From: valmoria@eisa.net.au Date: Mon, 30 Nov 1998 02:31:32 GMT Subject: The Truth In THe Lie IV (AGAIN . . . sorry . . . just screwed up the last one!) Let's try this again . . . sorry . . . someone want to help me not be so damned computer illiterate (I can type 60 wpm, but thaz about all I can do . . .) The Truth In The Lie IV -- Broken by Louise Valmoria Everything in Part 1 Six months. Six long, excruciatingly painful months. Away from you. And I still can't get you out of my head. God, how I miss you, Scully. I don't know how I've managed to live without you so far. I guess it was half a year ago when all of this *really* began; when I was reminded of what real love and loss was like. Half a year ago to this day you looked me in the eye and lied to me. Or told me the truth. The jury's still out on that one. I don't know how I've survived to this point. I've continued my work on the X-Files. Those with more authority in the Bureau have continually attempted to pair me off again; but to no avail. None of it is the same, Scully. Not without you. So now the night is at its darkest and stillest, only the rare brave and stupid soul daring to roam around in it. I used to be one of those. Now . . . Now I lie awake, another lonely night, and wonder where you are. And think of how much I miss you. Six months ago, you stared me in the eye and watched my world crash around me. It has just changed everything, Scully. I can't even look at Samantha and be glad for the woman I have, without thinking of the woman I have lost. But how *could* I lose you? If I never had you in the first place . ... . Being without you has crippled me. I haven't yet learned to live with this new disability of mine. Without you, I am nothing. God, how I wish I could just close my eyes and make everything go away. Wish for the former 'glory' days of our partnership where there was some semblance of normality. Where there was once normality, there is only emptiness. Samantha has been constantly worried about me these past months. She has continually been hounding me to eat, to sleep -- only now is she beginning to fully realise how focused I could be. I think it scares her. Did it ever scare you, Scully? No. That isn't fair. I can't compare you to her. Samantha was the sister who I lost so long ago, and recently reclaimed. You -- I have loved you, and lost you, countless times. You, Scully, I could never reclaim. I can't sleep. I have to go somewhere. I drive aimlessly for an hour or so until I finally find a nice grassy hill. The grass crunches slightly under my shoes as I hop out of the car and stretch out across the bonnet. I think I might do some star-gazing tonight. What am I saying? I've already started. So I look up at the bright, twinkling pinpoints of light up there among the clouds, at the creamy-coloured moon hanging brilliantly in the night sky. The fact that we live under the same sky is of little consolation to me. I can only hope that somehow, wherever you are, you are sharing this view with me. The sky is so pretty this afternoon. It has stopped raining. It has lightened slightly from complete darkness; probably in a few hours the sun will poke its head out of the clouds and smile at me. That doesn't make me feel any better. The sun rising nowadays only means the dawn of another day, another day without you, Mulder. I miss you so much. But I doubt I will ever see you again. There are faint shadows across the sky today, streaks of cloud. Somewhere, far off from where I am, it lights up with flickers of lightning. Every time the days get like this, I think of you, Mulder. I wish that you could come see this. I am in one of the most beautiful places on earth. Not like you *know* that, though. I pretty much dropped out of your life after that last horrific confrontation. I *had* to, Mulder -- I didn't want to hurt you any more than I already have. I still hear about you sometimes, Mulder; a name, spoken in anger or frustration, mainly coming from nameless men whose ideals we questioned while we were still together. If the only thing you feel when you think about me is anger, you have reason for hating me. What do they call this in the movies? They'd call it 'turning to the dark side'. I don't agree with their methods, Mulder. Or their principles. All I do is work to save the human race. Fighting against shadowy men willing to sell us out to a fate that's not as inevitable as we thought. It's almost as if I'm fighting against humans betraying their fellow mankind. But I know I'm not one to speak of betrayal. I am working with them, and yet working against them. And now, as I discover more and more evidence, I am beginning to realise that maybe that was our role in the X-Files. Six months, Mulder, to the day. I looked you in the eye and told you I'd been working for *Them* all along. It was a stupid, meaningless lie for me to tell. I had the best intentions then -- now it's fairly obvious to me that I wanted to give you space, but ended up leaving an unfillable gap. Somewhere along the line, though, after that night -- I *did* start working for Them. I guess losing my control wasn't just a one-off thing. I was lost after leaving you and the X-Files; my heart wasn't on the job. Corpse after corpse I'd analyse, investigate -- I shouldn't be admitting this, but I'd often wish I was just a cadaver, cold, lifeless. I am cold and lifeless, Mulder. Without you. I've only known you seven and a half years. Well, you knew me for seven years and then suddenly you didn't. Somewhere along the line my heart became yours, our souls became one. It sounds sappy and romantic, but I can't help it -- absence *does* make the heart grow fonder. But it doesn't mean that familiarity bred contempt. Can you feel it, though, Mulder? Wherever you are, do you know that our hearts are probably beating the same song? Somehow in the last half year I fell in love with you. I didn't have to see you to do it. I'd hear the men swear about how you were stuffing up their plans again, and my heart would just swell. I'm so proud of you, Mulder. You're carrying on the work without me. That makes me feel sad, too. I hop into my car and look up at the sky. I wish that we had a telepathic bond, that I could hear your thoughts from so far away and that we could communicate over such a large distance. I am oceans away, Mulder. So far away from you. But if we just had that connection . . . we'd only be thoughts apart. See, that's one thing you taught me, Mulder. I can dream. I can believe. And yet, when I think of you, I don't just feel this regret, this loss, but this *rage*. For my stupidity. How could I do this? How could I ruin the best relationship either of us ever had in our lives for the sake of good intentions? I hurt you, Mulder, I know I did, and I hate myself for it. Now I *do* know how you felt when you were torturing yourself with guilt, for all that time. It's an all-consuming self contempt that grows inside of you and takes over your mind, your thoughts, your actions. It's fitting, though. I am working for those whose motives are driven by self-serving impulses. Trying to save the *whole* world, and not just those selected few. It's possible, it's so possible, but I can't do it without you. I don't know how I've gotten this far at all. Mulder . . . I love you. And I'm sorry. Being out here, in the dark, is dangerous. It's not like I care. All I care about is you, Scully, and where are you? You've disappeared off the face of the earth. Your mother is worried to the point where she is literally sick. Your brothers . . . I met Charlie, and although he is friendlier than Bill, I know they both blame me. Bill told me so himself. But then he would, wouldn't he? I'm just one sorry son-of-a-bitch who doesn't deserve to live because I've *broken* you, I've taken away their Scully, made you into someone else, and then let you disappear. I hate it when I get angry like this. It's a burning sensation that rises through my veins and fills my head with fire. Scully. If only you were here. But you're not, and you never will be, and it's all my fault, dammit, it's my *damned* *FAULT*! If you asked me what I believed now, Scully, I'd say that you're not a party to anything the Cancer Man's cronies have planned. You're too good for that. You were always too good for me. It was *me* that made you say that, it was *me* that made you feel concern for the situation, you just wanted to leave me some time with *my* sister and it was the only way you could *do* that . . . I've *crushed* you, Scully, destroyed your spirit. The X-Files has turned you from a nice, bright, green agent into -- well, if somehow you could reach my thoughts from wherever you are, you could fill in the appropriate blanks. If *only* I'd never gotten you involved in all of this, Scully. If I could, I'd turn back the clock all the way to the beginning. I would. I swear I would. It would be so worth it in the end. I never would have told you about my quest for Samantha. I would have kept you at arms length. If only I'd been *stronger* . . . I think I forgave you a long time ago, Scully. Now I have to forgive myself. I have to learn. I have to try. But now that I've started thinking, I can't stop. Despite the circumstances, you *lied* to me, Scully. And you lied about the thing you *knew* meant the most to me. Trust. It's all about *trust*, dammit, how could you *do* that? Rationality just flew off. Goodbye. One moment, I was blaming myself, and then I was blaming *you*. I'm sorry, Scully, but I just can't force down this anger that's been boiling up all this time - I've jumped off the car and started running, I don't know where and I quit caring why. Ran towards the edge of what looks like a cliff. Suddenly, I am thrown back into the past. It is as if time and earth has moved. Am I awake or am I dreaming? I don't know where I am, all I know is that this place is so familiar to me. Now I know where I am. The long ago burnt-out remains of corn crops tells me. Everything is silent. This is no-man's land. I am the only person left standing -- "*SCULLY*!!!" I scream into the night. Dammit, *this* is what you do to me, Scully. Leave me to scream out my frustrations into an empty night. You were *always* there when I needed you, even if it was a facade -- where in *hell* are you now? I yell out your name again and again at the top of my lungs, until my voice is hoarse from the screaming and the tears. Six months to this day, Scully. Every month to the day this started, I'd always look at the calendar and think that you'd come back to me then. But you're not here. The emptiness grows, like the expanse of dead area all the way to the horizon. The sky always makes me have conflicting emotions. On one hand, it dwarfs my problems with its incredible size. On the other, it tells me how incredibly alone I am in the universe. "Scully," I finally whisper, too drained to say or even think more than that. I slump down onto the ground. I wish I could run, far away from this place, far away from my persistent memories. I'm too damn tired to do *anything*, anymore. I am a wasted man. "Mulder," I whisper in my empty shell of a car, shaking uncontrollably. I don't know what it is, but somehow I *know* you are thinking of me. I should feel glad. I only feel lost. The time has healed me a little, and wounded me even more. I don't know how I've been able to manage. I don't know how I've managed to *live*. How could I have coped with six months of loneliness? I hate this place. I hate this place more than myself. It represents all we've fought against, and now I'm stuck in the middle of it. I'm trying to help everyone survive the colonisation. Because the date is set, Mulder. Sooner than you think. But how can I tell you that? You are half a world away. A small world? Maybe to the universe. If you're at arms length, then that's too far away. I wish I could have told you that. There is a tapping on my car window. Oh, no. I've been sprung. I have spent so many nights crying alone to myself, and now someone's finally seen it. "Yes?" I ask frostily. The wrinkled face of my superior looks through. Despite the fact that I am tearing apart inside, I can't help but smile -- this man always looks too innocent to ever be involved in any of this. And, unlike the others, he shows genuine concern. "Are you all right, Ms. Scully?" he asks in his soft, grand-fatherly voice. He is too old for this job, too old for the responsibilities that it burdens on him. No, not too old -- just not experienced enough. I don't think he knows about the loss of innocence this job entails. This old man has been acting as a grandfather to me. But he's smart. Maybe . . . "I want to go home," I say to him quietly. Concern flickers in his eyes. "Is something wrong with your family?" That question sends a chill of worry down my spine. Somehow I *know* that something is wrong, but the distance puts a hamper on my intuition. "I don't -- I think so," I tell him. The sick feeling uncoils in my stomach and disperses through my veins, coursing throughout my body until I feel like a tightly wound spring. I hear myself sniffle, and look away from him, ashamed. "You haven't gone home once," he says, in that charming accent. The years have reinforced its strength. "Not in --" "Five and a half months," I say for him, suddenly feeling a dull ache in my heart again. Five and a half months since I left the X-Files, but six months when I saw you last. What I'd give for those last two weeks . . . The old man smiles at me sadly. "Well, I don't see any problem with it," he says with that striking inflection. "Family should always come first," he adds. I quickly and hastily wipe the tears falling from my face, ashamed that they had been seen. Family comes first, huh? Not in this line of work. I don't know how, but I'm back home again. The sun has risen and it's a brand new day, but it just means that I've spent another night wondering where you are. Maybe it was all a dream. I gotta stop thinking about you, Scully. Eventually, I will. Being without you is almost like withdrawal symptoms. I'm addicted, okay? I've gotten hooked on your presence and now that I don't have it anymore . . . I only feel half of who I was. Half of who I could be. You make up the other half, Scully. God, I miss you. See, so much time has passed, and I'm still driving myself crazy over you. I'm surprised I haven't lost my mind already. I sit down near my computer and stare blindly at the window. There is the faint remains of masking tape on the window, forming a fuzzy X shape on the window. But if I stare at it for long enough, it vanishes. Whatever help I have ever had in this crazy world, it's vanished too. What would happen if I used the signal again? Scully, would you come and help me, now, wherever you are? Would you see it? Would you *know*? I used to think, and dream, that we had some kind of connection. Some sort of bridge, linking us together. It sounds romantic and something out of fantasy novels, I know. Somehow, though, I believed it was real. I wish it was. So I am merely broken. Alone. Waiting. Dammit, Scully, wherever you are, please come back. I need you. Some people need you more . . . The past few hours have been a blur. So much, that it's been . . . It's been almost a day. I don't know when or how I could have lost track, Mulder, but it is scaring me. I've landed at the airport. Home, bittersweet home. It doesn't feel like home anymore. It feels like a foreign country I was born in, but never grew up in. It feels weird. I don't know what I'm doing here, I don't even know how I got here. That frightens me. Six months without my other half, and I lose myself. My other half. Ha. Almost blindly, I retrieve my luggage and begin the long walk out of here. I might rent a car. Maybe. I am walking out of the swinging doors when a huge, solid form walks past me. Something triggers in me to stop. I know who this is. "Dana?" Two pairs of eyes, staring at me in shock. Another pair of eyes, too busy sleeping to notice. Oh, my God. It's Bill and Tara and Matthew. I look at them, in shock myself. "Oh, God, Dana!" Bill says, wrapping me in a big brotherly hug. I return it absently. It is a strange reaction from me. Then again, they haven't heard anything about me for five an a half months. I have always kept tabs on them. "Bill!" I say, feeling like my mouth is full of cotton. It's hard to talk; it's hard to swallow. The astonished smile on Bill's face gives way to a scowl. "Where have you been?" he demands, wrapping an arm around Tara, who's holding Matthew as well as juggling some of their luggage. "Around," I say, noting the flash of anger that passes through my big brother's eyes. He must be thinking - "No," I say hurriedly, "It has nothing to do with Mulder." His frown deepens. "I know that," he scowls. "He was worried about you, too." I can only imagine how Mulder felt about my leaving. I have to change the subject -- my thoughts are once again diving into painful territory. "I'm sorry," I manage. "So -- what are you two doing here?" I ask. Bill and Tara stare at me as if I've lost my mind. "You mean you haven't heard?" Tara asks me, concern evident in her tone. "Heard what?" I ask lightly, beginning to feel a serious shadow overhanging our impromptu reunion. "Mom's sick," Bill says to me, and I suddenly know. *NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!* My mind screams. But I know. Family always comes first . . . Suddenly I feel violently, gut-wrenchingly ill. This can't be happening. First I lost Mulder . . . now I'm losing Mom . . . The foyer of the airport spins and sways in front of me, the world blurring for real this time. Bill's swearing seems lower and distorted as suddenly I find myself outside, under the dawning day, gulping in the air that I hadn't breathed for so long. I know I was planning to come straight to you. Mulder, I'm sorry. I have to put my family first. END OF PART 4 There! After three unsuccessful tries, I'd better have gotten this right! valmoria@eisa.net.au