From: duchesslanorne@hotmail.com Date: Fri, 02 Oct 1998 17:18:53 GMT Subject: NEW--"Lines" (1/1) Title: Lines Author: Victoria Weaver E-Mail Address: duchesslanorne@hotmail.com Rating: PG Category: V, A Spoilers: random mentions of seasons 2-5 and FTF Keywords: ScullyAngst, Mulder/Scully Implied Romance Disclaimer: There not mine...so don't shoot!! Mulder and Scully belong to Chris Carter and Ten Thirteen...duh!!! No infringement is intended. Author's note: My first posting to the A.T.X.C! I'm all aquiver with anticipation. Feedback of all kinds appreciated, looked for and drooled over. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "There's a thin line between pleasing yourself and pleasing someone else." -The Indigo Girls ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Lines by Victoria Weaver In our lives, there exist fine lines. The line between genius and insanity. The line between moral and immoral behavior. The line between right and wrong. Black and white. Life and death. These lines do not always separate, though. More often than not, these web-like lines bind things, and people, together. It's like the six degrees of separation theory. Creating an infrastructure that surrounds us in our daily lives and creates a steady foundation, upon which, we build our society. These lines radiate from all of us, connecting us with those we touch and interact with. The lines are thin creatures, though. Weak and unstable, they are likely to snap at any moment and, like all unstable things, they take a long time to reestablish fully. Most of us create line like this. Then, there are the lines that are more akin to bands of steel, not merely bisecting the people they touch, but wrapping around them like the coils of a spring. Holding the two people in question together. Forever. My line to Mulder is like this. It is the only one of its kind. "When did the flimsy line that connected your life to Mulder's become an unbreakable bond?" you might ask. I am at a loss to say. Somewhere between my abduction (yes I can admit that, now) and Mulder's supposed "death" in Arizona, the line grew thicker, more tangible.... sinewy. Then, with the revelation of my cancerous and terminal condition, I could almost feel our connecting line harden, widen, stretch and take on metallic properties. *We* will find a cure. *We* will beat this together. *We.* Not you, or I. *We.* As the horizontal line that bound us grew dense, I could see the vertical line that separated us become transparent and tattered. I didn't realize how tattered that line really was, until Mulder "died" the second time and I was forced to look at a future without hope. Without him. Even though I knew it was all a ruse. The hoax of Mulder's death, forced me to look upon my, then limited, present, to evaluate my past and to take stock in my dwindling future. I made my decision and the last of the ruined, vertical, dividing line floated away on a breeze. Mulder would know exactly what I felt for him, before I died. True, I chickened out a few times during my last hospital stay. Chickened out, or was interrupted by Mom, Bill Jr. or a doctor. So I never got the chance to tell him. In the end....I was glad. Because I didn't die. But, strangely enough, the line that bound us grew stronger still. Began to wrap around our shoulders, our hips. Began to pull us closer to each other. But then the X-Files were shut down again. Our office, our career's, our lives were burned beyond recognition. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ What was I to do? How could I make you understand, Mulder? You, who always believes so readily, but failed to see the truth in my tears. The tears I shed in your hallway. How could I tell you? How could I admit that I was leaving because of our bond? That it was so strong, it threatened to swallow me whole. The X-Files were gone, and with them went the only thing, in this world, that really stood between us. Our professionalism. The guise of maintaining our "working relationship". Frail as that reason was...it had served us well the past five years. But it was gone and the call of our bond was a siren song. But I was scared of it. How could I tell you I was scared? Scared of losing myself in the coils of our mutual passion. For the truth. For life. For each other. You, Mulder, who I trust as no other. How was I to tell you that I was afraid of losing myself in you? How was I to tell you that I already had? But I didn't need to tell you. You said it all. You saw, through our bond, because of it, right into my soul and, somewhere, found the courage to speak of what you found there. Or were you saying what *your* soul told you and that just happened to be a reflection of my own? Did you know? Could you see your words echoed back in my quietly shed tears? I couldn't speak...not then. So I let my tears talk for me. Something I never do, but would only do for you, Mulder. I put myself on the line, I bleed, I agonize, I worry and I cry. Gladly. All because of...and for....you. Why? Because I love you. It's funny, we were never one for many words. At lease important words. We let our eyes, our actions and our faces speak what is in our hearts. My heart was screaming out its love for you, but to use mere words to express the emotion would not be enough. Would cheapen it, somehow. But again, you sensed this and we, once more, let our actions speak for us. You moved to kiss me, Mulder, and I could have died a happy woman on the spot. And, as it turns out, I did die. Kind of. The last thing I remember, after the sharp pain of the bee sting, is your worried and drawn face hovering over my prone body. You were gently brushing my hair away from the face, feeling my wrist and neck for a pulse, softly crooning words of comfort and hope. Then things went black. This image of you stays with me now, as I am suspended here, out of time and space. I don't know where I am. I came back to myself slowly. The only things I know are cold...and you, Mulder. You. I feel our coiled and steel-like bond even here. In this place where tactile sense has ceased to exist, where all I see is a dim, green haze, where I smell nothing and taste only foulness.... I still feel you. Can you feel me, Mulder? Do you know that I'm alive? That I'm waiting for you? That I'll always wait for you? Our bond, or line, which I feel like a thick cable in my solar plexus, gives me scant hope. Hope...even here. Our line will guide you to me. And I will wait. The End Angst anyone?? Feedback would be greatly appreciated! duchesslanorne@hotmail.com