From: eponine119 Date: Sat, 20 Dec 1997 19:53:59 -0800 Subject: NEW: Impossible 1/2 Disclaimer: The X Files and its characters belong to Chris Carter, 1013 and Fox. The world of this story is imagined slightly after the movie "Gattaca." This is a sequel to my story "Imperfect." Requests for a third part will be entertained; comments appreciated. __________________ Impossible by eponine119 eponine119@att.net __________________ She wasn't going back to that woman's house. She didn't know what she was going to do instead, however. A part of her wanted to die. Fox had found her sister. And now she wished she could go back and never cling to false hopes, never base her life around something that had never really happened the way she remembered it. She thought her sister had been taken off to an orphanage the way she herself had been. She hadn't realized her sister was one of "them," the people who took away her liberty and would take away her life if it wasn't so inconvenient for them. She walked through the city streets, meeting no one's eyes, not caring about anyone or anything. Her internal pain blocked out most all external stimuli. If she could have willed her own death, she would have done it. Fox found herself standing near the river and realized she didn't have to wish or hope for her death. Looking down at the greyish water moving slowly but steadily with current, she knew she could finally do something for herself. She could commit an act and it would have an affect. Probably no one would notice its effect - the woman who ran the house would miss her and be angry, but she wouldn't mourn. Neither would William, who she had heard dismiss her like yesterday's trash. She had known she should be more careful with her feelings around him, she had known he could never love someone as flawed as she was, but he was the only person she could remember ever being kind to her - other than her beloved, deceased parents. That had meant a lot to her. Too much. She started to walk down to the water, telling her beating heart to slow itself because she had nothing to fear. "Hey! Hey! That's not the way! Hey!" She didn't realize the shouts were directed at her until someone seized her bodily and pulled her out of the water. She flailed, kicking and swinging her arms, but the man who held her was stronger. "Ouch! I was doing you a favor!" He cried when one of her fists connected, and he half-dropped her onto the ground. She looked up at him, infuriated. "What are you doing!" she screamed at him. "Saving your life?" he shouted back. "Why?" The look on his face turned angry and he shook his head. "If you're asking, I've wasted my time. I'll let you get back to it." He gave a mocking half-bow to her and began to stride away. He was limping. Fox scrambled up from the ground and began to run after him, not even giving the water a second glance, thoughts of suicide dissolved. "Hey!" she yelled. "Hey, come back!" He didn't turn, so she ran after him. It only took her a second to catch him. She was small, but she was fast. "You're not one of them," she said, falling into step with him. "No," he replied with a chuckle that sounded slightly bitter. "You said that wasn't the answer." "So?" "That sounds like you know what the answer is," she said, and when he looked at her she met his eyes. He was handsome, she realized with a start. His eyes were a dark blue and dark sandy-brown hair fell across his forehead. "I thought you didn't want answers," he said. "Maybe I changed my mind," she told him with a smile. It prompted him to smile back and she saw his lips moved crookedly. It was the flaws that were endearing to the heart, she thought, grinning wider. He was really handsome. "It's not taking a life. It's getting one," he told her cryptically. "What does that mean?" "I'm assuming you wanted to end things because you had grown tired of this ruse, of submitting to their will when you actually knew better." "Something like that," she admitted, thinking again of the way she had been used by William. And Robin...but it hurt too much to think of Robin right now. Maybe later, maybe in years, she would be able to think of her without it feeling like she'd been struck with a hammer in her ribs. He stopped and looked at her. "It felt like you were wearing bandages," he said, his hands moving as though he wanted to touch her but thought better of it at the last moment. "Have you been injured?" "Not recently. I'm coping." "They're a stupid, violent lot, aren't they?" he commented, beginning to walk again. "They're average. On the whole, we are worse," she said. "'We' being the imperfects," he filled in for her. "I don't consider myself to be one of them." "What do you consider yourself to be?" she asked. "Who says I have to be anything at all?" he countered. "Why were you going to...you know?" He glanced at her surreptitiously and she wondered why he seemed unwilling to look at her for more than a few seconds, leaving his eyes on the ground the remainder of the time. "Who says I had to have a reason?" She tried some of his own logic on him. "You did," he said. "Where are we going?" she replied. "My home." "You have a home of your own?" she asked mildly, attempting to hide her surprise. "How...?" "Maybe I'll tell you later," he told her. "When we get around to sharing our many secrets." Her stomach turned over at the dark look he gave her when he said the words and she was uncertain as to why. It made her feel like she had when she'd been around William...only more...she didn't know. So she ignored it. "What's your name?" she asked. "What's yours?" "I asked you first," she pointed out. There was a long silence and she thought for a moment he was not going to tell her. She couldn't think of any reason for him not to tell her, but he seemed to have his own reasonings, and indeed his own style of life unlike anyone she had experienced in her life. It intrigued her. Finally he said, "People call me Finn." "Meaning that's not really your name?" "What does that matter?" he asked. "What do people call you?" "They call me Jane," she answered, "But that isn't my name." "And you would prefer to be called by your name?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. She nodded, a brief, concise movement. "Fox," she said. He burst out with a quick laugh, then stopped just as quickly. "How did you get a name like that?" "My parents gave it to me," she informed him, with pride. "If I was you, I wouldn't value anything my parents gave me," he retorted sharply. It was a reproach, and it made her instantly defensive. She loved her parents. "Why not?" She demanded, feeling ready to fight with him - physically, if necessary - to defend her pride from this man. "They're the ones who took it all away from you." "What are you talking about?" "They didn't give you the advantages everyone else had, did they?" he pointed out. "In here." His fingers were hot and rough on her arm as he swung her around a quick corner and pushed her up the first steps of a stairwell. She walked without looking back at him. His words stung. This wasn't her parents' fault, she thought, they loved me. She had to believe they had loved her. But if they had known, why *hadn't* they made her perfect? Why Robin and not her? She pushed the thoughts away. Finn spun a combination lock between his fingers on what looked like the large metal door of a storage unit. When he noticed she was watching him, he shifted his body to hide the combination from her. Instantly, she looked away but he continued to shield it from her until he pushed the door open. "Ladies first," he said, stretching out his arm as though to indicate the way. "What does that mean?" she asked, walking into the dark room. He walked in behind her and the door shut heavily. The space went completely black. Her only sense was hearing his breath close behind her. When the light came on, it blinded her. She blinked a few times and then stood still, dazzled by what she saw. Hidden in this storage space was living quarters. Private living quarters. Fox looked at him and he didn't meet her eyes. He walked over to sit on the sofa and his body movements indicated complete ownership of the space. "How did you get to have all of this?" she asked. "Money still has a few privileges," Finn informed her. "Even for one of us?" "This union you feel with a pathetic group disturbs me," he said. "Your potential is not limited by theirs." Her courage allowed her to move closer to him, to stand near where he was sitting on the couch. "What makes you say that?" "If you weren't intelligent and capable, you wouldn't have been trying to kill yourself." "That's cheerful," she said flippantly, but his look made her feel ashamed. "I can see what you use the money for, but where does the money come from?" "Easy, my dear," he said with another intense glance of those midnight blue eyes. "I sell lives." She swore she didn't breathe for a full minute. She was too stunned for it to occur to her. "What?" she asked finally, an understatement. "I sell their lives. To people like you." "How does it work?" she asked. "Even they die," he breathed, and she contained a shiver, wondering if he ever assisted them on their journey toward death. "Pedigrees are only paper." He looked at her again and his eyes were mesmerizing. She could not look away, even if she wanted to. He was placing her under some sort of spell, she thought, and she was helpless to resist. "Just think what you could do with one of their pedigrees. You could live in their houses. No one would hurt you, or starve you, or scorn you. You could win your lover back." "Is it that obvious?" she asked, feeling unwelcome emotion well up at the thought of William. Finn's lips pressed tight as he nodded. "Is he the one who hurt you?" "Depends on what kind of hurt you mean," she stated coyly. He wasn't in the mood for coy and his hand reached out, seizing her waist possessively. She winced as pain flooded the bandaged area. Just as quickly, his hot touch was gone and she looked down. "He didn't do that," she said. "It hurts." "Yes." "Let me take a look?" His tone was gentle and she looked at him. Those eyes... "I don't think so," she said, slipping away. "Where are you going?" he asked. "I don't see how you can help me." "I'm offering you what you want - to be one of them," he said. She raised her arms and indicated herself. "What about this? Sort of a giveaway, don't you think?" "Occasionally even the perfect turn out flawed," he stated. "And they get to be just like us," she said bitterly. "They don't." His words surprised her and she looked at him again, even though she had resolved not to. "They are accepted. Perhaps on some lesser level, but..." Again he touched her, his hands moving this time as though to measure the ways her body did not meet standards of perfection. "There's nothing wrong with you," he said. She was standing in his arms, looking up at him, and there was nothing she could say in reply to his statement. She wanted him. She wasn't even certain what that entailed, exactly, but she felt the way she had with William, only stronger. Frighteningly strong. She liked him, even though she knew she shouldn't. "There's no way I could pay you. Even if I wanted to..." Her voice trailed off as his lips began to lower to hers. Her head tipped back farther and she sighed a second before he kissed her. Emotions raged through her and suddenly she was as hot as if her blood had been set on fire. Finn's hands worked through her hair and she clung to him, opening her mouth under his and demanding more just as he was ready to supply it. Their kiss broke naturally and they looked into each other's eyes once more. She saw tenderness in his gaze, but grew embarrassed even as he stood there looking at him. "No," she said coldly. "No, what?" The teasing lilt in his voice was counteracted by the complex seriousness in his eyes. She tried to break free from his arms, but he did not release her. Anger was beginning to fill her, pounding, familiar anger and she relished it. "No I will not sell you my body in exchange," she said. And she kicked him. As he howled with pain, he released her and she started for the door. Conscience - or something - made her look back. She saw his face twisted in agony and tears burning in his eyes as he leaned against the edge of the couch, one foot held gingerly in the air. She'd hurt him badly, she realized, and rushed back to his side with apologies. "Let me help," she said, dropping to her knees to more closely inspect his injured foot and leg. "You've done enough." His voice was strained. She looked up at him but couldn't meet his eyes knowing she had willingly inflicted pain on another person. There had been no cause for her to hurt him. He flinched and swore as she ran her hands lightly over his shin and ankle. "I don't see any reason why..." "It's a congenital weakness," he told her. "You wouldn't understand." He hobbled away from her and sat down on the couch. His face was white. "Why you limp," she said simply. "Yes." "I'm sorry. I didn't know." "Please, just go." She didn't want to. She sat down on the couch with him. "What can I do?" she asked. "Nothing." "I know something of medicine." "I have money for doctors," he threw back into her face. "There is nothing that can be done." "It doesn't...threaten your life?" "I've learned to live with the pain. It's unlikely it will kill me," he snapped bitterly. "What's wrong?" she asked, wanting to run her hands lightly over his leg until she found a cure or healed him. He shook his head. "One leg is shorter than the other. The joints are damaged from a surgeon who attempted to set things right." She didn't look away, requesting more information with her look. His eyes blazed as they met hers. "A butcher of a doctor my parents took me to in their ignorance thought shortening the longer leg was the answer. I've lived in agony since I was five years old." "I'm sorry." "The clincher is, they did it so I could be accepted. They saw the way the world was going. No natural births were being allowed by that time and they knew what would happen eventually. If they'd left me alone, I would have been perfect. I would have been one of them." "You were engineered?" she asked. "Things don't always go according to plan," he said softly. "I saw my parents murdered when I was eight," she told him. "Congratulations, I'm sure you're not the only one," he informed her. She put her head down. For some reason, she felt driven to make him understand the way things had been for her. "I was taken to one of the orphanages - work houses, whatever. I thought my sister was, too. I was determined to find her." "And did you?" His voice was raw and his eyes were haunted. "I found out she is one of them," she answered. "Funny how I didn't notice when I was a little girl." "Funny," he concurred, and neither of them were laughing. "I don't know what to do now," she admitted. "I won't return to being their slave. The woman of the house I worked for broke my ribs. That's why they're taped." "Are you trying to tell me you've also known pain?" he asked quietly. She looked at him, even though he wasn't looking at her. "Yes," she said. "When I was eleven, they, well, did a procedure. Without anesthetic. To ensure no imperfect children would originate from me." He was giving her an odd look. "What?" she asked, disturbed by it. "They didn't," he told her. "What?" she asked, becoming angry. "I was there, I was awake, I remember -" "They didn't do what you thought they did," he said. "They implanted a device. It is removable. You don't think they'd really end a generation of workers and servants, do you? So they could do the menial work themselves?" "How do you know?" she asked, hoping he was telling the truth. "I've removed them," he said, almost casually. "They are the mark of the less than perfect." "And you've really transformed people into being like them. For money." She said. He nodded. "Take mine out," she said. "No." "No?" There was that anger of hers again. "You said you had nothing to pay me with." "You said their was a payment you would accept," she reminded him. "You don't want to do this. You don't want to be one of them," he told her. "You're better than that." "Do you think so?" she whispered. "I want to." "There are alternatives." He was almost pleading with her...why? She was tempted to ask him, but she could not. She didn't ask what the alternatives were. All of her life she had wanted to be one of them. Now she wanted to be like her sister. She wanted to be with her sister. "I want you to do it to me," she said. "Make me one of them." "No." "You said you would. What's changed." There was anguish in his eyes. "Do you know what's involved?" he asked. "Tell me." "Fox," he said, his hand cupping her cheek gently, raising her head so she had to meet her eyes. "You don't want to do this." "I do." He released her, looking disappointed. He turned away. "I don't have any anesthetic, either," he told her, picking up a large block of wood that was evening up one side of the coffee table. "What's that for?" she said, watching it as he tested its weight in his hand. "You want to be authentic, don't you?" he said. "What are you talking about?" "They're not breeding perfection, Fox. They're only striving for mediocrity. Your intelligence would give you away. Eventually you'd forget and say something, or know something, and they would find you out. So..." He waved the block of wood again. "If you do it just right, you don't damage too much of the brain." The wood was moving in his hand again and her breath was coming shallowly with fear. "It's just a concussion. Or a light coma, sometimes. Keeps you from noticing the pain of the other." "You're insane." "Am I?" he asked. "You don't want to do this," he pleaded with her. To her surprise, her eyes were wet. "I need to." His eyes flicked over her. "I'll have to examine you." Her eyes widened. "You're not the only one who knows a bit of medicine." She turned her face away and unfastened the buttons on her dress. Before lowering it off her shoulders and to the floor, she looked at him again. His eyes were fixed on her and she wanted to back away. There was an odd feeling in her stomach. "Tell me what you would have to do," she said softly. He looked at her a moment longer. "Your body's all wrong," he said and she looked down at the floor. "I would have to remove muscle here." His hands slid lightly over her upper arms. Gooseflesh rose and she shivered lightly. "And put in some...softness...here." Fingers trailed below her collarbone, avoiding her small breasts by only a few inches. He looked at her again but her eyes were still trained on the floor. "And of course...what they did." His voice was soft and sorry. He placed his hand flat against her belly and she jerked slightly. He didn't remove his hand. She could feel its heat through the clothing she wore. He looked into her eyes. "There are other ways." "What other ways?" she whispered. He moved his head to kiss her again and she shook hers, pulling back, keeping his lips from hers. "What other ways?" she asked again. "Forget about her." "She's my sister." "She's forgotten about you." His words hurt her deeply. "What am I supposed to do?" she asked him. He said nothing, perhaps thinking it a rhetorical question. Perhaps it was. "I can't go on the way I was. Even if I wanted to, and I don't. I can't be one of them. Even if I was brave enough to let you..." "It's braver not to let me, Fox," he said gently, toying with her straight hair. She wished he would stop touching her so she could think. "Or I could finish what I started this afternoon. But I don't want to. What does that leave?" She lifted her hand and removed his fingers from her hair and stared into his eyes, waiting for an answer. "There are only two sides to this society. I'm not fit for either. Why did you stop me with nothing to offer?" "Because I had to," he said simply. After a moment, he looked away embarrassedly. "I don't know, I can't explain it, there was something about you..." She didn't say anything and he stopped speaking abruptly. "There is a man I've heard of. He is...something like a prophet for our time." "A prophet?" Fox raised an eyebrow, finding this conversation had taken a very odd turn. "Not a prophet, not like that, more a philosopher. A spiritual leader." "But there is no spirituality," she said flatly. "Exactly!" he told her. "Things are different. He runs a place for people...people like us, who don't fit anywhere." "A place?" she asked. What kind of strange man was this, she wondered. He was handsome, he was one of them but he was like her, he was intelligent and there was fire in his eyes when he looked at her...but for him to have saved her, he must be missing something. There had to be something wrong. And this was it. "A reservation," he tried to explain. "A cult," she supplied. "A monastery." "A *monastery*?" she echoed. He shook his head. "A haven." "And you've been there?" "When I was younger. My parents thought...there were rumors he could heal people. With water or his touch or...I don't know." "It didn't work," she stated bluntly. "It did," he told her. "He couldn't heal my body, but he mended my broken soul. I wanted to die; I wanted never to be born, trapped as I was between this world and that," he explained and there was passion and pain in his eyes that touched her. "He told me to believe. That there were others, who did believe, who had escaped and remembered the old way of doing things. That I should try to change things here while I could. And if I couldn't, his door was always open to lost souls." "And I'm a lost soul?" Fox asked, less than pleased with the description. "We all are," he told her. She allowed him to pull her into his arms and she enjoyed the feel of his body against hers as he held her close. "Let's leave now," she told him. "In the morning," he said, looking down into her eyes. She was scared, but not uncertain, when she agreed. "In the morning." end of part one. eponine119@att.net __________________ Impossible, part 2 by eponine119 eponine119@att.net __________________ xxx The safe haven Finn had spoken of was in a valley. They walked through green grass and tall trees until they came upon a sprawling stone building. "This is it," he told her, squeezing her hand more tightly in his. It wasn't what Fox had expected. She had expected something unearthly, unusual. This was just a building. She had also expected there to be pilgrims, people like Finn or his parents, coming to this guru for hope or inspiration. They were alone in the woods, and it was silent. "What is he like?" Fox asked, not at all sure she was doing the right thing. But what was the "right" thing anyway? She had no idea. She was doing the only thing she could. Finn believed in this man, believed he could make both of their lives better. While she didn't feel the same way, she saw the strength of Finn's belief and thought it wouldn't be unfounded. She was following him because he was unusual and because there was something about him that affected her in ways no one ever had - not William, not Robin, not anyone. She had the very strong feeling she was supposed to stay with him. Perhaps because he had saved her life. Or perhaps it was as simple as him being the one she was supposed to be with. Finn had decided to join this mystical man. Fox recognized, practically, that it was her best and only option. "You'll see," is all Finn would say. "We'll be there soon." On they walked. xxx There was a large, heavy door, but it had no lock. Despite its weight, it swung open easily and Fox and Finn walked into the building. It was dark, lit at intervals with candles that flickered ominously. They walked and it seemed endless. "How do we know he's here?" Fox asked, walking closer to Finn. The high ceiling, lost in the dark, was intimidating, as was the unknown. "He is," Finn assured her. Fox was reminded of a show she'd watched on television when she was very small, before she'd been taken away from her parents. In it, a girl and a dog and a lion and a robot-man and a straw-man had gone to a great castle and seen a big floating head who spoke in a booming voice who turned out to be a little old man sitting in a booth like the one at the store where you could take pictures. Strange how this long hallway could remind her of nights spent with her parents, and playing with her sister in a brightly lit store while their mother made purchases and yelled at them but smiled as she did so. She told herself he would only be a man. They'd reached the end of the hall. There was a door, but it had no handle and when Fox pushed on it, it did not move. She looked at Finn. "What now?" she asked. He frowned at the door, not having anticipated its presence. "I don't know," he answered. They stood there a moment, both feeling nervous and unwilling to think about the consequences if they had made a mistake. Then the door opened. A small woman came out. Her body was twisted, and Fox saw it came from a weakness in one side in relation to the other. But her eyes were bright as she looked at them. Her face was creased, but not worn. She looked as though she had loved greatly, and also lost greatly, Fox thought, and wondered how she could know so much about a woman she had just seen. "Come in," the woman said, and Fox's eyes lingered on her, feeling a kinship with her, a warm feeling. No wonder Finn had remembered coming here for such a long time. If it affected her this way as an adult, what must it look like to a child in pain? She looked at him and saw his eyes were wide with wonder. She had never felt so strongly or so quickly attached to anyone in her life, and it puzzled her. "We have guests," the woman said, moving over to a simple chair where a man was sitting. His posture was straight and his eyes moved in their direction unfailingly. They were the color of water, and it took Fox a moment to realize that he did not see them. He was blind. His hair was a bright white, worn longish and falling over his forehead. The man put out his hand and wrapped his fingers around his wife's as though by instinct or long habit. That was love, she thought, watching them. "Why are you here?" the man asked. "We need help," Fox said. Finn stepped forward, leaving her standing where she was, lingering back with her doubt. "I was here before, sir. As a child. You told me to believe, to follow what I knew was right even when no one else did or would. And I have, and I helped as many people as I could while helping myself. I took their money and it eased my pain. But now that's not enough." He stopped and the man waited for him to go on. "You told me I would have a place here. As did anyone who could not live in their artificial world. I thought that world suited me until now." "What happened?" the old man asked. "I met one of the people I thought I should help to assuage my conscience. And I couldn't do it. I couldn't rob her and cause her injury and throw her to the wolves to see if she would live or die," Finn said. Fox tried to draw a breath and it caught in her chest. He was talking about her...what was he saying? She was different, that she was special to him? He had treated her with kindness, but she had been terrified he would be just like William and betray her. Now he said he had wanted to and hadn't been able to. What did it mean? She wished she knew, as she stood there with her heart pounding. "You brought her here," the man said. He nodded his head at her, his eyes seeming to fix on her even though he could not see. It was eerie. He motioned for her again and reluctantly, she approached. She felt her knees tremble and that hadn't happened since the day her world ended when she was eight years old. He didn't say anything and she couldn't find words to say to someone who seemed to be so important and so powerful. Finn seemed to believe this man would decide their fate. When his fingers touched her arm, she was surprised they were warm. She had thought the man's touch would be cold and icy, like death. He was just a man. She glanced at the woman who stood next to him. A man who loved and was loved. He remained very still for some time, his hand resting on her. "Do you know how I lost my sight and how my wife came to be injured?" he asked her. "No," she said softly. "We were shot and left for dead by two men who came to rob our house," he told her. "This was in the midst of this genetic nonsense. No one knew what they were planning; no one would have believed it if they had. What these two men came to steal from us were not our possessions, but our children." His other hand reached out and the woman who was standing close by, took it in hers. "Lying on the floor, in a pool of my own blood, I heard the screams of my children as they were removed from the house. I was supposed to be dead. My wife was supposed to be dead. But neither of us were. She can tell you, given enough time and in great detail, exactly how the bullets must have entered and at what angle and velocity to do the damage they did and not kill us. Maybe that's true, or maybe we didn't die because we weren't meant to. I have seen ghosts and devils and maybe an angel or two in my time, and I have seen things no one could ever explain. Just as I can't explain how as I lay there, supposed to be dead, I knew one day I would find my children again." There was a long pause, and he said, "What's your name, child?" "What's yours?" Fox said and her entire body was shaking. She thought she would burst into tears or scream but she held it all inside and shook instead. "Fox Mulder," he said. "Robin's not coming," she said, the tears flowing now, as this man - her father - pulled her into his arms and stroked her back. Finn just stood to one side, his eyes gaping and his mouth open, stunned. He had never expected this to happen, never in a thousand years. He thought the wise old man would welcome them to his community, and there they would work hard but they would also love hard and not suffer. He could never have guessed this. "It's all right, darling, we know," he said. "And we can't make things right out there. We can only make things right by doing them differently in here." There was a city behind the walls, one ruled by the duality of nature - both science and belief resided together, and they made a happy partnership. The people who lived in the city were healthy and happy and had made great strides in the ten years they had been exiled. "I can't believe I found you again," Fox said, looking at the man and at the woman who had to be her mother. She was determined not to cry, but her face melted into tears anyway. "If I'd tried harder, maybe I could have made her see. I could have brought her here." "No," her father said. "You were brought here yourself. Someday, a long time from now, your sister will come. She must find her own way. Don't waste your life on what might have been." "But - I -" She was confused. Finn turned and started to leave. No one would notice, he thought, and his duty here had been fulfilled. It was Fox he was supposed to bring; he hadn't realized it wasn't his turn yet. That he wasn't welcome or needed. He would go back to his business and his bitterness. What might have been, he thought, shaking his head. "Where are you going?" Fox's voice was clear as it rang out after him. Finn stopped, but didn't look at them. "This isn't where I belong," he said, and began to walk again, the pain in his leg so strong he could barely limp along. "Don't go," she said. "Please. You brought me here." "That's all I needed to do," he muttered. "No," she said, "You needed to stay with me." "Why?" "Because I want you to. Because you want to," she answered him, daring him to deny it. He couldn't. "Don't waste time when you don't know if things will last. Here, things will last. Stay," she asked of him. Finn looked back and saw the old woman watching him with almost the same expression as her daughter wore. He nodded, still feeling uncertain. And she smiled back. Fox grinned at him. Even her father nodded his assent. He walked over to them and they welcomed him into their circle. It was not complete. Someone was missing and might never return. But it was a start. the end. eponine119@att.net -- ________________________________________________________ eponine119 eponine119@att.net http://members.aol.com/Eponine119/ "...I'm some kind of Frankenstein asking for a bride." "There is no bride, Mulder. Not in this story." *David Duchovny*on Mulder*EW, 9/13/96**Scully*"PMP"*