Title: "Shattered Soul"
Author: Heather Horn
Rating: G
Category: V, A, MSF
Original Post Date: 09/03/00 - Revised 03/27/02
Spoilers: "Irresistible"
Summary: There is strength within forgiveness that can
brighten even the darkest hour.
Distribution: Anywhere and everywhere. Please keep my name
attached, and let me know where you are putting it. Thank
you!
Feedback: Please send any comments - kisses and flames are
both greatly appreciated - to heathabear@hotmail.com.
Thanks a billion!
Disclaimer: "The X-Files" is copyright Chris Carter, 1013
Productions, and The FOX Network. No money is being made
from this. No copyright infringement is intended.
Acknowledgements: Thanks, Marie, for all of your hard work,
kind words, and input - you're the best beta-reader a
writer could ever ask for. Thanks, Char, for your help with
grammar - I owe you one. Thanks, Jewel, for starting the
marvelous Chuckles Scully revolution.
"Love is the sunlight of the soul." - "Rigoletto"
"Shattered Soul" (1/1)
By Heather Horn
You know that feeling that you get when you have been on
your feet all day, and your legs feel as if they could
fall right off of your body at any given moment? You
climb into bed, wanting nothing more than a good night's
sleep, an escape from the agony of the real world.
Rest is out of the question, though. It was never in the
question to begin with. The sore muscles in your thighs
generate a surging ache that travels up your body, through
your stomach and arms, tensing your shoulders as the pain
reaches your head. The night is spent tossing and turning,
like a small child on Christmas Eve.
For the child, though, there is mirth at sunrise.
Shiny paper will fly from the delicately wrapped presents as
that special toy is uncovered.
Sleeplessness induced by pain only brings further pain in
the morning. At daybreak, the only thing to look forward
to is another dose of acetaminophen.
Over the past two years, many a night have I spent
in this manner, far more than I care to remember. I have
learned to deal with physical pain. Cuts and bruises are only
on the surface. Though painful to the touch, they heal over
time. As a scientist and a medical doctor, I could only hope
to someday develop a cure for what currently ailed me.
My mind.
My heart.
My soul.
Mine.
These things have been taken from me, just as your sister has
been taken from you. My mission ran parallel to yours as
well. I would find what I had lost, if it was the last thing
that this life would allow me to do.
You offered to stay, but I declined - I only wanted to
sleep. As you stared into my eyes, frantically searching for
some sign of life, I forced myself to look away. I regretted
this action almost immediately, and slowly fixed my eyes
with yours. Without ever saying a word, you knew. You knew
as well as you knew how to breathe that Donnie Pfaster had
deeply affected me, but I would be fine. You knew that
I needed to be alone, I needed to rest. You respected my
wish, respected me as I know you always will. You tucked me
into the strange, yet all too familiar motel bed, then
pulled the covers up to my chin. As you walked to the door,
your step slightly slower than usual, you whispered your
standard "Good night, Scully," and added an "I'm next
door if you need anything" to boot.
You have been my friend and my savior, through thick and
thin. I have come to trust you. Only you. As you cradled me
in your arms earlier this evening, all the demons momentarily
left my body. I did not want to tell you. Yanking out my
wisdom teeth with a pair of pliers sounded more appealing.
I wanted to be your friend, your equal. What I did not want
was for you to know that I needed you. I would not tell
you, I could not. As I stood before you, torn and tattered,
I promised myself that, despite whatever else I did, I would
not shatter. I would not let down my guard.
As much as I hate to admit it, everyone breaks a promise
once or twice in his or her life. I suppose I broke my own
promise - part of it, anyway. I let down my guard, in front
of Donnie Pfaster, in front Moe Bocks.
In front of you.
The funny thing is, I did not feel the least bit sorry
about my broken vow. No regret, no foot-in-mouth scenario.
The last promise that I broke was when I was
seventeen-years-old. I had promised Charlie, who preferred
to be called "Chaz" at the time, that I would pick him up
from the county fair at ten o'clock. Rain began to fall by
the bucketful, and I fell asleep on the couch with the
pitter-patter of raindrops reverberating in my ears.
Charlie had trusted me to pick him up. Some sister I was,
peacefully sleeping on the couch as Charlie was soaked
to the core.
The phone lines were down, so he could not even call. His
friends had left the fair long ago, and Charlie was left
alone. Sometime after midnight, I heard the door crack open.
"Mom? Is that you?" I rubbed my eyes, sitting up on the
couch.
"Guess again."
There stood my baby brother, drenched in enough water to
fill a swimming pool. His eyes closed as he shook his
head in disappointment, then he retired to his bedroom,
letting out a deep, congested cough as he headed up the
staircase.
"Oh, my God, Chaz, I am so sorry!" I cried after him, but
he was gone. I had never felt so terrible in my life, and
to add to my guilty conscience, he woke up the next morning
with the flu. I took care of him for a week, bought him
gifts, did his chores. He claimed that he forgave me.
Of course he forgave me. After all, he was the antithesis
of Bill.
But there is no worse feeling than knowing that you have let
someone down.
Did I let you down tonight? Did I disappoint you in a way
that I would have deemed unimaginable prior to this case?
Your warm embrace told me no. Silence surrounded us, but
I heard your unspoken words none the less, clearer than the
sky on a crisp autumn day:
It is okay to let it all out. I am your friend. I am here
for you.
Even angels fall.
So do FBI agents.
You comforted me, your thoughts consoled me. As I lie in
bed, though, my mind tells me that I need more than your
approval. I need my own approval as well.
I had not made any promises to anyone, not even myself,
since I broke my promise to Charlie. It is easier to keep
promises if you do not make them at all. Tonight, I
discarded this belief. I made a promise, and I broke
half of it just as quickly.
Charlie forgave me. Could I forgive myself?
My eyelids fluttered shut, and my life ran through my
mind in snippets. There were heart-wrenching memories,
memories of Donnie Pfaster, of my father's death, of my
broken promise to Charlie.
To prove that my life was not a farce, there were
heart-warming memories as well. Memories of you,
memories of the first time that my father called me
"Starbuck". My favorite memory is of when I was a
little girl, no older than four or five. I had constant
nightmares, but I never screamed - it was as if even in my
sleep, I knew that Bill would eternally tease me for being
a baby.
Instead, I would tiptoe into Mom's room, sniffling and
whimpering as quietly as humanly possible. I climbed into
bed with her, and she instinctively knew that it was me.
She embraced me, let me cry into her nightgown. When I was
through, she turned on the light, scaring all the monsters
away. I sat at the foot of the bed as I told her the details
of the nightmare, and she brushed my long, Annie-red locks
until they were as soft as silk.
My hair.
My eyes popped open as my hands flew directly to my
head, grabbing onto clumps of hair to make sure that it
was still there.
Every strand of hair on my head was accounted for.
My hair.
Not a part of some fetishist's collection, but my hair.
Mine.
At that precise moment in time, I realized that I could
forgive myself. I broke half of my promise, but I kept
the other half better than any promise I have ever kept.
I may have let my guard down, but I did not shatter. I was
on the verge of cracking into a million pieces, but you
caught me before I hit the ground. I knew that you were
there for me. I could count on you.
You saved me.
As long as I have you, I will never shatter. Events may
occur that cause me to drop my guard again, but I now
realize that this is not necessarily a bad thing.
Forgiveness is a virtue, even in forgiving yourself. It
gives a sense of pure serenity and contentment, as do you,
but in a different light.
I have myself, and I have you. The puzzle is complete.
We have each other.
Alone, we are weak and vulnerable. Sophomoric entities,
searching for something ineffable to define ourselves
with.
Together, we create a force stronger than every demon
we will ever face, a bond unbreakable, even against
lies, nightmares, and broken promises.
The journey continues.
Together.
THE END (1/1)
Thank you for taking the time to read "Shattered Soul".
I hope you enjoyed it! Please send any comments - kisses
and flames are both greatly appreciated - to
heathabear@hotmail.com. Thanks a billion!
You can find all of my fan fiction at my website,
Mulder + Scully = True Love
http://mstruelove.tripod.com
"True love is friendship set on fire."
Author: Heather Horn
Rating: G
Category: V, A, MSF
Original Post Date: 09/03/00 - Revised 03/27/02
Spoilers: "Irresistible"
Summary: There is strength within forgiveness that can
brighten even the darkest hour.
Distribution: Anywhere and everywhere. Please keep my name
attached, and let me know where you are putting it. Thank
you!
Feedback: Please send any comments - kisses and flames are
both greatly appreciated - to heathabear@hotmail.com.
Thanks a billion!
Disclaimer: "The X-Files" is copyright Chris Carter, 1013
Productions, and The FOX Network. No money is being made
from this. No copyright infringement is intended.
Acknowledgements: Thanks, Marie, for all of your hard work,
kind words, and input - you're the best beta-reader a
writer could ever ask for. Thanks, Char, for your help with
grammar - I owe you one. Thanks, Jewel, for starting the
marvelous Chuckles Scully revolution.
"Love is the sunlight of the soul." - "Rigoletto"
"Shattered Soul" (1/1)
By Heather Horn
You know that feeling that you get when you have been on
your feet all day, and your legs feel as if they could
fall right off of your body at any given moment? You
climb into bed, wanting nothing more than a good night's
sleep, an escape from the agony of the real world.
Rest is out of the question, though. It was never in the
question to begin with. The sore muscles in your thighs
generate a surging ache that travels up your body, through
your stomach and arms, tensing your shoulders as the pain
reaches your head. The night is spent tossing and turning,
like a small child on Christmas Eve.
For the child, though, there is mirth at sunrise.
Shiny paper will fly from the delicately wrapped presents as
that special toy is uncovered.
Sleeplessness induced by pain only brings further pain in
the morning. At daybreak, the only thing to look forward
to is another dose of acetaminophen.
Over the past two years, many a night have I spent
in this manner, far more than I care to remember. I have
learned to deal with physical pain. Cuts and bruises are only
on the surface. Though painful to the touch, they heal over
time. As a scientist and a medical doctor, I could only hope
to someday develop a cure for what currently ailed me.
My mind.
My heart.
My soul.
Mine.
These things have been taken from me, just as your sister has
been taken from you. My mission ran parallel to yours as
well. I would find what I had lost, if it was the last thing
that this life would allow me to do.
You offered to stay, but I declined - I only wanted to
sleep. As you stared into my eyes, frantically searching for
some sign of life, I forced myself to look away. I regretted
this action almost immediately, and slowly fixed my eyes
with yours. Without ever saying a word, you knew. You knew
as well as you knew how to breathe that Donnie Pfaster had
deeply affected me, but I would be fine. You knew that
I needed to be alone, I needed to rest. You respected my
wish, respected me as I know you always will. You tucked me
into the strange, yet all too familiar motel bed, then
pulled the covers up to my chin. As you walked to the door,
your step slightly slower than usual, you whispered your
standard "Good night, Scully," and added an "I'm next
door if you need anything" to boot.
You have been my friend and my savior, through thick and
thin. I have come to trust you. Only you. As you cradled me
in your arms earlier this evening, all the demons momentarily
left my body. I did not want to tell you. Yanking out my
wisdom teeth with a pair of pliers sounded more appealing.
I wanted to be your friend, your equal. What I did not want
was for you to know that I needed you. I would not tell
you, I could not. As I stood before you, torn and tattered,
I promised myself that, despite whatever else I did, I would
not shatter. I would not let down my guard.
As much as I hate to admit it, everyone breaks a promise
once or twice in his or her life. I suppose I broke my own
promise - part of it, anyway. I let down my guard, in front
of Donnie Pfaster, in front Moe Bocks.
In front of you.
The funny thing is, I did not feel the least bit sorry
about my broken vow. No regret, no foot-in-mouth scenario.
The last promise that I broke was when I was
seventeen-years-old. I had promised Charlie, who preferred
to be called "Chaz" at the time, that I would pick him up
from the county fair at ten o'clock. Rain began to fall by
the bucketful, and I fell asleep on the couch with the
pitter-patter of raindrops reverberating in my ears.
Charlie had trusted me to pick him up. Some sister I was,
peacefully sleeping on the couch as Charlie was soaked
to the core.
The phone lines were down, so he could not even call. His
friends had left the fair long ago, and Charlie was left
alone. Sometime after midnight, I heard the door crack open.
"Mom? Is that you?" I rubbed my eyes, sitting up on the
couch.
"Guess again."
There stood my baby brother, drenched in enough water to
fill a swimming pool. His eyes closed as he shook his
head in disappointment, then he retired to his bedroom,
letting out a deep, congested cough as he headed up the
staircase.
"Oh, my God, Chaz, I am so sorry!" I cried after him, but
he was gone. I had never felt so terrible in my life, and
to add to my guilty conscience, he woke up the next morning
with the flu. I took care of him for a week, bought him
gifts, did his chores. He claimed that he forgave me.
Of course he forgave me. After all, he was the antithesis
of Bill.
But there is no worse feeling than knowing that you have let
someone down.
Did I let you down tonight? Did I disappoint you in a way
that I would have deemed unimaginable prior to this case?
Your warm embrace told me no. Silence surrounded us, but
I heard your unspoken words none the less, clearer than the
sky on a crisp autumn day:
It is okay to let it all out. I am your friend. I am here
for you.
Even angels fall.
So do FBI agents.
You comforted me, your thoughts consoled me. As I lie in
bed, though, my mind tells me that I need more than your
approval. I need my own approval as well.
I had not made any promises to anyone, not even myself,
since I broke my promise to Charlie. It is easier to keep
promises if you do not make them at all. Tonight, I
discarded this belief. I made a promise, and I broke
half of it just as quickly.
Charlie forgave me. Could I forgive myself?
My eyelids fluttered shut, and my life ran through my
mind in snippets. There were heart-wrenching memories,
memories of Donnie Pfaster, of my father's death, of my
broken promise to Charlie.
To prove that my life was not a farce, there were
heart-warming memories as well. Memories of you,
memories of the first time that my father called me
"Starbuck". My favorite memory is of when I was a
little girl, no older than four or five. I had constant
nightmares, but I never screamed - it was as if even in my
sleep, I knew that Bill would eternally tease me for being
a baby.
Instead, I would tiptoe into Mom's room, sniffling and
whimpering as quietly as humanly possible. I climbed into
bed with her, and she instinctively knew that it was me.
She embraced me, let me cry into her nightgown. When I was
through, she turned on the light, scaring all the monsters
away. I sat at the foot of the bed as I told her the details
of the nightmare, and she brushed my long, Annie-red locks
until they were as soft as silk.
My hair.
My eyes popped open as my hands flew directly to my
head, grabbing onto clumps of hair to make sure that it
was still there.
Every strand of hair on my head was accounted for.
My hair.
Not a part of some fetishist's collection, but my hair.
Mine.
At that precise moment in time, I realized that I could
forgive myself. I broke half of my promise, but I kept
the other half better than any promise I have ever kept.
I may have let my guard down, but I did not shatter. I was
on the verge of cracking into a million pieces, but you
caught me before I hit the ground. I knew that you were
there for me. I could count on you.
You saved me.
As long as I have you, I will never shatter. Events may
occur that cause me to drop my guard again, but I now
realize that this is not necessarily a bad thing.
Forgiveness is a virtue, even in forgiving yourself. It
gives a sense of pure serenity and contentment, as do you,
but in a different light.
I have myself, and I have you. The puzzle is complete.
We have each other.
Alone, we are weak and vulnerable. Sophomoric entities,
searching for something ineffable to define ourselves
with.
Together, we create a force stronger than every demon
we will ever face, a bond unbreakable, even against
lies, nightmares, and broken promises.
The journey continues.
Together.
THE END (1/1)
Thank you for taking the time to read "Shattered Soul".
I hope you enjoyed it! Please send any comments - kisses
and flames are both greatly appreciated - to
heathabear@hotmail.com. Thanks a billion!
You can find all of my fan fiction at my website,
Mulder + Scully = True Love
http://mstruelove.tripod.com
"True love is friendship set on fire."