NEW: Ignis Fatuus by Lydx (4/4)
Lyd
Title: Ignis Fatuus (4/4)
Author: Lydx
Distribution: Spookys, Ephemeral, Gossamer etc, sure.
Anywhere else is okay too as long as my name stays
attached and you mail me at ly...@angelfire.com to let me
know.
Classification: XA - X-files Angst
Rating: R for violence and a couple of swear words
Keywords: 3rd person POV / some ScullyTorture
Spoilers: through season the 7th - Requiem
Summary: In the wake of what transpired in
Oregon, someone sees his way clear to go
after Scully.
Ignis Fatuus ; n. the light of combustion of
marsh gas, any delusive ideal - pl. ignis-fatui [L ignis, fire,
fatuus, foolish.]
Feedback: is food for the soul, so please take a
moment to tell me what you think
Disclaimer: They're not mine. They belong to CC, the
creator and most especially to GA, DD, and the rest of the
gang, who breathe life into them.
~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~><~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~
Resolve still firmly in place I arrive at our cabin and after
shedding my jacket, which got soaked through in the two
seconds it took me to run from my car to the front porch, I
make straight for your room.
The thunderstorm that broke the night I brought you here
hasn't let up since. I wonder if there's some cosmic
significance to that and figure that if this were a movie, the
rain will stop falling as soon as I persuaded you onto the
right path again. The thought only serves to reinforce my
purpose and I feel I'm close to winning this thing with the
strength of my convictions alone as I get to your room and
open the door.
What I find when I enter weakens my resolve until it's all
but evaporated.
You're on the bed clad only in your panties and your
undershirt and I'm instantly rock hard at the sight of your
small but beautifully proportioned body, covered in what
amount to tiny scraps of cloth when seen against the
expanse of your naked flesh.
Your firm legs are longer than I would have thought and
lead to full hips flaring out just right. The dip of your tiny
waist makes me want to try and see if my two big hands
will span it and they clench and unclench at my sides,
impatient with want and need. Travelling up, my eyes feast
on your still partially clad breasts -- black lace Dana?
Flustered, I force myself to move on to your strong, well-
muscled shoulders, ignoring the bruises there, and up the
long smooth column of your neck towards your face.
Only then, as I see the sheen of sweat on your forehead
and the way your hair is plastered to your flushed cheeks,
does the fact that your shirt is soaked with perspiration
register, as does the fact that the sheets twisted beneath
you are drenched through.
Rushing to your side I notice that your breakfast tray has
been left untouched except for the juice I poured you and
wonder why my brain would pick up on something so
seemingly insignificant just when it also registers that the
Tylenol I put out for you is gone too.
"Dana?" I get no response and tap your cheeks lightly
"Dana wake up!"
You murmur something unintelligible and then a coughing
fit racks you, making you wince violently at the spasms
shuddering through your body. My eyes travel to the arm
you injured yesterday. You're holding it against your side
protectively, as if it's filled with shards of glass and every
movement hurts and I guess it does. It's not just bruised a
bit. Now that I look at it, make myself focus on it for the first
time really, I see it's actually -- literally -- black and blue in
places and stiff with disuse.
I whisper your name again and your eyes flutter open, then
fall closed again. I'm frightened by the glimpse I got of the
entirely too vacant look in them.
"Talk to me, Scully." In my encroaching panic, I forget all
about my decision to call you only by your given name but I
don't care since it makes your eyes stutter open again.
"Mul -- " Yep, it official, there's nobody home if you're
confusing me for the bastard who put you here in the first
place. It galls me that he's the first person you think to call
out to when he's not even here and I am right beside you
but I quench the thought. Concentrate on getting her better
my man, I think to myself. Time enough to get angry later.
"Dana what's wrong?" Your eyes close again and your
head moves restlessly on the pillow.
"Sick..." You arch off the bed coughing uncontrollably and
when the fit is over you lie back exhausted. The wet rattle
of your breath as it moves in and out of your lungs
screams pneumonia to my untrained ears.
"Yeah, well I grasped that," I say as I put my hand on your
forehead. Your fever burns my palm. "Shit you're burning
up."
I get a towel from the other room, soak it thoroughly and
wipe you down with it. Under different circumstances, it
would be wildly exciting being allowed to touch your flesh
like this but all I feel is panic at how hot you are under my
touch.
I sigh in relief when, after another pass with the towel you
revive somewhat and your eyes open. They're gray with
the extent of your illness but at least you're looking at me
with awareness dawning in them.
"I need a doctor," you say and underneath the weakness,
there's the sharp familiar edge of command in your voice.
"No can do," I say, "but I can get you whatever you need.
You're a doctor yourself, tell me what to do for you."
"Antibiotics...painkillers."
"Not a problem, what else?"
The effort it takes to string a sentence together makes your
breath rasps in and out of your lungs, making it difficult to
figure out what you're saying. I lean in closer and get the
gist of it though. "Shoulder's dislocated...tried to put it
back in...need your help."
"Okay." I had a dislocated shoulder once and I know it
hurts like a son of a bitch. As much as this is going to hurt
though, trying to put it back in by yourself must have been
nothing short of agonizing. My respect for you ratchets up
another notch.
I'm unsure how to go about this but move towards you and
put my hand on your shoulder tentatively, propelled to try
anyway by the urgency of the discomfort you're in.
You jerk back with a yelp.
"Painkillers first." Your breath comes in short pants now
and your eyes are becoming unfocused again.
I nod my head in understanding. Whispering, "Okay." when
I realize your lids are now tightly closed, I brush your sweat
soaked hair off your burning cheeks. Putting the wet towel
on your forehead to cool down the fever burning you up, I
turn on my heels and race towards the door.
I'm halfway through the doorway when your voice makes
me look back, startled. It's stronger somehow, steadier.
Your head is up off your pillow -- something I didn't think
you'd have the strength for -- and you're squinting at me.
"Mulder?" In your fevered brain, my back lit figure must
resemble his in some way and I suddenly know it's where
you get your unexpected strength from.
When you manage to focus enough for you to see it's me
not Mulder standing in the doorway, your head falls back
onto the pillow and you close your eyes with a weary sigh.
I remain where I am a moment longer, observing the way
your eyes move back and forth underneath your tightly
closed lids. It looks like you're searching for him even in
your fever induced dreams. The bastard obviously has an
even stronger hold on you than I already imagined if the
mere mention of his name fortifies you like that and I'm at a
loss as to how to proceed from there.
I shake my head to clear it from any but the most pressing
concerns -- getting you the medicine you need -- and
without bothering to lock the door, I dash to my car through
the pouring rain. I curse myself all the way for having
treated you too roughly, curse you for not alerting me to
your predicament earlier, I curse the lousy weather too,
just on general principal.
Most of all I curse Mulder for bewitching you and having
had a hand in making you so strong and so weak at the
same time.
I'm soaked to the skin before I realize I forgot my jacket
and shrug off the discomfort, no sense getting it now, I
think as I slide behind the steering wheel. I'm dripping
water all over the upholstery and my wet hair is in my eyes.
I swipe it back and start the car. Looking out the front
window I can hardly see our cabin through the rain
sheeting down and for a moment I consider going back
inside and waiting out the storm. It's foolishness going out
in this weather really.
Recognizing the need to get you some help, I turn the key
in the ignition instead, carefully step on the gas and turn
the car around, pointing it back the way I came scant
minutes ago.
The rain makes navigating the dirt road difficult and I curse
the weather some more, needing to vent my frustration.
Walking would be faster but the nearest drugstore is a
couple of miles down the secondary road the trail leads to.
As soon as I hit it I'll be able to make up for lost time.
I panic at the thought of you, alone and sick and caught out
here in the middle of all this violence. What if you wake
from your restless sleep and there's no one there to cool
down your fever? What if I crash the car and no one knows
to get help to you?
Shaking my head in rueful acceptance of the turn my
thoughts have taken, I find I have enough sense to laugh
at myself for my earlier bravura, thinking I could
deliberately hurt you.
If the accidental injuries you suffered while you struggled
against me could leave me feeling like a heel and
scrambling to undo some of the damage, how am I going
to feel when you're hurt because of a premeditated act of
cruelty on my part? It's just not going to happen, my man, I
tell myself. You could no sooner hurt her on purpose than
cut off one of your own limbs.
That leaves me in somewhat of a quandary, as it closes off
the last avenue I thought I had of getting you to listen and
agree with me, but then with a flash of insight, I realize
your immediate need gives me a new handhold.
If I get you the help you need and get you well again, we'll
have a basis from which to proceed, won't we? I'll have
saved you and you'll be in my debt. The thought infuses
me with purpose and I step on the gas as much as I dare.
>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~><~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~<
I cannot believe my eyes when I finally make it back and
skid to a halt by your bedside, medicine and bandages and
enough painkillers to knock out a horse stuffed in various
pockets.
The manacle that enclosed your ankle is on the bed.
There's a bit of blood on it, more on the sheets beneath it.
The broken corkscrew you must have appropriated during
our aborted candlelit dinner and used to free yourself, is
lying next to it.
The meager evidence is all that's left of your presence in
the room.
When I touch the metal bracelet, it still retains traces of
your body heat, and I know it means you're not far off. You
can't be moving too fast either. Though I now realize you
were faking some of your earlier weakness, the fever I felt
in you was real, as was the injury to your arm.
"God dammit!" I curse, swerving around and dashing
outside into the pouring rain again.
I stop on the porch and try to figure out which way you're
headed. I saw no sign of you when I approached just now,
but figure your best bet would be to follow the dirt path
back to the road and that's probably my best bet at
recapturing you as well. Going any other way would get
you lost in the woods. I'm sure you're clear headed enough
to understand that, if you were lucid enough to get me out
of the cabin and get yourself free. You probably saw me
coming by the shine of the headlights and hid in the
bushes until I passed you on my way to the cabin huh?
I start jogging back up the way I came. You're never going
to make it as far as the main road in your condition but I'm
not taking any chances slowing myself down taking the
car. It can only travel the dirt road at a snail's pace now,
what with the puddles and the mud and the rain still
coming down in sheets.
When after a few minutes I trip over your trench coat, lying
abandoned by the side of the road I know I'm going in the
right direction and I pick up my pace.
I'm concerned that you would dispose of your coat like
that. No doubt the heavy waterlogged material was slowing
you down, but at least it would have kept you somewhat
warm. The foolish action, I feel, speaks to your fevered
state of mind. I fear that, if I don't get you out of this
freezing downpour, your temperature will skyrocket and
add to your illness. The thought adds to my urgency. If I
don't get you warm soon, I know we're going to need a
doctor and then the game will be up.
Wet branches slap me in the face and mud is churning
along the dirt road, which is actually a dry river bed, I now
remember. The bad weather makes keeping up any sort of
pace increasingly difficult. I'm starting to get out of breath
and wonder how you managed to get so far.
When lightning splices the sky in two, I can make out your
tiny figure stumbling along the trail in the distance and I
breathe a sigh of relief, tuck my chin into my chest and
force a renewed burst of speed from my tired muscles,
running heedlessly after you.
"Jesus Scully," I suddenly hear a heavy voice call out and
looking up, I throw on the brakes, bringing myself to a halt
behind an oak tree big enough to comfortably hide me from
sight. Just in time too.
Up ahead, a car is parked diagonally across the dirt road.
The lights are off which tells me whoever it is, was hoping
to come down the trail undetected, probably after you and
therefore after me.
When the headlights come on, I squint into the glare and
see you come skidding to a halt, catching yourself on the
hood when you slip in the mud and start to topple over.
The driver's door is already open and a shadowy figure
unfolds itself from behind the steering wheel and comes to
stand towering above you.
"Sir?" You look up and then your legs buckle and you start
to fall to the ground. He catches you and, hanging limply in
those massive arms, you seem even tinier than you did
fleeing ahead of me moments earlier.
I'm close enough to make out the relieved expression on
your face and hear the way his breath explodes from him
when you curl into his warmth.
"Yeah, it's me Scully," Skinner says as he takes off his coat
and wraps you in it, then slides his arms around you
gently, as if you might shatter if he touches you too
roughly.
For all the care he displays, you moan as he starts to pick
you up. Startled he lets go, intending to set you down but
when your feet touch the ground, your legs fold, refusing to
carry you any longer. He kneels down with you when you
start to slide down his body and his big hands flutter over
your face.
"What is it?"
"Hurts."
"I figured," he says, "but where?" He whips out his cell
phone and with his other hand peels the coat from you and
tries to assess your injuries. He touches your damaged
arm, talking urgently into the phone and meanwhile
handling you with more gentle concern than I ever thought
he would be capable of. You shudder as his fingers trail
over your bruises and he shudders with you. Cursing under
his breath, his hand moves lower and comes to rest on
your stomach.
"I'm okay." You lift your good arm and put your hand over
his big fist. The way those two hands lie on your belly,
fingers intertwined, his big hand swallowing your much
smaller one, seems very intimate, much more so than
would be appropriate for a special agent and her superior
officer.
A tight grimace stretches his cheeks as he flips the cell
phone shut and pockets it. "Scully where is he?"
"Don't know," you whisper and then you dissolve into a
coughing fit that leaves you breathless and leaves him
shaken. He wraps his coat tightly around your shivering
body again, all the while looking around intently, peering
into the bushes, eyes drilling holes through the trees.
Where his cell phone was moments ago, I now see the dull
shine of a gun.
Your hand sneaks from the folds of his coat and reaches
up to touch his cheek. He looks down at the contact.
"Hospital." Your voice is so faint now I have to guess at
what you're saying. Skinner nods once and when he does
you sigh and your body goes slack in his arms.
As his arms go around you again, infinitely careful now, he
bellows my name -- wrapped up in a curse -- and I
suddenly realize he utters yours as often as Mulder does.
I also realize he has yet to call you 'Dana' and at least part
of the puzzle of his presence falls into place.
You're Scully to him.
What you and Skinner share is a faint echo of what you
and Mulder share, and one of its exponents is the use of
your last names. I'd thought it one of Spooky's many
idiosyncrasies but either Skinner has picked it up from him
or there's something to the syllables of your name that
make these men who protect and care for you want to
speak it aloud as much as possible.
You knew signing your first name to that letter would get
his radar up didn't you.
Crafty, Agent Scully, very crafty, I praise you even as I
curse you.
As Skinner picks you up and walks back to his car, I start
to wonder what brought him here. It can't have been the
letter, other than that tiny oversight I was very thorough in
erasing any trace evidence. I think back, trying to see
where I went wrong the past couple of days, trying to figure
out what gave me away, but nothing comes to mind.
I have a window of opportunity, when Skinner unlocks the
backdoor and then bends over to gently put you down on
the backseat, where I can still turn this whole thing back to
my advantage. All I have to do is come up behind him and
knock him out, and we're on our way, you and I, off to fight
another day.
I contemplate it for a moment but realize that somewhere
along the line, I already grasped the fact that your
conversion is just not going to happen while Mulder is still
in the picture. I've also begun to comprehend that he
always will be in there, whether he's actually physically
with you or not.
When Skinner straightens up the moment is gone, I'm not
sure I could have taken him anyway. The bastard is a hell
of a lot bigger than I am, after all.
I hear him say something to you and realize you're still
conscious. Unable to make out what he's telling you, I creep
closer in time to hear you laugh softly in reply. The sound
is so startling I nearly give myself away gasping aloud.
"How did you...find me?" Your voice floats towards me
from the backseat of the car, where Skinner is crouched
down beside you in the open door.
He frowns in obvious concern at the way your belabored
breathing makes speaking difficult. "The stupid bastard
fucked up telling me maybe you'd gone back to Oregon."
Damn.
Such a tiny slip up, and the bastard notices.
But then, he personally saw to it that your little trip to
Oregon was buried so deep nobody would be able to trace
it, didn't he?
So he would pick up on it, wouldn't he?
Stupid, stupid, stupid asshole, I scold myself, pounding my
fist into the mud. My knuckle hits something sharp and
hard, a rock or maybe the root of the tree I'm hiding
behind, and pain surges through my hand. It clears my
head enough that I can follow the thread of your
conversation but what I hear only infuriates me further.
"He would mess up...trying to suck up." You're wheezing
now and the harsh sound of your breath as it rattles in your
chest provides a counterpoint to the cutting words spoken
so softly.
Skinner lets out a startled guffaw. "He would wouldn't he?"
"Seems to be a pattern there..."
"Yeah."
"Maybe we should tell him?"
When you try to elaborate he shushes you and swipes
your soggy hair away from your brow, tucking it behind
your ear. The tendrils are so heavy with rain they
immediately slip out from behind your ear again and he
has to repeat the gesture, again and again.
"Yeah, maybe we should Scully. Just as soon as we find
him"
"Hmm..."
"But not before I kick the shit out of him okay?"
"Deal."
The rain is letting up and through the absence of the
steady drum of water pounding the ground I can hear
sirens in the distance. I slink off into the woods, realizing
just in time that if I don't get out of here in a hurry, I never
will. From what I just heard, I've no doubt Skinner would
make sure of that if he gets his hands on me now.
I throw one glance back over my shoulder and see him
tucking his coat around your shoulders like it's a blanket
and you're a wayward child up way past her bedtime. I'm
instantly jealous at the easy rapport between the two of
you. The sight of it makes me sick and I wonder why we
weren't able to establish such familiarity.
I know it wasn't for lack of trying on my part.
I'll have to ask you later.
>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~><~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~<
"Welcome back baby girl. You gave us all quit a scare."
Your mother's voice drifts out into the hallway and it's too
bright, with a note of forced cheerfulness to it that doesn't
convince. I haven't had occasion to hear her speak before
today, but I can guess she doesn't normally sound like this.
I think she usually sounds more like you, or you sound like
her -- whatever -- serious though and controlled.
I'm just outside your room; have been hovering in the
hallway for hours. Walking into the hospital and finding
your room was absurdly easy but Skinner was standing
guard outside your door until just a few minutes ago. He
came in to relieve the three geeks and only went for some
coffee when your mother arrived, but I know soon he'll be
back to take root outside the room again and he's not
going to allow anyone but your inner circle of five access to
you.
I know there's no getting to you now, no window of time
sufficient for me to snatch you away and allow us to
continue where we left off.
I don't know that I want to either.
The past few days I spent with you have convinced me you
are beyond help, I thought about it long and hard while
struggling through the woods making my escape and came
to the conclusion that I don't want any more to do with your
pathetic obsession. Getting that idiot partner of yours back
is all that matters to you and even though I care for you as
much now as I did before we were thrown together, I don't
want any part of this insanity between you two.
I'm here because what I do want, is for you to have one
last reminder of our time together and of what you've given
up on. I gave it to your mother just now, taking a chance
knocking on your door and handing it to her. When she told
me you were asleep but she'd be sure to mention I came
by when you woke up, I smiled politely and left, taking up
position outside your room again where I can keep one eye
out for Skinner while listening for you.
I want one last look at you, want to see your face flush with
one last memory of you and me, before taking my leave
and leaving you to it. Giving up on you doesn't mean I can
let go of you without regrets.
"Hmm... 'm sorry." Your beautiful voice is barely a
whisper but I perk up at the sound just the same while at
the same time my heart clenches tight as a fist in my chest.
Your mother's voice is soft and I have to strain to make out
what she's saying. "I thought that this time I'd lost you, lost
both of you."
I'm disgusted at the fact that your mother too is obviously
smitten with Mulder and is as concerned about his
wellbeing as everyone else around you is.
"We're okay Mom," you say. I wonder how you can say it
with such surety when you told me earlier that you have no
clue where the hell the bastard is.
"I know." There's sadness in that soft voice and I think that
even though she's infatuated with Mulder, she sees the
damage he's done as well as I do. "And I know there was
nothing you or I could have done to prevent this from
happening."
"Don't feel bad, please?" You sound like a small child
might sound trying to console a grown-up.
"I'll be okay. I just can't help wishing I could take you home
with me and protect you and never let you out of my sight
again." She injects some levity into her voice and this time
it sounds less strained. "It's a mother thing, you'll recognize
it."
I peek into the room and see you lying in a bed that makes
you look even smaller than you are. You look tired and
much too pale but thankfully, the swelling around your eye
has gone down a bit and you seem to be breathing easier
than when I last saw you. Your wrists are bandaged and
your left arm is in a heavy cast and sling but otherwise you
look okay and I'm relieved. You could have done yourself
some serious damage going into the woods without your
coat in the middle of a thunderstorm, running away from
me as if I was going to hurt you.
Your mother is just getting up as I peek in. She has the
shoebox full of photographs I handed her in her hands and
has the one we fought over clutched in her fist, just you
now, sans Mulder.
"Where did you get those?" you say and your voice is
edged with caution, whetted with anger. Alarm colors your
pale cheeks and makes your eyes flash with that blue
flame that burns and blisters -- hot and cold.
I smile.
From now on, when you think of me it will be with a stir of
this complex mix of feelings, it's enough to make me smile.
No more callous disregard, no more disinterest and
absence of emotion, I've left my mark on you and it will be
with you forever, it's not what I envisaged when we started
out on our journey -- you and I -- but it will have to do.
Your mother sounds alarmed at the agitation in your voice.
"From a young man who came by earlier when you were
still asleep," she says carefully. "I thought he was one of
your colleagues? He said to tell you to get well soon and
that you'd know what to do with them."
I see you reach out for the box with your good hand and
rummage in it a bit. You come up with the first photograph I
had up on the wall in your room, the one of you entering a
classroom. You look at it for a full minute, lost in thought,
and your mother sits back in her chair and observes you
with a strange expression of uneasy patience on her face.
"Mom, do I look different to you?" you finally ask as you
show the picture to her.
She looks at it but doesn't take it. "Sweetie," she says as
she puts her hand to your cheek and forces you to look her
in the eye, "you're still my curious little girl, fascinated with
the world taking shape around you. Through everything
that's happened to you throughout your life, I've never
stopped seeing that precocious little girl in you."
"Do you think I will look different to Mulder when he gets
back?"
She breathes a weary little sigh. "I don't know, maybe you
will, or maybe he'll just look differently AT you, have you
ever considered that?"
"How? How will he look at me?" The picture crumples in
your tight grip and you don't even notice it you're so intent
on hearing your mother's reply.
"We're different things to different people and different
people see different things in us." Her hand strays to your
clenched first and she enfolds your fingers in her own. "To
me you'll always be my sweet baby girl. Even though
you're older now and have experienced more than I ever
will, that's who I see when I look at you."
"How can you say that mom? This can hardly be where
you'd always hoped I'd wind up." You're obviously
surprised at your mother's statement and there's caution in
your voice and in your face; you look and sound like you
want to believe her but don't know how to.
"Perhaps not." Your mother gets up and straightens out the
blankets covering you, fiddling with them a bit, trying to
gather her thoughts perhaps. She looks up and meets your
eyes and something in them makes her sigh. "Honey, from
what I hear that awful man just saw you as an ideal of what
you once were -- an abstraction of what you might have
been and could have done for him. All he saw was how
you diverged from that, and how in his deluded mind it hurt
him. He refused to see that maybe where you are now is
where you were destined to be all along, with memories
both GOOD and bad shaping your decisions." She sits
down with a small sigh and takes your good hand in hers
again, swiping her thumb over the bruise on the back of it.
"I'm not about to make that same mistake."
"Thank you mom." The look of relief on your face is
unmistakable.
"You're welcome honey."
Tenacious as ever you don't let it go at that though and
after a moment you press on. "What about Mulder? Do you
think that's how he sees it, how he sees me?"
For some reason, your mother smiles at that. "Don't you
know by now that Fox sees ALL of you and loves all of
you. Stubbornness and pride included, fear and
compassion, loyalty and pain. He loves all these things in
you because the sum of them is YOU." She pats your
hand and then takes the crumpled picture from you. She
carefully puts it in with the others, then gets up and
unceremoniously dumps the shoebox in the dustbin
standing in the corner of your room. Smiling she sits down
beside you again and looks you in the eye with such love
and pride. "When he comes back he'll see a new side of
you and love it too, he'll love both of you."
I turn away from your room; revolted at the nonsense I just
heard your mother spew and the wide smile with which you
took in her words.
I'm an awful man and Mulder's a saint, I'm deluded and
he's the sane one.
That's rich, that's just wonderful.
There's no saving you OR her.
Then suddenly what she said -- what you both have been
saying -- sinks in and I stop in my tracks, flabbergasted.
"He'll love both of you."
"We're fine Mom."
"I thought I'd lost both of you."
Shit!Shit!Shit!
Fuck!
They weren't kidding at the water cooler; they weren't
kidding, you're fucking pregnant, with Mulder's fucking
baby.
No wonder there was no persuading you from his side.
I turn back towards your room, mouth gaping open in
surprise and your mother's in the doorway. I realize I must
have cursed aloud as I see you struggling to get out of
your bed in the background, eyes huge in your pale face.
There's a familiar determined set to your jaw and one
handed as you are, you're still going for your gun on the
bedside table rather than the call button that will bring the
hospital staff to your side in three seconds flat.
I realize there's only one thing left for me, and start to
sprint towards the stairwell.
"Stop right there!" you bellow and heads swivel as your
voice thunders through the hallway -- clear and strong.
I pay no heed to the command and keep running, certain
for some reason that you won't shoot me. I reach the
stairwell and throw open the door and I don't stop, even
when you fire off a warning shot that drills into the door
post with deadly accuracy and showers my face with tiny
slivers of wood.
I'm nearly through the door when something slams into my
shoulder, searing a pathway across my nerves. I crash to
the floor, clutching my shoulder in agony.
Tears blur my vision and when I blink them away Skinner
is approaching, a predatory smile on his face.
You are right behind him; gun still clutched in your good
hand. The smile on your face is even more feral than the
one Skinner is threatening me with. It's the last I see of you
before Skinner kicks me onto my stomach and clicks his
handcuffs around my wrists.
All that's left to me of you now, is your voice.
"Colton, you bastard." Your tone is filled with contempt.
"You're under arrest!"
No disinterest in your voice or words certainly, but none of
the other emotions I'd banked on either, just a weary kind
of disgust.
I realize then that I've lost and I never stood a chance to
begin with. You're so much stronger than I am, even
without that Spooky fuck by your side -- pun intended,
yeah.
Perhaps next time I should find a more impressionable
subject? Thoughts of the baby you carry fill my mind. Your
child and Mulder's, it would certainly be fitting wouldn't it?
As Skinner jerks me to my feet and starts marching me
down the hall away from you, it slowly dawns on me that
it's never going to happen though. Not as long as you have
people so faithfully looking out for you, and the thought of
Mulder to sustain you.
Not as long as you have all that, and have yourself to cling
to too.
~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~><~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~
End: Ignis Fatuus 4/4
This and my other fic efforts can be found at:
http://www.angelfire.com/ga2/lydx/myfic.html
Remember, feedback is food for the soul. Comments,
negative or positive as long as they're constructive, will be
replied to.
Mail me at: ly...@angelfire.com
~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~><~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~
"There are only ten ideas...
What makes the difference is how you spice them."
Tori Amos
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DBKate
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LittleEgle
read...
Dallas...>::)