WANT
//Clearly you have feelings for her. But you can't compete with the long-lost Agent Mulder…his easy good looks, his Oxford education - Mulder has what you can't have, but you stumble forward, the flatfoot cop, thinking he can put handcuffs on demons. You want her, but she feels sorry for you. They both do.//
//You want her…//
//You want her…//
//You want her…//
Dammit!! In a flash of anger, I pull my fist back, hurling the coffee cup across the room. It hits the wall and shatters, cream colored porcelain and mahogany coffee cascading to the floor. How the hell…? Do you know what it's like to have someone *in* your mind? Do you have any idea what that FEELS like, to know that THEY know exactly what you're think, what you're feeling? That you blame yourself for Luke, for your wife, for every little thing that's happened since? That you blame yourself for not finding Mulder for Scully, for not even *wanting* to find him for her, because deep down inside, you want to keep her to yourself?
Do you know?
//You want her…//
I lean forwards, resting my elbows on my knees while simultaneously pressing my fists against my ears. I silently will the voice to shut up. Leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me alone…
//You want her…//
Why can't those three words leave me alone? How did he know, anyway? I've been careful, kept my distance...I haven't even let Monica know my feelings. So how did *he*? I'm sorry, call me an old-fashioned cop, but there is no way I'm going to believe that he was psychic. Observant, maybe, perceptive, yes, but…psychic? No. There is no way. But then how…?
I can feel my eyes begin to burn, but I blink rapidly to clear the feeling. I'm not going to cry, -no, dammit, there is no WAY that I am going to cry. I haven't cried since I lost Luke – and now is not the time to start again, especially not over something as trivial as this. And, really, what is this? Nothing more than a coincidence, an educated and all too correct guess made by a psycho in an institution. Nothing more than the rantings of a madman.
I *don't* want her. I can't. She loves Mulder. I know that, she knows that – hell, *everyone* knows that now. To love her, to want her…that would be wrong, that would be betraying her trust. And God knows that I've worked too long and hard to earn that trust to just throw it away on some passing whimsy.
//You want her…//
Shut UP!!!
I can't take this. To most, the mind is a sanctuary, a place to hide from the rest of the world. For me…I've nowhere to hide from my mind. The voice is getting louder and louder, the conversation forming more fully in my mind.
//You want her… but she feels sorry for you.//
No, she doesn't. No, no, no. The last thing I want is her pity. Her pity, Monica's pity…it makes no difference. *I'm* supposed to be watching out for THEM, not weakening at their every move. I don't need their pity, dammit. I never have and I never will.
//You want her… but she feels sorry for you…Agent Mulder…you want her…But you can't compete with the long-lost Agent Mulder…//
Long-lost? Long-lost? He LEFT her! Walked right out on all of us, but most of all her. Left her with a son, a quest, and a broken heart. What kind of guy does that? He doesn't deserve her, and yet she's waiting, STILL waiting, always waiting. And, me…I can't even comfort her, can't even grieve with her, because I'm too busy wanting her. Dammit, John, this is NOT what she needs. She needs a friend, not some knight-in-shining-armor replacement for Mulder.
//You want her…//
But you can't have her.