From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 21 Mar 2002 00:33:07 -0000
Subject: Nicol\'s Prism by supernova
Source: direct

Reply To: supernova818@aol.com


Title: Nicol's Prism
Author: supernova
Disclaimer: Not mine, not making any money, don't sue.
Rating: PG
Category: MSR, Scully POV
Spoilers: Basic knowledge of S9- Mulder and Scully have a 
baby, and they are separated for whatever reason. 
Feedback: supernova818@aol.com
Author's notes: -Nicol's Prism- An instrument for 
experiments in polarization, consisting of a rhomb of 
Iceland spar, which has been bisected obliquely at a 
certain angle, and the two parts again joined with 
transparent cement, so that the ordinary image produced by 
double refraction is thrown out of the field by total 
reflection from the internal cemented surface and the 
extraordinary, or polarized, image alone is transmitted.

I wanted to do something sort of non-traditional, an 
analogy, or just a peek into Scully's psyche, and this was 
the end result. Yowza. 

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

It wasn't supposed to be this way. I'm not quite sure how 
it was supposed to be. 

A man with brown hair, broad shoulders and a familiar 
stride catches my eye. It could be him, but it's not. It 
never is. I look for a man with brown hair, broad 
shoulders, and a familiar stride, wanting it to be him. 
Hating him when it isn't.

I hate myself for being weak, and tears serve as a constant 
reminder of the finely tuned pieces of myself that I lose 
each day. I try not to cry.  My eyes are red rimmed from 
crying for him almost every night. Another tear falls, and 
I lose just a little bit more of myself as the seconds tick 
by. The well is almost empty, and I begin to wonder what 
I'll do when it is. 

The sheets smell like him so I don't wash them for weeks. 
It is a musky, sleepy, satisfied smell. Hours spent holding 
each other on a soft shade of yellow. One last kiss. Just 
one more. One more. There were never enough. Eventually the 
evidence that he was ever here at all fades away. I 
struggle to remember the exact way he smells and the way 
his hair stuck up in all different directions upon waking 
on a lazy Saturday morning. I can't. The tears fall, the 
phone rings, and I see a shadow on the ground below my 
window. It could be him, it's not him, it's never him, but 
the tears track down my cheeks just the same.

 William is so much like his father. He looks at me with 
hazel eyes that are like his father's, but not exactly the 
same. His eyes reflect the familiar love I've experienced 
over the last nine years. It flashes before me like 
lightning. Unconditional. Consuming. The forever kind. How 
quickly it all fades, and blends, and twists and turns, 
leaving nothing but a black sky, and a few stars tempting 
me with enough hope to keep going.

I get up and make breakfast like everything is normal. My 
life in disarray is normal I suppose. That makes me laugh. 
At least hell is consistent. It's always hot, and 
unpleasant, and it always burns your skin, even the tender 
places. Especially the tender places. It doesn't care that 
you were already dying.

The sky is blue. Traitor, my mind supplies. How can the sun 
shine, why is the sky blue, and why are the flowers still 
blooming while I'm dying a little more each day? I hear 
William laughing. There is too much life buzzing around for 
me to be dying. Don't they know? The world needs to stop 
spinning so that I can too. The world and everyone in it 
needs to feel as lost as I do. No one should be happy until 
I am whole again. I don't care that I am selfish. Traitors. 
All of them, except William, but I don't know what to do 
when he laughs.

Get up, go to work, and come home. It's all the same. The 
only difference is the colors. Green is my favorite. The 
men that aren't him at the mall, the office, or in my 
dreams never quite measure up to that shade of green. I 
hate him even more for that. He's the only one I want, and 
he's not here, and no one will ever be that shade of green 
again. Too bad he's gone. Too bad the sheets don't smell 
like him. Too bad it's never him at the mall, on the phone, 
or waiting on a street corner. 

 I live without living, and die without dying. One late 
night I'm singing to William as I fold clothes, and someone 
knocks on my door. I wasn't expecting it, or thinking about 
it, or dwelling on it. The one time I wasn't. I open the 
door and there he is looking wonderful and terrible, and I 
love him for coming home. I am ashamed that I am broken, 
but he must see something in my eyes that reminds him of 
the woman I once was. He doesn't care that I am not exactly 
the person he left behind, and the world starts spinning 
with a whispered sigh, and I never want it to stop for me 
again. Let it stop for someone else. I cry and he kisses my 
tears. 

He wraps his arms around me like I am the last good thing 
in the world. William vies for his attention, but he 
doesn't let go of me to hold him. Colors and images float 
around us, and I struggle to see them all. Brown hair. They 
seem sharper and more beautiful when I am with him. We are 
the same, but changed by the journey. Pink lips. Torn 
apart. Put together. Yellow sheets. Bent. Black sky. 
Reflected. Something magical and extraordinary for all that 
we've gone through. Green eyes. The color I have sought 
after for so many months looks a little off center, to the 
right, the left, up or down. I don't care. It heals me. 


-end-