Title: 'A Familiar Stranger' 1/1
Author: xphoenix99@hotmail.com
Category: MSR, angst, ummm... angst. S POV
Spoilers: Requiem... it's a post requiem story I suppose.
Rating : Q  <- that's right, 'Q', for people who don't
         feel like rating their stories. (note: people
         looking for sex should look elsewhere)
Summary : Scully is kind of feeling depressed. Though I
          can't understand why...
Archive : go for it! just keep my name attached.
          

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When I finally get home after another long, frustrating day, 
the apartment is dark and quiet. I can sense its disapproval 
even before I enter. I feel ashamed, though I'm not sure 
why.... Of what I've become? An emotionally dysfunctional, 
unwed, soon-to-be-mother with a dangerous job and bad family 
relations?

I stand at the door of my cave, listening. But there is only
the stillness and quiet rumble from the street outside... a
noise you don't notice unless you try. I have the feeling I
should knock to let the loneliness know that I'm home,
though there isn't much point since it's been a roommate of
mine for quite some time. It left for a little while, but
now that it's returned, it isn't half as pleasant as it used
to be. It won't do anything with me anymore.

I take a deep breath and step inside, cursing myself in my
head for being such a child. I drop my coat to the chair
near the door, which really couldn't be called a chair
anymore; no one has sat in it for years.

My purse falls down beside it, some of its contents spilling
onto the floor. I don't think I could care less. I've
noticed myself becoming more careless with every day that
passes. Maybe I'm trying to make up for the disorganization
and spontaneity that disappeared along with Mulder. Maybe.

I don't seem compelled to do anything. I don't feel the
usual rumbles of hunger, or the almost physical pains of
drowsiness. So I look around at the petty collection of
things and garbage displayed around me. Things that should
mean something to me, or represent something in me, but I
find myself struggling to recognize them. I suddenly have
the urge to push them off their neat little spots; I want to
see them fall helplessly to the floor and shatter into a
million pieces so that maybe they could feel a fraction of
what I feel.

But, the intellectually abhorrent part of my mind recalls
that they can't feel, and that I don't have the energy to
try. At least that's what I'm telling myself... of course
some things never change.

The emptiness is somewhat comforting for a minute, though. I
don't have to deal with anyone, I don't have to explain
myself, or surrender myself to others. Those were my reasons
once, but now that I've been on the other side of the fence,
the grass really is greener, and the sky bluer. My old life
seems now more like a prison than a comfort.

I can see him, if I think about it long and hard enough. If
I stare at one point I can see him there, leaning against
the door frame to my bedroom, grinning.... Or shuffling
through my CDs to see if I'd gotten anything new while he
made snide comments about what CDs I already had, something
he regularly did. He'd turn to look at me, and I'd smile at
him. He once said that he lived to make me smile. He
promised that we'd just be. We'd be because we could, and
because we weren't afraid of anything. I had doubted his
optimistic words and this was why.

The memory slips away and I shudder in the cold reality. 
My stomach is twisted in knots, telling me I should be doing 
something... eating, drinking, reading, working, in the 
desert looking for Mulder.... It's warning me, trying to 
get me to leave and escape this madness. But there is 
nothing I can do, and I ignore the instinct to hide. There 
is no sanctuary for me.

I start towards the bedroom, but tonight I do not have the 
strength to make it inside. I can't, there are too many 
ghosts in there. Ghosts that want to make me cry and regret, 
and I think I have done enough of that for two lifetimes.

I step back away from the door and freeze. The air feels
chilled and I want to scream... or drop to the floor and
curl up into a tiny ball. I'm not sure what to do, I'm so
confused that I cannot react at all.

Loneliness is standing behind me, I can feel it. I can hear
its breathing, and I'm sure I feel its breath brushing
lightly against the back of my neck. I shudder again,
closing my eyes and listening to the even inhale and exhale.

I wish it to be Mulder. I ask God to let it be Mulder. I
concentrate on it being Mulder, hoping that some kind of
mental power I possess would make him appear to me. When I
open my eyes, I can still feel it. I can feel both of them,
Mulder inside me, living in me... but loneliness is all
around me. It's angry and I know it won't be kind to me. It
knows it won't be here for such a long stay as its last. It
knows that it will have to leave again once Mulder
returns... or the baby arrives. But I know it will make the
time until then the most horrible in my life.

I spin around to confront it and meet nothing but emptiness.
Just the light from the bathroom seeping out from under the
door and the soft drip of the kitchen tap in the
background. Everything is draped in a color that appreciates
my mood, including the nursery that used to be the spare
bedroom. Everything that should be light and happy to
celebrate such a wonderful miracle is cast in shadow. But
the celebration will only be with my toilet and fridge.
Loneliness likes this atmosphere, and it will undoubtedly
crash the party.

It used to be a companion of mine. We would watch a movie
together, or read email or a book together. It was always
around. It would sometimes come with me to work, but it
didn't really like other people, so it would usually wait
until I was alone to visit.

It didn't stay like that though. Loneliness became jealous
as I started to spend more time with Mulder, and it made the
time I spent away from him more and more torturous. All I
could think of was being with Mulder.

Once Mulder started staying with me on a regular basis,
loneliness had left and I'd felt free. I was no longer
trapped beneath its greedy hands. But now Mulder is gone and
I have no one. Loneliness has returned with a vengeance and
I am defenseless.

Only for a short time, I assure myself as I notice how my
hand has migrated to my stomach. There's always tomorrow,
and there's always hope. He will return.


end

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Just adding to the pile of depressing Mulderless fan fic...
because you know there just isn't enough of it. ;-)

Oh yes, feedback please.

xphoenix99@hotmail.com

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