<![CDATA[
Title: Worthwhile
Author: Kelida Flynn (kelida_flynn@hotmail.com)
Date: November 20, 1998
Category: V,A, UST
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: None
Archive: Please at Gossamer. Everywhere else is fine, but I would like
to see where.
Summary: Mulder considers what makes life worthwhile.
Disclaimer: His (CC & Compnay), not Hers (i.e. Me)
Dedication: The the ladies of Monday night, even that twisted redheaded
Amazon and the Valley girl.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
"Worthwhile"
by Kelida Flynn (kelida_flynn@hotmail.com)
"Do you need anything?" she asks, her face plaintive. I shake no and
avert my eyes. I want no questioning, no confrontation today.
She leaves me for now, but I wonder if she can hear me rattling from the
inside out. I steady my hands on my desk and watch her walk away.
I feel restless--tired today. Nothing and everything affects me all at
once and I can't shake off the feeling, doubtful if I really want to.
There's something decidedly dark and dangerous about this mood. It
wears me like a cheap suit.
I roll a yellow pencil under my fingers and trace the word
"Ticondagroga" with a calloused fingertip. I say the name out loud,
letting it twist and roll on my tongue until I realize what I am doing.
I need to get out of this place before I numb completely.
I grab my coat I left piled at my feet and leave this place, feeling
their eyes trace me from point A to point B as I make my escape. I know
what they think, what they will say. I can almost hear their scorn and
contempt screaming over my footsteps.
"The freak's left finally."
"Chasing little green men again, is he?"
I don't like how it feels, but I'm not one to care. I can't afford to.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><>
I park my car and find myself sitting at the wheel, disjointed. I could
slip away now and I don't think anyone would notice. Maybe somewhere
deep down I can see how that would be for the best. There aren't many
people left in my life that would give a rat's ass one way or another,
but my sense of pride won't stand for it. I remain content to be
deluded.
My hand is on the car door, but I don't step out, not quite yet. It
could just be today, but I am out of focus. I find trouble walking in
straight lines, even though I have always been one to zig when they are
expecting me to zag. I step out now and inhale the cold air. It
stings, but it feels more real than anything else I have known lately.
Instead of going to the door marked 42, I continue walking and think
that it's about time that I test out the saying that goes, "It's not the
destination that matters, it's the journey there that counts," or in
this case, the bike path there.
A frost-covered clump of dirt stands in my way, and I kick it aside with
my toe. A teal-green mini-van passes me then at a leisurely enough pace
for me to see those inside. It's a family of four,
WASP-y, North American Nuclear from what I can tell. They are laughing,
smiling. I wonder how happiness tastes from their point of view, but
then again, my own perspective is so skewed from the normal line that I
doubt that I could relish it in the same way. In all likelihood, it
would probably taste bitter, just like homemade.
Has happiness and joy eluded me, or is it I that am avoiding it? I draw
my coat around closer and turn back to my apartment. This fresh air
makes me question what could and would ever make me know happiness. I'm
not sure I like it, and the air molecules do not cooperate to tell me
the answer anyway.
I continue down the concrete walkway alone. The streets are empty, and
I wonder if I am the only one that feels dead in Alexandria.
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
My key slides into the door and I feel unconscious as I push the weight
of maple wood away from me. The heat from inside hits me like a fever
as I drop my keys on the table in the dark.
The fluorescent buzz of the aquarium light greets me as I head deeper
into my search for refuge. And then I see her. I jump, seeing Scully
bathed eerily in the blue light of the tank and the remaining rays of
winter sun slipping through the blinds. Her gaze meets me halfway.
"Scully." I say it simply, regaining the composure she can so easily
strip away. She has an uncanny ability to do almost anything to me.
Scully does not stand up when she speaks, though, but her voice is
distraught and vibrating with rage. "Where have you been, Mulder?" she
asks, her voice on the verge of wounded. Her eyes grab a hold onto me
now and lock me away. My heart drops to my stomach and vaults to my
throat in one singular moment and I almost swear I she could hear it.
"You were gone when I came back, and you didn't answer your cell phone."
I pull the phone out of my jacket pocket and show it to her. "I left it
off," I tell her in apology.
She stands up. "Don't ever do that to me again," she says, harsh with
emphasis. I feel myself begin to break apart like chunks from a
glacier, swan diving into the chill of the ocean. "I've had enough of
wondering..." she looks up at me, more vulnerable than I have seen her
in ages, "...if you're not dead somewhere, or if you've finally..."
Suddenly, I begin to understand the words she doesn't say to me.
Oh, Scully.
I take the first step forward and reach out for her hand. "Forgive me.
I've just been thinking too much today...I think." I smirk and am
rewarded by the small smile I see beginning to form at the corners of
her china doll mouth. "I came back here for a little more one-man
self-flagellation, but it appears as though I have a guest."
Impulsively, she closes in on me and slides her arms underneath mine,
stretching them until her hands rest comfortably on my shoulders. I am
taken aback at this and almost pull away in surprise, but luckily, I do
not. I am caught up in her--her embrace, her concern--her everything.
"Is there room for two in this party?" she quips, and a thousand
innuendos pop into my head, but I let them pass. Rare are these
moments, and I want to savor this one. I kiss her on her temple, my
lips lingering almost too long before I draw away.
"Sure," I reply, and my suppressed smile is brighter than the lights at
Fenway Park.
"Dinner?" she suggests. "Italian? We can talk there." She heads
towards the door, already knowing my answer.
Whatever I may believe in this moment here and now, I think somebody up
there must like me. I am weird and giddy with a tingling sensation.
Then I hear Scully's foot rapping impatiently on my floors and
reconsider that thought. Maybe it's someone down here.
"Are you coming?" she asks.
I grin sardonically at my own expense. I don't think she realizes I
would follow her to the edge of the world at any given moment if she
asked me to.
I pick up my coat to join her. I have no more need to stay here now and
put myself through this self-inquisition. Sitting here and stewing in
my own despair will not tell me what it takes to make me happy--what
makes existing worthwhile.
My answer is waiting for me at the door.
.the.end
Feedback? I have the dreamer's disease, and the doctors say that the
only way I can recover is if I get feedback. Help a poor girl, will
you, sir or madam, whatever the case may be? Checks are nice, but
comments to kelida_flynn@hotmail.com would be even nicer.
*************The X-Philes Finis Romantics Society************
http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Zone/2095/
***********Kelida Flynn's Fan Fiction Homepage***************
http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Delphi/2471/kelida_flynn.html
OR, visit the Monday Night Ladies' Fan Fic Archive!
http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Crater/3033
]]>