From spooky42@juno.com Sun Mar 23 23:19:47 1997 Subject: *NEW* "Playing the Puppet" (1/1) From: spooky42@juno.com -------- ------------------------------------ "Playing the Puppet" written by GreenFish PostDate: 23rd March 1997 ------------------------------------- NOTE: Because I know that there's so many people out there who were as depressed at watching "Max" as I was (you just can't kill *two* people in one episode! That's breaking some sort of Cardinal Rule, or something...) I decided to write and post this little piece. -------------------------------------- DISCLAIM: Mulder and Scully aren't mine, but if the X-Files keep going the rate it's going, they won't be Chris Carter's, either... .... R.I.P., dear Mulder and Scully... RATING: PG (mild language) SPOILER WARNING: *Major* fourth season spoilers... "Memento Mori," "Tempus Fugit"/"Max"... probably more, but I'm not sure yet... CONTENT: Angst, angst, and more angst... I don't write angst very often (or very well, I suspect) ...so if you feel a tugging at your heartstrings-- send me a word, or two. ARCHIVE: V; A SUMMARY: Dana Scully, right after "Max" closes, mopes around her apartment, pondering life. ------------------------------------ "Playing the Puppet" (1/1) Dana Katherine Scully, an appointed Special Agent at the Federal Bureau of Investigation for the United States government, found herself on her knees in her apartment. She felt tears-- the first tears she had felt on her face in over a year-- rushing down her cheeks like rivers flowing into an ocean. She looked down at her floor, noting that she could already see the marks of the salty liquid staining it. "What's wrong with me?" she muttered, barely loud enough for herself to hear. But there was no one else to hear her speak, either. She was alone in her apartment. Utterly alone. Just the realization of that scared the hell out of her. Too many memories flew back to her, of times when she had been so exposed in that apartment of hers... She saw pictures, in her mind, but nothing she wanted to remember. Dana screamed aloud. And when the moment was over, she found herself back on the floor of her bedroom... her arms violently shaking... Two seconds later, her face was buried in her comforter-- how ironic that they called it that-- what comfort was it doing her now--? Besides keeping her tears from ruining her already wrinkled clothes...? But what would that matter, Dana wondered. Everything else in her life was falling apart. Why not one more thing? The moment that anything remotely personal entered her life, it was taken away from her like a twister sucked a house from its roots. Like a vampyre sucked blood from its victim. And thus, as her heart was being uprooted from her very chest. In the last four years, she had not only lost her father and her sister... which would have been nearly enough to put any *normal* person over the edge... but she had *almost* lost her partner-- and now, Pendrell--? She smiled in a bittersweet memory. Her last words to him had been about herself-- <"We haven't celebrated my birthday yet, Pendrell... don't let me down."> Had that been meant as some sort of come-on? she wondered, her face twisting up as she felt a mount of bile rose up in her throat. Another tear fell as she remembered the smile it had brought to his face. But why him--? <"I think it's about fate."> Scully remembered when Mulder had once said that to her, after the death of her sister, Melissa. She had wanted to bring justice about the men who had done this to her sister... but Mulder guided her back. As she, more than often, did to him. But Scully realized that even Mulder couldn't protect her now. She was alone. Thoughts of taking a razor, and slashing down, hard, in vertically criss-crossed motion-- so to ensure a clean cut-- raced through her mind for a moment, but nothing slowed down long enough for her to take hold of. That's simply what they were: thoughts. A selfish reaction to the seemingly unfair player that life tended to be sometimes. She sighed, gently hugging the fabric of the down comforter on her bed. The softness of it embraced her face. She wiped her tears... and noticed a spot of blood on the surface. Her eyes widened, and she picked up and fled to the bathroom. Dana looked in the mirror, and noticed a small stream of blood flowing out of her nose... She picked up a tissue, and wet it in the sink, blotting out the blood that continued to flow from her nasal passage. The last thing she wanted to think about was the Cancer. Just the thought of it physically made her feel sick, even though she knew her symptoms weren't nearly acute yet. It was just her pysche messing with her physiology, she knew. But even so, with that assurance in mind, less than a minute later, she was lurching her guts out in the toilet bowl next to her. This night was adamant at ruining her, yet. She stepped out of the bathroom, still feeling slightly queasy, but was not prepared to collapse on the bed. Instead, she dragged herself into the living room, and plopped on the couch, turning on the television. Nothing but informericals. Figured. Shutting off the television, she sat in silence for a couple minutes. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Scully stood up, and knew who it was even before she came to look through the peephole. Mulder. She wondered how long it would take before he picked up on her mood. She tried smiling, but all that came out was a forced grimace. She straightened out her expression, and with a defiant sniff, opened the door. She saw him smiling at her. "Hey, Mulder." "Damn, Scully... you must be milk, 'cause I want you to do my body good." "Mulder..." she said, tilting her head to one side. "Scully, what's wrong?" he asked. She glanced at her watch. she gauged. That was quicker than usual. "Do I really look that bad?" she said, smiling a little. "Yeah," he said. "I'm inviting myself in, Scully. I think we need to talk." -the end- ------------------------------------------ Okay... like I said, I'm really not all that great at this angst stuff. Just trying to write it was causing me angst, myself... I think I'll go back to humor and satire... ...support for Save the Fish Fund can be sent (express) to spooky42@juno.com... Help must be given soon-- before it's too late! --------------------------------------------