From: WGPD33A@prodigy.com (MR JOHN J SHENKO) Date: Wed, 9 Sep 1998 21:10:35, -0500 Subject: Intensity Title: Intensity Author: Christina Category: SA (great, gooey gobs of angst) Rating: R (death, disturbing story line) Spoilers: none Keywords: Character death*s*, Mulder/Scully married (no, it's not a romance) Summary: Mulder and Scully get married, but it just doesn't work out. *Not* a very 'shippy story, though. Distribute: Anywhere you want, just keep my name and email on it, and tell me where it's going. Thanks. Disclaimer: I'm sorry, Chris, I really am. I don't normally write such twisted stuff. Please forgive me... Oh, and please don't sue, 'cause they belong to you and Fox and 10-13. Not me. Author's Note: This was spawned one sleepless night at 4 AM before a big trip. I'm normally a dedicated 'shipper, but this just came out of nowhere and wouldn't let me sleep unless I wrote it out. I apologize in advance for anyone who hates it. Send any and all comments to WGPD33A@prodigy.com. Thanks. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Fire and Ice Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice. -- Robert Frost ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Mulder and Scully were married today. After so many platonic years, they finally did it. It was a church wedding with friends and family -- mostly Scully's -- flowers, organ music, the works. I didn't attend, of course, but I know. And I am sad. Regretful, actually -- for I know it will never work. I who have fashioned their childhoods, their lives, their work, their very existence, I know. I have tried so hard to keep them apart, but it hasn't worked. And they will destroy themselves with the intensity of each other. *** "Mulder?" They sat in their kitchen together, sipping coffees one Sunday morning. The shared newspaper was scattered about the table in sections, and Mulder was absent-mindedly petting the cat. "Yes?" he asked, engrossed in an article. "I want a divorce." The paper slowly lowered, and Mulder stared incredulously at Scully, his best friend. His lover. His wife. "But -- but, *why?*" he asked, stunned, unbidden tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "Don't you love me?" Scully stared down at her lap. "Oh, Mulder, I love you, you know that. So much. I really do," she affirmed against the doubt in his eyes. "But -- this." She gestured around them. "It isn't working. I -- It's just too much. I can't work with you and live with you, Mulder. You're too intense. I'm too intense. Don't you see?" she pleaded, tears in her stoic eyes, too. "These past months, Mulder, they've been happy. Blissful. But I can't live like this. Not forever. We're too much. Mulder, you, me, when we finally open up and love, we love deeply, completely. And if one of us was like that, it might work. But two...with two people with such strong wills and hearts...Mulder, I can't deal with the intensity of you every minute of every day. And I wear you out, too, Mulder, I've seen it. We'll take the best out of each other and leave nothing but two people who despise one another." She closed her eyes and let two tears fall, staining her pajama top a deeper blue. "It's just too much." Wordless, Mulder left the house, slamming the door and never looking back. *** WASHINGTON, D.C. -- The body of Federal Agent Fox William Mulder was discovered yesterday afternoon by his wife, Dana Katherine Mulder (nee Scully), also an agent with the FBI. Mr. Mulder died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head early yesterday morning. The reason for his suicide is unknown, as the only note at the scene was addressed to "My Dearest Scully." Mrs. Mulder has refused to share the letter with the press. Mr. Mulder's body was found in his car after he didn't appear at work Monday morning. Mr. Mulder is survived by his wife and his mother, Mrs. Tina Mulder of Chilmark, MA. *** I carefully clip the article, keeping the incisions straight and clean. He deserves more than ragged edges. They both do, but that is all I have given them. Allowed them. I lay the impersonal flimsy newsprint aside, noting the ink left on my fingers. I take another paper, smoothing it, careful not the smear the desperately scrawled words with the moisture of my palms. The first copy of his last letter sits in front of me, accusing me. I have failed. I put so much of myself into this creation. Mulder. I deny the existence of the two tears, even as one blurs and blisters the paper with its salty sting. I try, but cannot succeed. Even with something so small as keeping a letter clean. With his death, I have died. But only a little. It is a bitter solace that I still have the others. *** TWO STAR-CROSSED LOVERS TAKE THEIR LIVES In a tale of tragedy sadly mimicking that of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, Federal Agent Dana Katherine Mulder shot herself yesterday in her basement office at the J. Edgar Hoover Building. Her husband of seven months, Agent Fox Mulder, committed suicide earlier this week. Mrs. Mulder left no note, save for an envelope labeled "For Mulder," which contained a gold chain and cross pendant. The necklace, which has been identified by several family members and friends as Mrs. Mulder's, appears to have been ripped forcibly from her neck. Mr. Mulder will be buried with the necklace. His funeral has been postponed until Sunday, so as to bury the couple together. Mrs. Mulder is survived by her mother, Mrs. Margaret Scully of Baltimore, MD, and her brothers William and Charles Scully. *** I cut this article out, too, slowly and precisely. Then I carefully fold the newspaper and hurl it across the room. Why? Why? My heart bleeds for these two, these "star-crossed lovers." If only they knew the real story. I knew it would never work, but I hadn't anticipated *this*. Why? The one time I was powerless was the one time they needed me the most. Why? The question rings hollowly in my mind. Why? The two I am most proud of, the thorns in my side and the apples in my eye. I have failed, totally, miserably, and completely. The one reason I don't seek the solace they found is the others. I cannot fail them too. But I *knew.* Dammit, I *knew* and I let myself be swept along, coerced and mollified into a false sense of security. Why did they do it? Why didn't I stop them? Why? The syllable echoes ceaselessly, on and on and on. Why? Why did I ever listen to those damn shippers? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Please write me and tell me what you thought at WGPD33A@prodigy.com. The "I" persona was originally CSM, but I just randomly tacked on that last line and now I think it's CC, but it's open to debate. I have no idea who the "I" is. I feel so terrible killing them off...I'm sorry. Anyway, please write, even if you want to flame. I can take it, I just fireproofed my mailbox. Oh, calling all you details people out there. If anyone knows where Mrs. Mulder & Mrs. Scully live, I'd love to know. I'm almost sure about Mrs. Scully, but Mrs. Mulder was just a shot in the dark. Thanks! Au revoir.