Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Files or anything associated with the show. This seems to me a very tragic twist of fate, but being by nature a very honest person (as well as possessing a slight aversion to lawsuits that could rob me of my income for the next 20 years) I am compelled to make this statement.
Author's Note: I have only seen a handful of X-Files episodes. I adore this show hugely, but I can only catch it in syndication when I am home from school on time, as I can not afford the seasons on DVD. Therefor, I do not pretend to know much about the overall storyline. This story has no particular time during which it takes place, and is told from Mulder's perspective, at least for this chapter. I may decide to continue the story, if it is well received, so please review if you like it, or even if do not- feedback is very much appreciated.
I suppose I'll never have the "normal" life so many people seem to crave. The job I have would never allow it. But I knew this when I chose my life, and I can accept the results. My work really transcends the classification of "career" or any other term that implies something you do to make a living.
I'm driving to the newest crime scene in a long line of them. I got the call informing me of the new victim at three this morning, and I immediately called Scully. It's funny, how I never hesitate to do that- it's the natural thing to do, it seems. And she rarely says anything about the hour or the timing- if I tell her I need her, she's ready in five minutes, looking as capable and awake as ever. So here it is four-thirty in the morning and we're thirty minutes outside of Baltimore, out to investigate what appears to be another psychotic ritualistic serial killer. We seem to get a lot of those.
The hour is not one for excessive conversation, and Scully is staring out the passenger's window. Sometimes I know exactly what she's thinking, but not at times like this. Still, the presence is comforting. I know Scully was meant as a spy and a critic when the Bureau assigned to the X-Files, but I never could have gotten as far as we have alone. In all truth, without Scully, where I would be right now is about six feet under ground.
Scully is the most important person in my life, which makes sense, as she's the person most closely connected with my crusade for the truth. How can you classify a relationship like ours? I rarely bother trying, because people don't understand. How could they? They don't live lives that require them to have absolute and unquestioning trust in someone else as a matter of life or death. I've lost track amount of the times we've our put lives or reputations into each others hands.
Friendship is too small a word for a relationship like ours, love too general a term. There are a lot of people out there who say they would die for another, but how often is that put to the test? And for those truly mean it, how many of them could accept the fact that although they can do all in their power to protect their partner from the actual bullets, they would have to allow their partner to go with them into the most dangerous situations imaginable. This isn't a matter of the stronger protecting the weaker- it's a matter of each person throwing their entire character behind the other, and hoping the combined strength is enough to survive the league of persons who are attempting to destroy you and the person you hold closest to your heart.
Of course, a relationship like that makes it difficult to have other relationships. Women tend to look askance at Dana. And it's understandable that they don't want to be the less important women in their boyfriend's life. Because while the feelings I have toward a date might be different then mine for Scully, they'll never be deeper. Still, I realize this means I might never have a family, or children. And that does bother me. But when my mother used to look at me and ask me if it was enough, if I had enough, I would always tell her truthfully that I did. That I do.
I wonder if she would tell me what she's thinking about if I asked her? Unlike me, Scully hasn't devoted her entire life to investigations. It's the biggest part of her life now, true, but she has considerable family, a medical degree, and memories of a life much different then the one she's currently living. She doesn't talk about all that very much. Scully's such a personal person- but so am I for that matter. Still, even if we don't discuss them very often, I know that Scully depends as much on me in genuine personal crisis as I do on her.
We're only two miles outside the city now, and the sun should rise shortly. I'm always having these odd reveries on trips like this, on one subject or another. But in a matter of minutes my full attention will be demanded by more immediate matters. Maybe heaven knows what this case will end up embroiling us in, but I don't. The thing about existing constantly on the edge of revelation and conspiracy is that the future is never predictable.
Author's Note: I have only seen a handful of X-Files episodes. I adore this show hugely, but I can only catch it in syndication when I am home from school on time, as I can not afford the seasons on DVD. Therefor, I do not pretend to know much about the overall storyline. This story has no particular time during which it takes place, and is told from Mulder's perspective, at least for this chapter. I may decide to continue the story, if it is well received, so please review if you like it, or even if do not- feedback is very much appreciated.
I suppose I'll never have the "normal" life so many people seem to crave. The job I have would never allow it. But I knew this when I chose my life, and I can accept the results. My work really transcends the classification of "career" or any other term that implies something you do to make a living.
I'm driving to the newest crime scene in a long line of them. I got the call informing me of the new victim at three this morning, and I immediately called Scully. It's funny, how I never hesitate to do that- it's the natural thing to do, it seems. And she rarely says anything about the hour or the timing- if I tell her I need her, she's ready in five minutes, looking as capable and awake as ever. So here it is four-thirty in the morning and we're thirty minutes outside of Baltimore, out to investigate what appears to be another psychotic ritualistic serial killer. We seem to get a lot of those.
The hour is not one for excessive conversation, and Scully is staring out the passenger's window. Sometimes I know exactly what she's thinking, but not at times like this. Still, the presence is comforting. I know Scully was meant as a spy and a critic when the Bureau assigned to the X-Files, but I never could have gotten as far as we have alone. In all truth, without Scully, where I would be right now is about six feet under ground.
Scully is the most important person in my life, which makes sense, as she's the person most closely connected with my crusade for the truth. How can you classify a relationship like ours? I rarely bother trying, because people don't understand. How could they? They don't live lives that require them to have absolute and unquestioning trust in someone else as a matter of life or death. I've lost track amount of the times we've our put lives or reputations into each others hands.
Friendship is too small a word for a relationship like ours, love too general a term. There are a lot of people out there who say they would die for another, but how often is that put to the test? And for those truly mean it, how many of them could accept the fact that although they can do all in their power to protect their partner from the actual bullets, they would have to allow their partner to go with them into the most dangerous situations imaginable. This isn't a matter of the stronger protecting the weaker- it's a matter of each person throwing their entire character behind the other, and hoping the combined strength is enough to survive the league of persons who are attempting to destroy you and the person you hold closest to your heart.
Of course, a relationship like that makes it difficult to have other relationships. Women tend to look askance at Dana. And it's understandable that they don't want to be the less important women in their boyfriend's life. Because while the feelings I have toward a date might be different then mine for Scully, they'll never be deeper. Still, I realize this means I might never have a family, or children. And that does bother me. But when my mother used to look at me and ask me if it was enough, if I had enough, I would always tell her truthfully that I did. That I do.
I wonder if she would tell me what she's thinking about if I asked her? Unlike me, Scully hasn't devoted her entire life to investigations. It's the biggest part of her life now, true, but she has considerable family, a medical degree, and memories of a life much different then the one she's currently living. She doesn't talk about all that very much. Scully's such a personal person- but so am I for that matter. Still, even if we don't discuss them very often, I know that Scully depends as much on me in genuine personal crisis as I do on her.
We're only two miles outside the city now, and the sun should rise shortly. I'm always having these odd reveries on trips like this, on one subject or another. But in a matter of minutes my full attention will be demanded by more immediate matters. Maybe heaven knows what this case will end up embroiling us in, but I don't. The thing about existing constantly on the edge of revelation and conspiracy is that the future is never predictable.