From: SUSANNE WELSER Date: Tue, 21 Apr 1998 13:13:39 +0000 Subject: **NEW**Ironie des Schicksals (1/1) TITLE: Ironie des Schicksals (Part 1/1) AUTHOR: Su Welser E MAIL ADDRESS: a7541ncr@pcserv.univie.ac.at RATING: Some swear words. So I guess that would make it a PG-13. CATEGORY: Story, Angst, MSR (sort of) SPOILERS: Only very minor ones, but to be accurate here goes: The Pilot, One Breath, End Game, Grotesque ARCHIVE: Sure, just keep my name on it. And a note would be nice. DISCLAIMER: >>Nooo - They are MINE!<<, she wailed in a madwoman's voice. It were her last words before the cute officer to her left cuffed her and the cute officer to her right led her out of the courtroom. Chris Carter frowned, stood and shook 1013's first 1 and then Fox's part of the x leaning to the right. One down, 9 401 to go. (All right - no infringement intended.) SUMMARY: No summary ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: to my sis Babs who made some clever comments on this (and even if she can only be called a devoted watcher of the show when Skinner is moving around...) and to Guds - my phellow phile and personal writer's-ego-booster. trustnosu. IRONIE DES SCHICKSALS It's not like most people would imagine it to be. Well, if they imagine it at all, that is. For as far as my impression was during most of my time, the majority simply refuses to consider this possibility anyway. Which is, if you think of it, almost funny. No - let's not call it that. Let's call it ironic - that fits the whole situation much better. Perfectly, actually. Tell me, how can the better part of mankind close their eyes to the inevitable truth, ignore the fate that's shown to them every day of their lives? Infact, if you think about it, it's like a damn Shakespeare play where the poor SOB of a character talks about someone else's fate and then - BOOM - it becomes the poor SOB's own. Irony. Happens all the time. Ha. But as I said - even if you believe - and I did believe, even if I myself doubted that sometimes - it's not what you would expect. Even if I look around myself, now, - well, I guess that's what one would call what I am doing - it's hard to believe that this is it. Scully - she would not like this at all. It would shake all her believes. O.K. maybe not all of them. After all, she did believe. But I am pretty sure that this would not make her happy. God - my poor Scully - I know what you must be going through. No - strike that. I do NOT know what she is going through. Because, contrary to common believe you do NOT suddenly know everything. The mysteries of life are NOT revealed in one big Tell-you-all session and surely no one puts you in a Happy-for-ever bliss, either. Not even in a Nirvana-I- don't-care-'bout-nothin' state. Okay - at least it's no Torture-Dante scenario, either. I guess I should be glad about that; maybe even happy. But, hey, the thing is - I am not. Not even remotely. I am still the man I used to be. Same jerk with the same mind set, same past same questions same motives, same me. - Same me. - And what if people knew - Correction: had known - again, Correction: what if SHE had known - really known me. So often I feared - or hoped? - that she had finally discovered the secret, had finally recognized the truth about me. It's almost unbelievable that she didn't. Her brilliance should have been able to reveal this reality without too much trouble. She was so close ... I was so raw too many times. Oh my ... she did know! there is no fucking way she couldn't ... no fucking way ... Maybe she has known ever since that grotesque case that cost Patterson his sanity. Or maybe she saw right through me the first time she witnessed my profiling abilities .... `Getting into the criminal's head.'... That's what they call it. Ha. No need to get into anyone else's head here, folks. No need at all. She knew. She knew! Did she? Could someone so profoundly innocent even suspect something so heinous? Did she interpret my leaps of thought, my outbursts, my broodings for nothing but signs of my oh so over-sensitive personality, or was she able to see them as what they really were? - the preparations for the take-over, the final, total take-over. Could she realize that each case I solved in the name of justice was a battle won for the case of the other side? Was she aware of that? And if she was, how could she let it happen? How could she watch me destroy myself and her too? Or was she just trying to delay the inevitable by her presence, fully aware of the bitter truth? God, Scully, that final step I took - it was not meant as a betrayal. - Never that. It was a resolve made by those few parts that were still untouched by those dark tongues. That were still capable of making a step in the right direction. There was this hope that I would disappear all together or that maybe even only the darkness would vanish leaving nothing but the light. Jesus - I sound like your sister. But, hell, she was probably the only one who ever gave an accurate description of the man known as Fox Mulder. Even if she did not quite grasp the reasons for the image she perceived of me ... `Willingly walking into the darkness...' - no-, `willing' it wasn't, and `walking' it wasn't, either. God, `fiercly fighting the looming desaster' - that would have been the fitting choice of words. For I am sure of it, Scully, as sure as anyone could be, this darkness - much as it occupies my being - it was not born there. It's nothing I actively or passively encouraged. Invasion ... a black army invading my mind. I was fighting, Scully, for my sake and for yours. But the point came, when I knew with utter certainty that the final step had to be taken. It had to be ended. But ended it couldn't be. I should have foreseen that. Scully. Scully. I can't stop it. ... I can't stop it. It's swallowing me whole. I am hardly there anymore. No. Not true. I do exist. But I don't believe that this is the Fox Mulder you would recognize. Scully - if I had decided differently. If I had told you about this battle. Would you have been the soldier it would have taken to win this war? Protection - That was the notion that got stuck in my mind. But maybe I just got it twisted. Maybe it wasn't you who needed protection but... Yeah, maybe you should be here to protect me, Scully ... No, forget what I just said. FORGET IT! Hell ... I am getting crazy here ... Yeah, yeah, Scully, I know, I wouldn't have had to cross the border for that. But at least, before, I didn't talk to you when you weren't there, right... Can you hear me? God Scully - I wish you could. You know, it's lonely here without you. Hey Scully - wanna join me? Yeah I know I am delusional ... No, Scully, not delusional, just completely gone ... Ooh Scully - this would be a nicer place with --- Scully - you can't hear me, so DON'T! ...don't listen to me. Be wise, ignore me. This is not your destiny. You see - it's not the place Melissa or your dad would end up in ... at least I haven't detected them yet. Because ... see, there is no collective consciousness or any other spiritual connection that I would have found so plausible before. No energy flow, not even a communication channel via your tape recorder. HaHa. There is just this ... well ... `pool'? I believe it's even somewhere out there. Where-fucking-EVER that may be. Well, it's a quiet, cold, lonely, `spooky' place. And one thing's for sure. It's not like ANYplace you and I have been to, Scully. Remember? Remember all the places we have been together? That first motel in Oregon - a lifetime ago - remember that Scully? Have I ever told you that you looked so adorable ... of course I didn't, of course not. Not then and not any other time when you took my breath away. Hey Scully - I am holding my breath and I am telling you now. You outshine them all. You are my angel. Sweet angel. Guardian angel. Scully angel. Can you spread your soft white wings and drape yourself around me and protect me forever from this darkness. Can you do that Scully? I could close my eyes right now and wait until I feel you do that and then open them again and look into your radiant eyes burning right into me. Just like back in the Arctic. Another eternity away. I bet you remember that one Scully, don't you. Ditched you then, you said. Ditched you again this time, didn't I. Couldn't let you risk your life on that ... Yeah, Scully ... don't say it ... I do see the irony in that. I am tired, Scully, really tired. But I don't think there is sleep here. There isn't even rest or a stand-still. I am rotating. I think I am rotating. Maybe I am a planet, Scully. I am a planet, Scully... and you can be my star. ... my star .......my star. Scully I am a black hole. A black hole. You come near me and I'll draw you to me. I' ll touch you ... ... so soft ... at first ... ... you float closer to me ... ... I pull you into my embrace ... to hold you ... ... tight ... tight ... to caress you ... black velvet ... ... tighter ... still tighter ... into me ... ... whole ... we merge ... ... in the darkness ... ''Mulder, ...?`` ... Fate ... I am her fate. Your fate. END Autor's note: Well, folks, that's it. It's the first piece I have ever posted and it's also my first piece in English. I hope the language mistakes I certainly made didn't bother you too much. Corrections are welcome! But most of all I hope that the story itself worked for you. I know it starts off a bit vague but hopefully some of you sat through it until it became clearer what I was aiming at. Here is an apology to all you people who hate stories where one of our beloved heros is dead, dies, commits suicide or even persuades the other one of our beloved heros to follow him/her to the other side. I know I am supposed to put a note on TOP of the story - but hey - that would have given it all away! .... Sorry (insert puppy face here - hey, it supposedly works for Mulder. So, why not for me?!) And now comes the most important part of this note - the plea for FEEDBACK .... guys - I need it. And I am not ashamed to beg, on my knees, in the dust ... and to bribe you with a promise to answer ALL mails...even the critical ones :-) ! Send it all to: a7541ncr@pcserv.univie.ac.at And this is the end of the author's note before it gets longer than the story itself.