From: Lacey XF Date: 02 Nov 2000 23:57:17 GMT Subject: Imposture (1/1) by Lacey Imposture by Lacey (lacey_1013@yahoo.com) Rating: PG Category: Vignette, MSR (slight) Archive: Please ask first Spoilers: Requiem ...wait, no, come back.. :) Timeframe: Seven months after the events of Requiem Notes: Thanx to Taryn for the quick beta! The feeling of loneliness that passes over me every morning when I unlock this door and step into this shadowy room shouldn't come as a surprise, not after all this time, but I must say I never thought I'd feel quite so solitary, sitting in here by myself. I certainly didn't like this office at first -- it was musty and smelled funny and I think it used to be a janitor's closet. I asked my partner once, but was ignored. We didn't get along at first, really. At all. We were just too different. But that...that has changed. And a lot of it, I know, was my eventual acceptance of the job that I now hold within the Bureau. And the pride that gradually came with it. The first couple weeks I worked here, I avoided looking other agents in the eye, for fear that they would be snickering about the company I was keeping in the basement, that they were all laughing at me behind my back about my new assignment. As a rule, I'm not an insecure person. Really. I think people have this image of me, that I'm tough as nails and harder to break than steel. That I'm always one hundred percent in control; never a flinch or a split-second of doubt. And I am that way, I guess. It was the way I was raised, and its sure as hell made me a better agent. But once in awhile, insecurity will rear its ugly head, and I'll be caught feeling ridiculous and exposed and completely helpless to do a damn thing about it. Those crowded elevator rides were misery for me, those first two weeks. Not that I'd ever admit that to anyone. But after awhile, after you see the things I've seen, after you work on the cases and meet with the people and they become real to you, it becomes more than routine, more than a job. Certainly more than an embarrassment. It becomes a source of pride. Not that I'd ever admit *that* to anyone either. Of course, I don't go for the paranormal explanations, that must be obvious by now. I strictly adhere to the laws of nature when adding my input to these cases. That was a source of frustration to my partner at first - my partner has so much passion for these cases, so much commitment. I'm sure I was regarded as an annoyance, a weight that dragged us both down. But over time, we've learned to work together in a way that is pretty satisfying to both of us. We had a certain rapport going, and it helped us solve our cases all the faster. Of all things, I think I miss that the most. I don't think I'm an easy person to work with. If I'm really, deep-down honest with myself, I can actually be a real pain in the ass. I'm rigid, I'm unimaginative, I'm stubborn, I'm demanding if the situation calls for it -- a real hindrance at times, unable or unwilling to open my eyes to what's really right in front of me. But for some reason, we've made this work - we're a team now. In fact, we had settled into a real comfortable routine, an easy give-and-take relationship, before it happened. Before the world tilted on its axis. Now I'm alone. There is nobody here to greet me as I step through this doorway. No distracted 'good morning', no half-hearted smile. No scent of brewing coffee pervading the heavy air. Now, it's cold, and it's dark, and I'm really beginning to hate coming to work again. And not just because I'm the only one pressing the 'B' on the elevator panel in the mornings. I shut the door behind me, gently, and flick the lightswitch. After a few halfhearted attempts, the bulbs flicker on, and our (my) crowded workspace is revealed, looking exactly the same as it did before I shut the lights off at eleven thirty last night. My desk is cluttered, shoved into the wall, books and papers in a state of organized chaos. A glance over at my partner's desk reveals an untouched work area, and the emptiness tugs painfully at me, but I manage to ignore it. I hang my coat up on the rack and sigh loudly in the echoing silence. Sometimes I think I would give anything to hear my partner's voice again. To see that smile. To listen to those purposeful fingers tapping briskly across the keyboard, telling the story of yet another case; an abduction or a satanic cult or even a giant bloodsucking bat. Anything -- anything that would tell me that I am not alone now. But I am. My shoulders drop, and for a moment I just stand, gazing around me at the office that was never really mine to begin with, that I have fooled myself into thinking is the place where I belong. I don't belong here. I never did. Soon - very soon - my footsteps will not grace that darkened corridor every morning at six a.m. My hand will not reach out to press that 'B' on the elevator panel. My keyring will no longer gain me access to this room. And my desk will be hers again. Just as hers will be his. When the phone call came two Thursdays ago, I knew within an instant of seeing the expression on her face that my time here was nearly up. I'd been allowed into the circle - briefly - and now my job was done. I never expected I would get so attached to this job. Even when I found myself beginning to like the work that I was doing, I never thought I'd be upset if I ever had to leave. This work, this life...it's difficult and all-consuming and it's sometimes frustrating as hell, but after awhile it gets under your skin. It makes you feel something deep inside you; a dedication, a vitality -- a passion, even -- that you never knew you had. It turns your world upsidedown and it opens your eyes. It opened my eyes, and hers before me. His...his were opened long before ours. I tilt my head, eyeing the shelves and the cabinets and the walls that are still filled with his life's work. An aura of mystery has always shrouded this office, and even though I pretend to be oblivious, I've always felt it. Felt him. A non-presence presence that gave her comfort and gave me the creeps. Like he was staring over my shoulder, silently judging me, making me work that much harder for an answer. I knew I could never live up to him, in her eyes at least, so I didn't even try. I'm nothing like him, I know. I just never thought I could be envious of a man I'd never met. Momentos of their partnership are scattered throughout the office. Pictures. Notes. Knick-knacks. Tangibles that make him - and their history - real to me. Every damn time I open this door. I know. I know. I *don't* belong here. I have no right to feel this way. I have no right to feel resentful that he's coming back. And when the time comes, I'll play my part; I'll speak the lines that are necessary for our lives to go back to what they once were. It was nice working with you, Scully. Keep in touch, Scully. And maybe from time to time I'll pass her in the hallways of the Hoover building, perhaps we'll see each other in the cafeteria or one of the labs, and we'll each give a brief nod before averting our eyes - an acknowedgement that we once knew each other, have at least been introduced, but nothing more. It could never be anything more. I have no romantic interest in Scully, not really. She's attractive enough, and intelligent enough, but she is obviously very much taken. The swelling of her stomach throughout our partnership has been proof enough of that. She's blind to everything, everyone, but Fox Mulder. I never even stood a chance. What I will regret, today, tomorrow, and maybe for years to come, is that we never really got to be friends. I think I'd like to be her friend. It would be an honor to be her friend. She's an amazing woman, when she isn't irritating the hell out of me. But I think I understand now why we never were. I was never to play that role. She didn't need friendship from me, she didn't need any sort of intimacy or companionship. She had friends - those three paranoid nutcases I've had the pleasure of speaking to on several occasions. She had Skinner. I was her sounding board, so to speak. Her support. Her concession in exchange for keeping the X-files -- nothing more, nothing less. On paper we were partners - in her eyes, we were merely coworkers. That was it. We all filled our various roles while he was gone. I don't think she could have managed if we did not. My presence gave her continued access to the files. Skinner gave her his unerring loyalty. Her friends gave her hope. But there was always something so empty about her, and it didn't take me long to realize that there was a big, gaping part of her that was missing. A role that none of us could ever hope to fill. The biggest role of all. And as of two weeks ago, he was suddenly back in her life. In the office, the phone jangled loudly, and I snapped out of my reverie with a start. I took an abbreviated step forward, then paused, realizing the phone on Scully's desk was the one ringing. I crossed the room and picked it up. "Hello," I said calmly, determined not to reveal my inner turmoil to the caller. It was Scully. I hadn't heard her voice for almost a week now, she'd been so busy with his return. I'd heard from the grapevine that he was alive and well, a little weak but certainly not dying. Skinner was looking better these days too, but he still refused to say much about Agent Mulder. Which I guess is fair enough. I've been working with Scully to find him, but I never actually knew him, and I have no real personal interest...except for Scully, of course. She was brisk and businesslike as ever over the phone, but I detected an undercurrent of...peace, in her voice. She sounded happy, or at least as close to happy as she could ever be talking to me. She was coming by later this morning, she said. Mulder wanted to see the office again. My stomach may have dropped a little, but at the same time my curiosity was heightened. Finally, I was going to be meeting the man I'd been pursuing for seven months. "Great," I said, as casually as possible. "I'll be around, I think." We made small took for a minute, until she gave a distracted "just a sec" and called for someone to answer the door. After a moment, I heard a low baritone voice mumble a reply...and then I heard her laugh. It threw me for a moment, because I've never heard her laugh before...and I've tried. God knows, I'm no Jerry Seinfeld, but I have my moments. So. He can make her laugh too. Mark one more point for Mulder. That would make it...oh, about 4 to 7 billion, his favor. Not that I'm keeping score. A second later she was back, and the amused lilt was still present in her voice as she apologized. I told her I was looking forward to their visit, and we said our goodbyes. I carefully replaced the receiver and did a slow turn, my eyes finding the clock on the wall. Seven-oh-one. I had four hours until she and Agent Mulder arrived. Actually, three hours and fifty-nine minutes. Dana Scully is nothing if not punctual. I took a deep breath and walked over to the desk that would not be mine for much longer, fingering the name plate pushed haphazardly against the wall: Special Agent John Doggett. I turned it over and over in my hand, then gave a little nod and put it back down in its place -- for now. One thing was for certain. This was going to be one of the longest mornings of my career. end Imposture: the act or practice of deceiving by means of an assumed character or name Not quite the meaning of the story, but close. I began writing in the hopes that readers would think the narrator was Scully. I'm not sure what brought this on -- I'm not too thrilled about Mulder's replacement, but hopefully I'll be able to grin and bear it. Enjoy the premiere, fellow US X-philes. :)