From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: Tue, 8 Apr 2008 15:31:51 -0500 (CDT) Subject: NEW: Waterfront by bardsmaid Source: direct Reply To: bardsmaid@imagesmithstudio.com TITLE: Waterfront AUTHOR: bardsmaid FEEDBACK: fans the coals of creativity. Welcomed at bardsmaid at gmail dot com DISTRIBUTION: Yes, but please keep my headers attached and let me know where it is SPOILERS: Patient X RATING: worksafe CLASSIFICATION: vignette, mytharc, missing scene DISCLAIMER: The X-Files characters are the creations of Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. No infringement is intended. SUMMARY: Marita at the freighter dock. When it comes down to the choice between a man and your child, there's no question. Only hesitation. --------------- W A T E R F R O N T Marita sets the parking brake and switches off the motor. Her eyes fall closed momentarily as she reaches for peace or certainty or some relief she knows won't come. Her fingers, wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, throb with the headlong rush of the last forty hours. She doesn't want to be here, thinking this, doing this. Two days ago the world was sane. At least, as sane as it gets with the clock ticking down to an extraterrestrial invasion. Now everything has been tumbled end-for-end: Alex's first ominous call, incinerated abductees, a new alien enemy. Long, tense hours in a military jet, the fear gnawing steadily deeper into her. At their destination, the horrifying evidence. Then her own personal horror. Before the incident, no decision had ever been unilateral. They'd always discussed. Debated--heatedly sometimes--but in the end there'd always been agreement. A united front. Strength. Shattered, now, over the fate of a boy. For months he's been a pillar holding up the ceiling over her world, Alex with his raw grit and his determination. His grin; the smoke of his voice; the strong arm that's gathered her in when she was half- asleep, or teetering at the breaking point. As if some small part of life could be steady, dependable. A lighted window amid the vast darkness she must tread. Marita swallows and forces her eyes open. Overhead, through the sunroof, high wisps of white scuttle across a rectangle of stark blue, thinning gradually as they go, separating and then reforming. How like the ties in life, she thinks. Granted, her desire to draw Mulder into a collaboration to fight this new enemy offers no clear indicators pointing toward success. But Alex's plan seems laced with revenge, or bravado. Or both. The old men's network is like a cancer, spread out below the surface, lying in veins and organs, lurking. Cutting out one part of it--even the heart or head, if it were possible--won't kill it. And what's left will rise to strangle the plan that's become her child, the only child she'll ever have in this world. The one she's committed her life to. When it come down to the choice between a man and your child, there's no question. Only hesitation. If only she could slow the world down. Marita makes herself take a slow, deliberate breath, in and then out, and forces her fingers, one by one, to let go their death grip on the steering wheel. She and Alex have barely talked since the rebel strike--a few hurried, static-filled phone calls. Clarity is what's needed now. She knows--as well as she's ever known anything--that he's dedicated to the success of her plan, to the salvation it could bring. Things could look different in person, the breakneck rush of events past. Glancing up again, she squints against the bright blue of the sky, then reaches for the door and steps out of the car, heartbeat echoing loudly inside her. Salt air blows her hair to one side and she looks up at the dark hulk of the ship, its shadow angled toward her. Clarity, she reminds herself. Her heart seems to bang against the thin fabric of her blouse. Once aboard, she'll know what she has to do. (end)