From: Jenni Bundick Date: Tue, 30 Jan 2001 14:55:07 -0800 (PST) Subject: NEW! xfc: Won't Be Mine Source: xfc TITLE: Won't Be Mine AUTHOR: Jennifer Bundick CLASSIFICATION: UST, slight MulderAngst, vignette RATING: I'd say PG for language. SUMMARY: Mulder thinks during the bar scene in FtF. SPOILERS: The X-Files: Fight The Future, Home, Quagmire AUTHORS NOTE: This was brought on by an idea that morphed into this little piece. I'm writing under my real name, now. I used to be biplanejenni...anywho, this is the first fic that I've posted for awhile now, and you might see more of my stories. Emphasis on the might. Anywho... FEEDBACK: jenni_bundick@yahoo.com DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere, every where, just tell me DEDICATION: Dedicated to my friend, Sarah, for beta services and great friendship, and to Matchbox Twenty, whose song inspired me to write this. DISCLAIMER: Not mine, never were, don't sue... "...Over the lies and you'll be strong You'll be rich in love and you will carry on No, but no, oh no, no you won't be mine..." -- Matchbox Twenty "You Won't Be Mine" +*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+ Won't Be Mine By Jennifer Bundick +*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+ I picked up the shot glass and sloshed the amber liquid around before tossing it down my throat. The scotch burned its way down my throat, leaving a trail of fire to my stomach. The liqueurs fire spread to my limbs, sending warmth into frozen fingers and toes. Scully was leaving. She had given Skinner her resignation and was ready to go. Ready to leave me and my shattered heart lying in the basement where we'd spent the past five years together. It was like all that could go wrong, had done so in the past week. We'd been blamed for three men and a small boys deaths. We'd been split up, and Scully was leaving. I motioned for the barmaid. She filled my glass and looked at me with pity. I tossed the glass back again and she refilled. Sighing, I watched the liquid swirl around the glass as my thoughts swirled around my head. <> I sighed again and took a sip of my drink, letting this one go down agonizingly slow. So this is what happens after years of searching for the Truth. Ending up broken and lost without an anchor to keep yourself sane. I was slowly tilting towards deeper, darker waters that would swallow me whole. I was going to crash into the rocks of despair and be spread out with the tide. It's amazing how well a person can make analogies half-drunk. Well, when she does leave, at least she'll be happy. No more worrying about ol' Spooky Mulder. No more following me after I ditch her, or being in the hospital because of me. She'll probably settle down and become a doctor. Find that man with a perfect genetic make-up and really start popping out the uber-Scullies. Get a dog to replace Queequeg, a house with a white picket fence too. Scully never does things in halves. Ever. God, I'm going to miss her. I feel someone watching me, and I glance over to my left. I see a man looking at me, as though he feels sorry for me. Well, fuck him. I swig down my drink. As I try to set the glass down, it goes skittering. The barmaid grabs it before it falls. "Whoa, gotta train for that kinda heavy lifting." She sets up a new glass and pours me another shot. "Poopy day?" I finish the drink, point at her, then at the bar. She pours another shot. "So, what do you do?" I swallow. "What do I do?" She nods. "I'm a key figure in an on-going charade, the plot to conceal the truth about the existence of extraterrestrials. It's a global conspiracy, actually, with key players in the highest levels of power, and that reaches down the lives of every man, woman, and child on this planet," I laugh, "so, of course, no one believes me. I'm an...I'm an annoyance to my superiors, a joke to my peers. They call me Spooky. Spooky Mulder, whose sister was abducted when he was just a little kid and who now chases after little green men with a badge and a gun, shouting to the heavens and anyone who will listen that the fix is in, the sky is falling and that when it hits its going to be the shit-storm of all time." "Well. I would say that about does it, Spooky." "Does what?" "Looks like eighty-six is your lucky number." It takes me a moment to understand what she means. I reach behind me and pull out my wallet. As I hand her the money, I say; "You know, one is the loneliest number." And I feel I have never said anything closer to the truth. +*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+ And the rest is history. Feedback is ambrosia. Send me some! BTW, quotes from the movie and actions aren't as accurate as I'd like, but it's close enough. Thanks to Kim, for getting me addicted. And thanks to the other Kim, who got me my own copy of FtF. Love you both.