From: "Ann M. Fountain" Subject: Journal I The Journal I By Ann Fountain Ann.M.Fountain@rose-hulman.edu The room was cluttered, her things gone, the case files scattered over the table as if they had been thrown around before finding a resting place. There was no note; no sign she was coming back. Mulder stared at the unslept-in bed, and began ruffling through the papers, until, quite unexpectedly he found something she must have left behind on accident, her journal, which she had never let him glance into. It was open and the words screamed up at him, as he began to read... - - - - Maybe he was right. It's too late now; it was too late then. I always find myself wondering why we go through all the hassle, all the danger, when the victims have been dead for years. Especially in this "case" of Mulder's. All the deaths are thirty years old, and their was only evidence of foul play in the death of one of the twenty people who died here in the summer when Mulder believes a current serial killer in New York, first killed. It is as if because he was right with Tooms, he expects me to calmly go along with his little trip. That I'll just believe in his flights of fancy, when we could be in New York, helping the "addle-minded fools" figure out the killer's pattern. Why did Skinner allow this? Skinner boggles my mind, lately he hasn't been riding Mulder back to the ground. If it was anyone else I would suspect something was going on here. But Mulder and I - well, we were... It doesn't matter now. It's too late. Mulder didn't mean it like I do now. He was just referring to the futility of trying to get the team in New York to see our point of view, although with all the "group work" we've been doing lately, you'd think he would at least try. The job still means something to him. Even if I am forced to doubt if anything else does. His mother called me again tonight. She is a sweet woman, at least that is the image she had tried to cultivate in my presence. When I realized she was trying to flatter me, rather than the more typical situation when mother and girlfriend meet, I knew it was wrong. When the barbs of his sarcasm sunk into my skin that night, I knew Mulder still didn't know me. Didn't know I wasn't just the Agent Scully, or the typical girlfriend. He has always taken me for granted, except when directly faced with situations that could result in injury or death for one of us. And since those situations tend to occur rather frequently, I didn't quite realize the lack of his quiet gaze in those times we have been alone with each other. He has not bought me flowers since we first slept together. That has been nearly a year ago now. It's too late. I have been looking into finding a way to practice medicine, on living HUMAN beings. Susan has found a place near Bill, who has offered to let me stay with them for a while. Mom, she understands, or at least pretends to. I got a separate rental this time, I have been distancing myself from Mulder, lately, but he didn't even notice. Skinner promised me my replacement, who I had screened by the Gunmen, will be here in the morning. She looks like Dr. Bambi. He'll never even notice I'm gone. And to think I used to dream of the "perfect" life with that bastard. He never even tried to know me. DS - - - - - The page had holes where her anger shoved her pen too far into the paper, and dots he could only believe were tear-stains. He closed it gently, and shoved it into his coat pocket as he went next door to bring Agent Drew up to speed. ********************************** end Journal I