From: "E. Myers" Date: Mon, 14 Dec 1998 03:06:01 -0800 Subject: NEW: The Love Song of M. F. Luder by CK TITLE: The Love Song of M. F. Luder AUTHOR: CK SPOILERS: Nada CATEGORY: VA ARCHIVE: Go for it NOTES: Apologies to the late Mr. Eliot for the abuse of his work; as for Chris Carter, everyone else does it, why can't I? <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< The Love Song of M. F. Luder by: CK godsgift@u.washington.edu >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Steel bars pounding on concrete. Sparks fly, sparkle, fade, and fly again. Flames lick at the meat of my calves, the curves of my feet, melting them from the bone. I'm really not sure how long I've been running. Five miles, ten...one hundred? Does it matter? Funny, how one measures time. Minutes, seconds, miles, spoons. Each increment important in its own right. How do Scully and I measure time? Hotels stayed in, suspects interrogated, frequent flyer miles earned, used, and re-earned. Blows to the head, stays in the hospital, trips to Skinner's and Kersh's offices. Evenings, mornings, afternoons. Each a measure of its own accord. How does time equate to the number of times one drops their gun? Or through how many dead informants one must go through to find the truth? I smile wryly at those ones. Scully would appreciate the humor of it all. Scully. Perhaps the important question is not how Scully measures time. Perhaps it is how I record it. Six years of conversations, arguments, challenges, looks, touches. Of, "Mulder, you're not saying.", and "Mulder, its me, where are you?". And, "Mulder, I'm fine.", or "Mulder, are you ok?" Six years of all this, but my system of counting has been so much simpler. Tears, cries of help, smiles (shy smiles, hidden eye-smiles, full blown, earth shattering, teeth showing grins), laughter. Each expression of emotion laid out so honestly, albeit infrequently. Glimmers of Dana truths, shining through the chinks of Scully armor. Each time Dana Katherine Scully has let me into her world, however brief, has earned a notch on my string, a mark on the wall. Silent reminders and recordings of the passage of time through my recent life. I come to a halt. I only run around in circles, around a nearby pond. I wonder if next time I should dare have a destination. Should I dare? Where would I go? No, no, the pond will do. There is only one place I would run to; only one person. I only walk towards Scully and indeed there will be time for running later. In short, I am afraid. -FINIS- Tell me if I done good at godsgift@u.washington.edu....if you hated it I want to know why too. ;)