On The Rocks
by Pam Smith


This story takes place during the 3rd season episode
"Quagmire."  Spoiler's ahoy!

XF, FM, DS, etc. are property of CC, FOX and 1013.
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"On the Rocks"


"That man is your future. Listening only to himself, trying
to catch a glimpse of the truth for who knows what reason."

Ouch.

"You're so consumed by your personal vengence against
life...that everything takes on a warped sigificance to fit
your meganomaniacal cosmolgy."

Gee, shove that knife in a little deeper.

"The truth or a white whale, what difference does it make?"
Both obsession are impossible to capture, and trying to do so
will only leave you dead along with everyone else you bring
with you."

And twist it around a little while you're at it, Scully.  No,
by all means, don't let my personal feelings get in the way
of your tirade.  I love sitting on a cold, wet rock in the
middle of a lake, listening to my best friend tell me how
much of an idiot I am.  Not that you're telling me anything I
didn't already know, of course.

I already know I'm a cold-hearted bastard, destined to become
my father.  Oh, and that I've nearly gotten you killed more
than a few times in my little meganomoniacal, cosmological
crusade.  Gee, if I wasn't so concerned about getting blood
all over my nice suit, I'd pull out my gun and blow my brains
out right here, just to spite you.

But, no; instead, I'll just sit here and crack a few jokes.
Always worked before, sure is working now.  Distracts the
bullies so they laugh at you instead of hitting you.  Keep
'em laughing, that's my motto.

Don't you worry your pretty red head about me, Scully.  I
deserve anything you dish out, you know.  After all, it's all
my fault, right?  All the horrible things that happen,
they're entirely my fault.

It's my fault that you lost three months of your life.  It's
my fault that your dog died.  It's my fault that you're out
one sister.  It's my fault that you've nearly been killed.
About 30 times.

Why even bother being polite?  Just go right out and say it.
"Mulder, you're scum.  You are a digusting, shit-for-brains,
self-destructive asshole.  I don't know why I'm even sitting
here with you, risking my life, the lives of people I love,
being your partner.  In fact, you don't even deserve to lick
my shoes, at least the ones that haven't been ruined by your
dragging me through hell and back, psychos and serial killers
dogging my heels.  I would shoot you myself, but I wouldn't
want to waste the bullets."  I know that's what you're
thinking, after all.

No.  You're too nice, to polite to say what you really mean.
It wouldn't be proper, after all.  And you're always proper,
aren't you, Miss Dana Scully.  Practically perfect in every
way.  Nobody calling you crazy behind your back.  No one
would think anything bad about you; nuh-uh, never.  The
scientific, dutiful daughter; the perfect agent.  No one
would dare.

You don't deserve to be stuck here with 'Spooky' Mulder,
chasing after my delusions of grandeur.  You deserve a loving
husband, a comfortable home, 2.5 children, and a safe, steady
job.  A life.  Not this; not my parody of an existence.

You and your deep blue eyes and brilliant, warm smile and
beautiful face, with the little crinkles around your eyes
when you smile, with the way your brow furrows when you
ponder over how to debunk my latest, crazy theory, time after
time.  You deserve to be out in the sunshine, happy, content.
Somewhere far away from me and the x-files.  Far away from
the Cancerman, from the memories.  Somewhere the phantom
memories of blood and fear and loss are washed away like a
child's chalk-drawings in a summer rainstorm.

You should leave me here, Dana, on this cold, barren rock.
Leave me and live your life where you don't have to peer over
your shoulder every minute of every day.  I don't deserve
you; I never will.  And to stay down with me, 'the FBI's most
unwanted,' in the darkness of the basement, will only get you
killed.  Sooner, or later.

Leave me.

And live.

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Pam Smith
SYXer7@aol.com