From: Lejanas Date: 20 Apr 1999 02:00:33 GMT Subject: NEW: Soulscape, Movement One by Kathleen Stanton-Adams TITLE: Soulscape, Movement One AUTHOR: Kathleen Stanton-Adams RATING: R CODES: V, A, it rather defies description, but noromos won't like it SPOILERS: None whatsoever, unless CC is planning to do an episode like this any time soon. ARCHIVING: Gossamer, yes. ATXC archive, yes. Ephemereal, yes. Everyone else, sure, fine, whatever, just let me know. SUMMARY: The first three parts of the "Soulscape" series, in a single, newly revised document. DEDICATION: To everyone who has sent me feedback asking for more "Soulsacpe." I wouldn't write at all without you wonderful, wonderful people. FEEDBACK: Don't send it. I'm serious. I am the first writer in the history of the world who does not want to know whether or not you read her story. (now we'll see if reverse psychology REALLY works) Seriously, I'm Lejanas@aol.com. Please, I beg of you. Drop me a line. DISCLAIMER: By day, I am a typical Catholic school girl. By night, I am .... the Surfer Dude! Right. Blah blah blah, they're not mine, blah blah blah, all hail the mighty Creator, Chris Carter, and his minions at 1013 at FOX. Everything's his, except Mulder and Scully. They belong to David Duchovny, Gillian Anderson, and one another. AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was supposed to be a one-shot deal, but it's evolved. You might have already read the first two parts of this, but they've been revised; the third part is completely new. The second movement will be posted as individual vignettes to XFF, then as a single document to ATXC. SHAMELESS PLUG: http://members.aol.com/laizhae/mail.html XXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXX Soulscape part one, movement one XXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXX I don't know what came over me. I don't know why or where or when or how I got the nerve to do what I did. But that doesn't matter now. The important thing is that I did it. In a rare moment of absolute confidence, I pulled him to me, crushing his lips against mine, devouring him, plundering him. Marked him as my own. I heard him whisper my name like a prayer, heard him whisper a thousand beautiful nothings, nothings that meant everything to me, to us. Hushed and terrified declarations of love as his hands and mouth roamed my body. Incoherent, practically, as desire consumed him. "Love you love you love you oh god love you need you my truth my light my life my love need you need you love you love you love you mine mine mine mine mine .... " And then, silence, as our lips met once again. XXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXX There is darkness and there is fire as we tumble to the bed, shamelessly exploring one another. We walk the fine line between making love and fucking, but it hardly matters. Seven years of lust and longing have consumed us, obliterating the tenderness and caring I'd always imagined would define our first time together. He covers me completely, shielding me from the harsh realities of an indifferent world, protecting me from the anguish that has plagued both our lives. We fall into a frenzied rhythm, joined at last, as one, and in a moment of perfect clarity our souls merge. I am him and he is me, and even as he fills me, I *know* his rapture at my tight, hot depths. I am thrusting and being thrust into, fucking and being fucked, worshipping and being worshipped, touching, tasting this wonderful man, this beautiful woman, that I am and he is and we are and oh god .... Within me, a pressure builds, and my world goes black for a split second. I ride the waves of my climax into a dream world, a future together .... .... on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, watching B-movies and feeding one another bits of pizza crust .... .... spooned in bed, sated from a day of work and a night of love making .... .... in the kitchen, bleary-eyed and bed-haired, making breakfast, burning breakfast, laughing and embracing .... .... holding a child, a beautiful dark-skinned baby girl who is clearly not ours, yet so very much OURS .... .... dance recitals, school plays, parent/teacher conferences, presents at Hannukah, candy at Easter, first boyfriends, permit tests, proms, graduations, baby showers, family reunions .... .... embracing them, my lover and my child, never letting them go, mine, mine, MINE .... Mine. XXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXX I sense his release rather than feel it, and my eyelids flutter open. I need to see him, to kiss him, to tell him what I have experienced, what I *know* will come to pass .... for how could I merely imagine a lifetime so perfect, so real? My vision clears, then blurs, as my eyes fill with tears, and an anguished sob is wrenched from the very depths of my soul. My room is dark. My bed is cold. My sheets are drenched. My fingers are sticky. And I am utterly alone. XXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXX end part one, movement one XXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXX Soulscape II: The Darkest Hour part two, movement one XXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXX She comes to me in the darkest hour. For seven years she has haunted my sleep. Gentle caresses, frantic love-making, tender declarations of devotion--all these things and more have been mine in the wonderful dream world I have known, the dream world that has become my everything. The only world that matters. Unfortunately, when you live your days in anticipation of your nights, something suffers. My sanity suffers. I love her. Not the woman who comes to me, but the woman who will never come to me. Somehow they are one and the same, my lover and my love. My lover *is* my love, and yet .... She is not my lover. She is not my love. She is a product of too many faded hopes, too many lonely nights. She is nothing, and yet she is everything. We have built a life together, a life of shadows and silence and the utterly mundane. My dreams are not always of unbridled passion, but of domestic bliss, domestic strife. We cuddle, we bicker, we smile, we scream. There is no continuity. What exists today is gone tomorrow, what will be tomorrow follows what passed three years ago. Now we are newlyweds, now we are retired, now we are middle aged and trapped in the monotony of midlife crises and fading dreams. There are no constants, save two. There is always us. And there is always Katharine. XXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXX My Kathy is beautiful, brilliant, hard-working, sweet-tempered .... everything a daughter should be. She loves peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and visiting her godmother's mounatin home. She's always got her nose in a book, and she has the terrible habit of leaving her clothes all over the apartment. Sometimes, on the nights she is still a little girl, she climbs into bed with her mother and me, snuggling between us and dozing soundly, dreaming of what will happen, what has already happened. Those nights are my favorites. Last night was not like that. Kathy was a young woman, threatening to drop out of college and move in with her boyfriend. We fought viciously, while my wife pleaded with us to stop screaming and be rational. The last I remember, my daughter was in tears, being soothed in her mother's arms, and I was most assuredly on the outs with both the women in my life. In retrospect it all seems so foolish. I've been to my daughter's college graduation, walked her down the aisle, and witnessed the birth of three grandchildren. In my waking hours, I *know* she will not drop out of college. In my shadow world, how am I supposed to remember the future so far in the past? I am eager to sleep tonight. I hope my Kathy is an infant, so I can snuggle her against my chest, wrap her in a warm blanket, smell her delicious baby scent, listen to her mother humming "Joy to the World" to her in the next room. Life is so peaceful when she is an infant. Of course, her mother and I are far less .... active with a daughter so young, but as far as I'm concerned, it's a fair trade. I can hardly wait to see my family tonight. XXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXX I am so eager to enter my dream world, my haven, that I barely hear the phone. I answer on the fourth ring, and my faces flushes with embarrassment when I realize that my partner is on the line. "Hey." "Hey." "I wanted .... actually I just wanted to hear your voice." "Okay. You know, I *always* want to hear your voice." "I know." We hang up without another word. XXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXX I can't sleep. Damn her for calling me. Damn her for loving me. Damn her for needing me. Damn her for it all being the wrong kind of loving and needing. Damn. tossturntossturnshiftscratchsighslumptossturnturnturnstroke sighshiftshrugslouchtossturntossturntossturntossturntossturnDAMNIT I try to conjure an image of my love and my lover, try to blur the lines between fantsasy and reality. I whisper her name like a prayer to a God I've never believed in, cupping my balls and stroking my shaft. At first I can barely maintain a decent erection, but soon I achieve a shaky rhythm, bringing myself to the edge of climax again and again, then slowing the pace, punishing myself for crimes I have committed and am committing and will commit for months, years, lifetimes, until she is mine. I will not allow myself to achieve orgasm, will not permit myself this small release, I will only whisper her name and feed my guilt, oh god oh god oh god .... I come completely inadvertently, covering my hand and my stomach in seed that will never come to fruition, never bring life, never celebrate life. Limp, unsatisfied, disgusted with myself, I am reluctant to sleep, for I know that tonight I will be alone. Tonight, for the first time in seven years, I will be without my love, without my daughter. She will not come to me tonight. And I certainly cannot go to her. XXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXX end part two, movement one XXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXX Soulscape III: Transition part three, movement one XXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXX You could say I was born in the great city of Washington, D.C. You could say I was born in a dingy basement office in the J. Edgar Hoover building. Or, more accurately, you could say I was born within the depths of a tortured man's soul. Born of a timeless, instantaneous love. Born of a lonely father and a shadow mother. Born on March 12, 1992. Seven years--and a thousand lifetimes-- in the nonexistent past. At first I was almost nothing. A spark of attraction, a glimmer of affection .... the warm glow of newly awakened desire .... the comfortable familiarity of easy partnership .... the aching tension of seemingly unrequited adoration. Then I came to be known as Katharine Cecelia. Kathy. My father's daughter in this time before the transition. I cannot know if I will once again be my father's daughter, in the time *after* the transition. I cannot know if I will once again be his Kathy. XXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXX For seven years I have known my father body and soul. I have dwelt within him constantly, day and night. Our thoughts have been one, for we have been one. I am a part of him, and he is all of me. Without him, I would be nothing, and yet .... I want to know my true Mother. My true Mother is a beautiful, enigmatic creature. She whispers to me tenderly, cradles me in her arms, loves me as fully as she is able. But I do not know her. I cannot, not now. She is something so much greater than the images I have been privvy to. She is a woman with hopes and dreams and aspirations of her own, a person like my father. The shadow mother I know is like me, dwelling wholly within another man's dreams. Unlike me, she has nothing to look forward to. While I anticipate the time of transition, she awaits nothing more than the time of annihilation. Soon he will be joined with another, my true Mother, whose face and body and voice and name are the same but whose soul is unknown, separate. I want to know her now, in the near perfect manner of the time before the transition. Soon it will be too late. To do this, I must leave him, my father, my creator. Just this once. Just tonight. I must go to her before I lose her soul forever. I must claim her now, before the time of transition arrives. I don't want to hurt him. But I have no other choice, if I want to save him. If I want to save myself. I must know my true Mother now, tonight, if I am to have any hope of becoming Kathy once again. XXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXX I cannot simply slip into her consciousness unbidden. That isn't the way of this universe, the universe whose constraints bind me to this woman forever, forcing me to reveal myself now, in the still of the night. She must create me within herself, come to know me of her own free will. That is the only way. Well .... not the only way. My father is the key. If she allows him into her soul for just a moment, I will follow by default. I am a part of him; he cannot enter her without bringing me along for the ride. Yet my mere presence within her is no guarantee of success. Even if she does open her dreams to him on this night, it will still be up to me to embed myself in her memory. If only .... A wave of delirious delight washes over me as she picks up the phone, calls him, communicates a thousand wishes of love and longing through her simple words. "Hey .... I wanted .... actually I just wanted to hear your voice .... I know." Thirteen words. Seven years of need. Incomparable, absolute sameness. Thirteen. Seven. Thirteen. Seven. Need is limitless, timeless. If anyone should know that, a soul dwelling before the time of transition should. Love exists beyond the conventions of eternity. Love *is* eternity. She is eternity, to him, to me. And as she falls into bed, touching and stroking herself, whispering his name, lost in the memory of an unknown future, I know the truth. I am *their* eternity. XXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXX Pure souls do not know embarrassment, do not know shame. Pure souls delight in the pleasures of mind, body, and spirit--as I delight in my mother's ecstasy. She is beautiful in the throws of passion, knowing herself and her love clearly for the first time. I am filled with a desperate ache, understanding that this woman loves me, has loved me, and will love me. As she nears orgasm, I am poised, ready to insinuate myself into her being. I sense her release, her absolute harmony of self, her all too brief moment of pure abandon, and I rush to fill her with my spirit. I flood her mind with memories, promises, clinging to her core, imploring time and space and the natural order not to rip my being from her hers. She is my true Mother. She will not forget me. She will find me, even if it means traveling to the ends of the earth. I will make my transition, I will forget all that has transpired in this seven year eternity, but all will end well. All will be as it should .... after the time of transition. XXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXX end part three, movement one XXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXX end movement one XXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXX