From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 13 Apr 2001 23:24:51 -0000
Subject: MUSING OF A LANDLORD by Ewa
Source: direct

Reply To: ewa@whatewa.com


TITLE: MUSINGS OF A LANDLORD
AUTHOR: Ewa
E-mail:    ewa@whatewa.com
RATING:  G 
CATEGORY: V
SPOILER:  Incidents from a number of seasons. Takes 
place after Dead alive  
KEYWORDS: M/S Other POV

SUMMARY: It's about- no just read it for yourself.
DISCLAIMER: Any characters you recognize belong to 
Mr. Carter & Co. Angel is written by Sarah 
McLachlan. Rule of thumb, if you recognize them, 
there's a good chance they aren't mine. Doesn't 
stop me messing with them though, purely for the 
fun of it, monetary gain has never been an issue 
here. 

ARCHIVES: You mean, I don't have to pay? Let me 
know where it's gone please! Please keep declaimer 
etc with it.

AUTHOR'S NOTE'S: At the end
04.13.01
Feedback please!

ewa@whatewa.com

Visit me and read my other x-phile stories at 
http://www.whatewa.com


MUSINGS OF A LANDLORD

As I walk past #42, I hear the sound again. It's 
quite late, but the music is soft in sound, heart 
wrenching in content, not really loud enough to 
make any of the tenants across the hall complain.

The tenant in #42, an FBI agent, has had the 
apartment for- must be close on nine years now. 

I wouldn't go as far as to say he was a model 
tenant- things certainly happened when he was 
around. He'd had a number for break-ins over the 
years, more so than anyone else in the building. 
His placed has been trashed on more than one 
occasion.

Then there was the time someone was shot in the 
apartment above his and the tenant from the 
apartment next door to #42, who'd died in strange 
circumstances down in our basement. I suppose, 
strictly speaking, that wasn't down to him. As I 
said, things have certainly got more exciting since 
he moved in.

There was that incident a year or two back with the 
waterbed, but it has to be said, he paid every cent 
due to cover the damaged done by the leaking water.

Elsa, my wife of thirty-five years, has a soft spot 
for him, but then, what's not to like about him? 
Although very quiet in himself, he is always very 
polite and courteous. Always pays his rent on time, 
doesn't hold wild parties like some of the others 
do. The only thing that drives me crazy  is that 
basket ball. Bang, bang, bang on our ceiling. It 
can drive a guy nuts!

Elsa always admonishes me to give the guy a break, 
he's obviously had a bad day at work, and that 
works for me for a while, but after a time I feel 
compelled to take the broom and knock on the 
ceiling. Luckily the basket ball incidents are far 
and few between. Especially when his pretty partner 
is staying over. She does that on a fairly regular 
basis, whenever he's ill or hurt. I suppose the 
injuries come with the job. 

Over the years I've got to know her a little. Well, 
maybe not 'know' her as such. I see her very often, 
she seems so caring of her partner, I've often 
wondered if there was something between the two of 
them. 

In the past he's often spent time away, usually 
he's traveling around investigating whatever it is 
that FBI agents investigate; then there are all the 
times he's spent in hospital.

We didn't really notice anything strange at first. 
We were quite used to him not being there and his 
petite, red haired partner coming in to feed his 
fish. There have been times when they've both been 
away and either Elsa or myself would do that for 
him.

I started noticing that, although I didn't see 
Mulder anymore, she would come in of an evening, 
sometimes late at night and stay over. Once I even 
knocked on the door to ask if everything was okay. 
I was shocked to see her when she opened the door 
to me. She'd obviously been crying, but I know from 
Elsa, it's no use trying to push these things. 
Anyway I decided to keep an eye out for her. 

I took to coming up most nights just to reassure 
myself that everything was quiet. I don't know why 
I did it. I never saw her, but it was reassuring 
just to walk past the door and occasionally hear 
the music playing. It always seemed to be one of 
about three tracks.

Over the last few months, I've learned most of the 
words, I've even turned the radio up a little 
whenever it plays on one of the stations. Maybe I'm 
becoming a maudlin old fool, my Elsa would whole 
heartedly agree with that. There is something about 
the words to that song, something that makes even 
my Elsa stop and listen. There was something so 
sad, so poignant about the words, especially when 
we gradually learned the reason for Mulder's 
continued absence.

"Spend all your time waiting 
for that second chance, 
for a break that would make it okay. 
There's always one reason 
to feel not good enough 
and it's hard at the end of the day. 
I need some distraction, 
oh beautiful release, 
memory seeps from my veins. 
Let me be empty 
and weightless and maybe 
I'll find some peace tonight 
 
In the arms of an angel 
fly away from here, 
from this dark cold hotel room 
and the endlessness that you fear. 
You are pulled from the wreckage 
of your silent reverie, 
you're in the arms of the angel 
may you find some comfort there. 
 
So tired of the straight line 
and everywhere you turn 
there's vultures and thieves at your back 
and the storm keeps on twisting 
you keep on building the lie 
that you make up for all that you lack. 
It don't make no difference 
escaping one last time, 
it's easier to believe in this sweet madness, oh 
this glorious sadness that brings me to my knees. 
 
In the arms of an angel 
fly away from here 
from this dark cold hotel room 
and the endlessness that you fear 
you are pulled from the wreckage 
of your silent reverie 
you're in the arms of the angel 
may you find some comfort there 
you're in the arms of the angel 
may you find some comfort here."

That night, what, three months back? I was in our 
back room, when the song came on the radio Elsa had 
playing in the kitchen. I seemed to gravitate 
towards it. I was surprised to see Elsa with tears 
in her eyes. She denied it of course, saying it was 
dust that made her eyes water. But I knew right 
enough; especially after the events of that day. We 
had learned that morning that the tenant of #42 was 
dead. All those months of his partner's vigil in 
the apartment were for nothing.

She came to us that evening, dressed in black, eyes 
swollen from grieving. We knew that Mulder had been 
buried the day before. I expected that, as his 
legal representative, she would want to wrap up the 
lease on his apartment and give us notice of 
quitting. 

I was shocked when she extended her hand and gave 
me the same buff envelope she gave me every month. 
A month's rent in cash, same  as every month since 
her partner had gone missing.

I didn't understand. "It's alright Mr. Kaminski," 
she said. "I'm not giving his apartment up, I need 
to keep it for him, for us." 

I was going to ask why, but I felt Elsa's hand on 
my arm.

"I can't see that it will be a problem Ms. Scully. 
How about if we look at this in a month or two, and 
see how we're doing?"

I was amazed to see the relief and a glimpse of 
something else in the woman's face. As she looked 
at my wife there was gratitude.

"What did you that for Elsa?" I asked later when we 
were alone. 

"Are all men so blind?" I was surprised at her 
comment.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean she's pregnant, you fool."

To Elsa, that seemed to explain everything.

We kept a special eye out for her after that, me 
and the wife, we were worried to see how, although 
she increased in size with the child, she appeared 
to be getting more and more withdrawn in herself. 

The nights she slept over here, I would hear the 
music, those sad words and occasionally I could 
hear muffled sobs.

Each month the rent was paid by cash and nothing 
more was ever said about vacating the apartment.

Then one morning there was a change in her, she 
looked excited, almost happy. I saw her coming in 
through the outside door laden with brown paper 
sacks. I took them from her and offered to take 
them up for her. 

"I've got to clean the place up," she said nodding 
towards the bags in my arms. "Mulder has come 
back." 


Fin

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This was suggested to me in 
feedback about another piece I'd written. What did 
you think?

ewa@whatewa.com 


Other pieces on a similar theme can be found at

 www.whatewa.com/contents7.htm