his tears suddenly dried. His hands clenched, feeling the blood just under his skin, drawing his life closer to mortality. The darkness leered at him, promising sweet release from his quest. He smiled bitterly, his eyes narrowed at the thought of the end. He had died, many times. A well-placed bullet, a burning boxcar, a deadly virus, and the news received in a hospital examination room. He had died the deaths of many men. But, somehow, the darkness somehow brought him back to the pale light that he called his life. He knew that the darkness promised an answer, a cowardly answer, one that he could never accept. For it did promise the luxury of absence of pain, but it also did not allow for his successes, however small and paltry they seem to others. He saw the darkness reach out to him, its tentacles beckoning him forward. They almost touched his face, but stopped just short of him, waiting for permission. He stared at it, passively regarding it with a look of contempt and pity. He smiled, a full grin of mirthless feeling brought on by years of hardship. "Not today, my friend. Better luck next time." The darkness wavered as if it had been struck physically, its rich void becoming slowly lighter, as if it was infected, and the effect was rapid. As it slowly faded into the light of day, he could hear the voice of an eight-year old girl calling softly growing weaker with each syllable: "Fox? Where are you? Fox? I can't see-Fox?!?" == Mulder awoke with a start, his skin protesting against the cool air of his apartment. He raised his hands, as if he were trying to attack the darkness of his apartment. His slowly dropped his hands to his face, feeling the cold sweat that dotted his brow and gave off the unmistakable scent of fear. He shivered as his eyes came into focus. He abruptly stood, the dizziness of getting up too fast causing him to stagger as he dashed for the light switch, flooding the room in a pale light that reminded him of his dream. At least it was better than the darkness. He glanced at his clock. 1:19 AM. He groaned softly. "Great. Of all days- Must have been the food-" He glanced ruefully at the detritus of his hastily concocted dinner. "It sure isn't Christmas ham, is it Mulder?" Briefly, he wondered what Scully would say if she saw him standing there, clad only in boxers, one sock half on his left foot, the other buried deep inside an untied black boot, hair askew, muttering to himself as he absently rubbed his gurgling stomach. He smiled as he imagined the arched eyebrow, the slight glint of affectionate amusement in her eye, and the higher pitch of her lecture tone as she slowly reached for her cell phone to call in the brute squad. Yes, Agent Mulder has finally cracked-. His smile quickly faded as he pondered the meaning behind his dream. He rubbed his chin, feeling the protestations of a day's stubble, the texture focusing his attention. His thoughts came together, and revealed the source of his dream to him in all its horrific detail. He was alone on Christmas. Why should it matter? Why does this affect you so much? It's not like you haven't spent all of your adult years past like this. Alone, with only the shadows to comfort you in their mockery. So, what's the big deal? He shook his head. There had been one year that hadn't been like this. A year full of the things he had accepted as part of his quest, but with one moment of shared friendship and company. He closed his eyes in reverence, as if the mere act of breathing brought back all the tactile sensations of that night. He had smiled that night, a real goofy grin of true delight. He had enjoyed her visit, but more than that, he had brought joy into another person's life. For once, he was not the cause of the suffering in her life, and for one small moment, he believed that she forgot the burden of her quest and the price that she had to pay for the Truth. Her smile filled his mind, and all its implications crashed against him, filling him with a warmth that chased away the uncertainty of his dream and the chill of his apartment. Finally, he had made her happy, and she showed him that he was capable. He ran his hands through his hair, feeling the slickness of nightmares. He chuckled. "So, Mulder, what did you do for Christmas?" "Oh, I took a shower in the middle of the night-" "Why? Was it a cold one?" == He emerged from the cavern of the steamy bathroom, his muscles no longer screaming out for respite from the lumps that plagued his couch. He could never get used to that bed anyway. He stopped on the way to his bedroom. On the blinds in the back of his room, he saw the familiar pulsation of a small, red light. His face fell. Anyone that calls this late on Christmas Eve can only be the bearer of bad news. == He left the room, and sat down shakily on the edge of his bed. His hands found his clothes under their own volition, and he did not notice them as they found their way onto his body. He began to shiver as he stood, crossing the room as if he had difficulty making his body obey his commands. His eyes squeezed shut as he passed through the doorway. Not again. Please, not again. == He stood in front of the machine, staring down on it like it held the secrets of his quest. He had to try to press the play button twice before he finally connected. His eyes slid shut as he steeled himself for the physical blow. "Hello, Marty. This is Chantel. It has been so long since I have heard your voice, and I am not a patient woman. Again, I see that we have to entice you with a lower rate. So, just for our preferred customers, a call now costs only-" Her voice ceased as the machine hit the wall with an explosive shatter. He stood glaring at the wall and the pieces embedded deep within the plaster, willing them to reform into an object so he could vent his frustration again and again. His jaw was clenched, and his breath hitched in his chest. He slumped down into a heap on the floor, rage turning to self-hatred. Sobs welled deep within his chest, but he forced them back, not allowing himself the luxury of release. He ground his teeth, the muscles in his jaw twitching. He sat on his couch, any respite from his sleep completely gone. His head fell against the wall, the pain reminding him that he was indeed alive, and this was not a dream. He sighed, and closed his eyes again. "Merry Christmas, Mulder." His voice bounced off the walls, flat and devoid of emotion. "And a happy New Year." He slid lower into the couch, and sleep slowly claimed him. The darkness advanced once again, eager to beckon him. It may not be today, it may not be tomorrow, but it would win eventually. Its depths slowly flittered around his face, almost lovingly. Sometimes, some took longer than others.