In Memorium
She wakes.
Groaning, the woman sits up and stretches. She swings her feet to the floor, the chill jolting through her limbs. Yawning, rubbing sleep from her denim-blue eyes, she stands up and gently pads over to her dresser, on top of which rests a simple, plain mirror.
She looks.
Staring back at her, she sees a girl. Not a woman, as some would call her, but not a child, either. A girl fresh with optimism, ready to do her part, make her mark.make others proud. A girl eager to please, as yet untouched by corruption.
She sighs.
Hardly selfless, she thinks to herself, but then, who is? Everyone wants what's best for them, and no one thinks of their neighbor. But she can change that. She knows she can. If only someone will give her a chance.
She dresses.
Her suit is simple, nothing elaborate or fancy. It wouldn't earn a second glance, but she's fine with that. She's not one for fashion, as anyone can plainly see, but it doesn't matter. She never really cared what people thought, anyway. She still doesn't. Unlike many of her colleagues, she's fine with who she is, what she's done. Well, she corrects herself silently, most things she's done. Her mind drifts back to one particular instance.
She remembers.
She thinks of faces and of names, some forgotten and no longer matching up, others as fresh as ever. Fresh.and painful. She remembers one above all the rest. She remembers Daniel. She remembers skin against skin, gasping for breath, light-headed in her delirium. She remembers whispers, hot against her ear, tickling and pleasing. She remembers being held long into the night, remembers being naïve, being contented. She remembers saying goodbye.
She mourns.
Saying goodbye is never the problem. It's trying to say hello again that gets to her. It's wondering if she made the right decision that time, at the end, or even if she had at the beginning. It's the anger that comes when she thinks she's failed. It's the sickening feeling in her stomach when she realizes that others will have to suffer because of her stupidity and selfishness. Others. Daniel's daughters. His wife.
She forgives.
She loved Daniel, she really did, but she was young, and people change. Besides, she has nothing else to compare it with, so how can she be sure that was really love? She thinks about it, and that excuse sounds pitiful, even to her own ears. She did love him, doesn't want to have loved him, maybe, but she did. But it's over now and she can't change anything. She feels relief as she realizes that what's done is done. She can finally stop looking over her shoulder and concentrate on what's ahead.
She drives.
Getting into her car, she makes her way to her new building. This is the place, she thinks, where I will finally stand out. This is where I can forget my mistakes and start anew. After a brief meeting with a superior, she descends the stairs to the basement. It is dark and damp. Peeling paint on the walls, and folders, lying forgotten on the floor tell her that she is one of the few, infrequent visitors down here. A door hangs partially open, revealing an office in disarray. She quietly pushes the door open the whole way and steps into the office. A young man sits in front of her, back towards her, apparently oblivious to all but his work.
She stares.
The man has thick chestnut hair trimmed neatly to reveal an elongated neck. He is bent over a sheet of slides, staring, enraptured, at the pictures they show. She wonders briefly what he sees as he looks at them, what mysteries they hold for him. He shifts and moves to arrange another slide over the light, still completely ignorant of her presence behind him. As he stirs, so does something inside her. She finds herself wondering what his voice is like, his eyes, his face.
She smiles.
"Agent Mulder? I'm Dana Scully, I've been assigned to work with you."
FINIS
She wakes.
Groaning, the woman sits up and stretches. She swings her feet to the floor, the chill jolting through her limbs. Yawning, rubbing sleep from her denim-blue eyes, she stands up and gently pads over to her dresser, on top of which rests a simple, plain mirror.
She looks.
Staring back at her, she sees a girl. Not a woman, as some would call her, but not a child, either. A girl fresh with optimism, ready to do her part, make her mark.make others proud. A girl eager to please, as yet untouched by corruption.
She sighs.
Hardly selfless, she thinks to herself, but then, who is? Everyone wants what's best for them, and no one thinks of their neighbor. But she can change that. She knows she can. If only someone will give her a chance.
She dresses.
Her suit is simple, nothing elaborate or fancy. It wouldn't earn a second glance, but she's fine with that. She's not one for fashion, as anyone can plainly see, but it doesn't matter. She never really cared what people thought, anyway. She still doesn't. Unlike many of her colleagues, she's fine with who she is, what she's done. Well, she corrects herself silently, most things she's done. Her mind drifts back to one particular instance.
She remembers.
She thinks of faces and of names, some forgotten and no longer matching up, others as fresh as ever. Fresh.and painful. She remembers one above all the rest. She remembers Daniel. She remembers skin against skin, gasping for breath, light-headed in her delirium. She remembers whispers, hot against her ear, tickling and pleasing. She remembers being held long into the night, remembers being naïve, being contented. She remembers saying goodbye.
She mourns.
Saying goodbye is never the problem. It's trying to say hello again that gets to her. It's wondering if she made the right decision that time, at the end, or even if she had at the beginning. It's the anger that comes when she thinks she's failed. It's the sickening feeling in her stomach when she realizes that others will have to suffer because of her stupidity and selfishness. Others. Daniel's daughters. His wife.
She forgives.
She loved Daniel, she really did, but she was young, and people change. Besides, she has nothing else to compare it with, so how can she be sure that was really love? She thinks about it, and that excuse sounds pitiful, even to her own ears. She did love him, doesn't want to have loved him, maybe, but she did. But it's over now and she can't change anything. She feels relief as she realizes that what's done is done. She can finally stop looking over her shoulder and concentrate on what's ahead.
She drives.
Getting into her car, she makes her way to her new building. This is the place, she thinks, where I will finally stand out. This is where I can forget my mistakes and start anew. After a brief meeting with a superior, she descends the stairs to the basement. It is dark and damp. Peeling paint on the walls, and folders, lying forgotten on the floor tell her that she is one of the few, infrequent visitors down here. A door hangs partially open, revealing an office in disarray. She quietly pushes the door open the whole way and steps into the office. A young man sits in front of her, back towards her, apparently oblivious to all but his work.
She stares.
The man has thick chestnut hair trimmed neatly to reveal an elongated neck. He is bent over a sheet of slides, staring, enraptured, at the pictures they show. She wonders briefly what he sees as he looks at them, what mysteries they hold for him. He shifts and moves to arrange another slide over the light, still completely ignorant of her presence behind him. As he stirs, so does something inside her. She finds herself wondering what his voice is like, his eyes, his face.
She smiles.
"Agent Mulder? I'm Dana Scully, I've been assigned to work with you."
FINIS
