Self-reflections
4th of September, Thursday, 2003
I'm writing a journal, funny, isn't it? An ex-assassin sitting down to write a diary...
But life has it odd ways and I suppose this is one of them. And a definitely extreme way...
I really don't know whether anyone will read this, but to be alone and wait for the 'process' to finish and go insane is just not my idea of how to spend my time.
Or perhaps I'm exorcising my demons and aren't there many of them... One of them made me what I am and I don't even know who that bastard was. Once I could have found out, once when I was still inside the dark system but now...
Maybe I should ask for help- nah, nope, not my style at all.
And reading this thing through I realised I'm rambling like a lunatic. There is no sense whatsoever in these lines. Or perhaps somewhere there is. So, to make things clearer:
I used to be a clean-cut fresh eager son-of-a-bitch, who jumped at the mission given to him. How I was to know that the supposedly psychologically unstable Special Agent was just too determined? And when I quickly re-considered, the wheels were already turning, I had to follow the orders or... well, I've met a bomb or two.
Not too intimately, thanks to God.
No thanks to God for making me acquainted with extra-terrestrial life forms, more than one...
Well, back to the history. I did kill couple of people, one of them unfortunately being... You better ask your father about that.
Jeez', I just understood for whom I'm writing this crap. Mulder, the father of yours, would have a field day and cramps of laughter. But, on the other hand, he's responsible for the situation I'm in - sitting here and scribbling because I have to do something to kill the time.
But back to the story of my life.
So I fled when the opportunity showed itself, and basically I've never stopped running. There have been worse periods and better ones but I'm still running. Trying to help the ones whom I betrayed - or should I say 'had to betray'? Does it make a difference? - it's the only good I have managed to achieve recently. The other big change came upon me unexpected and it didn't cheer me up.
What would you think, if you'd fell asleep as a man and woke up as a woman? Virginia Woolf imagined the situation, but her world didn't include the struggle for the world supremacy. Though the book isn't bad... Nevermind, I'm off rambling again.
But it's the truth, I fell asleep as a man, snored for about a week and woke up hungry, thirsty and - a woman. Mulder would love to ask me lots of questions but... If we met again, especially now, I would have better died in the silo or in the woods of Russia. He doesn't need to have another round of ammunition for killing my soul. He has alreay ripped through it.
Yes, perhaps, if you are even half as smart of what he is or at least as smart that I am, you will have figured out that I'm talking about your father. He was my partner in my snippet-term career in FBI, a most violent enemy (you should have seen the bruises, you really should have!) and unfortunately for me the one-night-stand too many.
It seems that I don't love you too much, doesn't it? Well, I've grown accustomed to the situation, but to tell you the truth, I'm not at all thrilled by the idea. I don't have the faintest clue, how to deal with you or what to do when D-day arrives. I'll cope, though, I have always seemed able to find a way. I can only hope that you share the same quality.
I'm trying to flee to some place, where I'm safe for a while. I think I'll go North. It feels a good choice. The fewer the people see me like this, the better.
10th of September, Wednesday, 2003
It has been a week, since I wrote the first bit. I noticed that the rambling was not getting any clearer.
Maybe this will make the difference?
I'll tell you the story of a love affair.
There was this rather young cocky boy who looked - now I would have to say 'awful', since that happens to be true. The appearance I had was a killer - in a bad way.
Anyway, I looked rather innocent. He didn't. His eyes told a history of things one should not encounter at all, if one wants to have a happy life and insanity intact. Unfortunately, that was not to be his fate.
And as it turned out to be, I got sucked into the same world: full of death, blood, aliens... I'm side-tracking again. Should I blame hormones or something?
However, there was one thing about meeting him. The best and the worst at the same time. I fell in love with him. The kind of love that makes you weak and doesn't let go whatever you do. By 'weak' I mean unable to resist that particular person. Flip back and read the comment about bruises.
I could hide it, though. Mostly.
Not the bruises, the feeling.
There were the two times, the one that alerted his curiosity about me, the peck I gave on his cheek; and the one damned night that... when you came along. There were years between the two events and even more years between the first meeting with him. But I'm cursed to love him, I have done just about everything short of suicide to ignore it, but the fucking feeling just sneaks up on me and jumps at me when it's least expected.
Like last night. I suddenly found myself on this bed, staring at the ceiling and missing him so much that it hurt me physically. I ended up sitting against the headboard, hugging a pillow and half-crying. Womanly, isn't it? You know, I haven't been able to wrap my mind around the concept that I'm actually one. I know I am, I see it every day, but.... 33 years with a male body does have its effect, you know.
Anyhow, these are the worst moments, the moments I'd like to pick up the phone, dial his number, stored somewhere in the memory, and just listen to his voice. And beg him to come and hold me. Hehh, I'm actually sniffling now...
So, one tissue later, we resume. It all got worse after that night. I miss him more, since I know what I have lost. If you ever fall in love like this....
I can only hope that the other person returns your feelings. I suppose it should work then.
He never loved me. He wanted me. Once. Why? I don't know the real reason, but I can make a relatively good guess. Because I was there, when he boozed, horny and freaking lonely. He wanted comfort and, perhaps, a chance to fuck me over, for a change. Sorry about the pun. Totally unintended. However, whatever his reasons, he was the best lover I have ever had. The only one in this body, but hell, he's still the best.
I read from somewhere that skin compatibility is very important in the case of lovemaking. Well, in sex in general. I love his skin. I love his touches (not the punches!!!), I love the uncanny way he knew what to do and how to surprise my body. He did something and I came, again and again. I think that I came about seven times during that night. Mhh, perhaps that's the only thing I love about being a woman. Being multi-orgasmic, that is.
What I hate about being a woman... well, that list would make a phone-directory. My fertility for one. I never suspected that I could get pregnant. If I did, I wouldn't have taken the chance with him at all, not even when we could have rolled on condoms. Which we definitely did not. You are proof of that. Proof of a whisky induced lust and a subdued life-term passion. You have a hell of a heritage, don't you? A survivalist mother - did I just write that? - with a steady aim and a quick trigger finger and some weird principles of life. A father who has a brilliant mind but unrestrained bursts of violence and the determination of a bulldog. And good looks. An assassin and an agent, what a pair! Someone might conclude that these things are two sides of a same coin. Mulder would certainly disagree. He would disagree with everything I say, you can bet on that. So what is going to be your profession? Probably something solitary, since this is a quality we both share.
Not that I want you to be lonely, or even alone. Alone is bad, lonely is the worst. Believe me, I've been there. Correction, I am there. Continuous tense, perhaps permanently continuous.
I just hope you will have a better life than I have had... in general. I would not trade the moments with Mulder though, not for anything. Okay, you got me, I'd trade the punches but not the rare looks he has given me that were not full of hatred.
And definitely not that night. No way.
15th of September, Monday, 2003
Another five days gone. And you freaked me out when you moved. Why couldn't you have given me a warning or something? I almost dropped my coffee, you know. I'm still gasping and - checking - yep, sweating too. This whole thing is scary as hell. Not so scary as the mind-controlling body-ruling oil-shit with a single purpose of getting home (my one close encounter of the third kind... Spielberg did no justice of the eeriness of that kind of closeness, not even close! Believe me!). Okay, so I woke up as a female but this change, however freaky, is not a health threatening condition.
Mhh, at least I hope so.
Anyway, try losing about two days from your life and waking up in an underground hellhole with a UFO by your side and with the feeling that your guts are trying to come out from you through your eyes and nose and every other place, too. I don't recommend it.
THAT was an understatement of the millennia!
Truth was - I was scared shitless, fortunately not literally. I was hungry (again!); I was locked up, I was expecting to die. I screamed my head off and cried, I banged at the door... After two days, I passed out. And when I came to, the door was unlocked. I still don't know who - or what - opened the door. I half-walked, half-crawled out.
There was a tap on the wall. I really didn't care what came out of it; I just had to drink something. It was water. And I survived. Once again.
So, in retrospective, I shouldn't have reacted to you like I did. I have studied this 'condition', I knew that I would feel something but... It is certainly one thing to read about it and other to experience it. I'm not sure, will I ever get used to it.
You really had to move again now, didn't you? Are you having a conversation with me or something? You'll have your say when you arrive, not before, got it?
So where was I? Or, yeah, my weird dark life, as usual- damn, stop it! This is not funny, you know! Or are you angry that I'm not describing here how much I love you? I'm not doing it, because I don't know what I feel about you- and this, what you just did, didn't improve my mood, either. I'm stuck with you, that's all. And I suppose you're stuck with me. One thing is clear: I'm not your usual type of a mother - I wrote it again, didn't I? - So you'll have to be a tough thing to survive with me. If we survive at all...
3rd of October, Friday, 2003
Sometimes I hate to dream. I see good things happening to me, I see people being nice to me, loving me... I have even seen him loving me.
That really-really hurt.
Or telling me that he once did. Which, somehow, feels even worse.
I have seen him smile in real life, but he has never smiled at me.
I saw him smile at me this night. It was so... heart warming. Can't write more....
Been crying non-stop for about two hours. Never thought I could...
Haven't eaten for a day. Yes, I should eat something, but why? Why should I go on?
6th of October, Monday, 2003
I packed my stuff, and off we go. Time to change the scenery: Washington DC for Washington State. Will be one hell of a drive but I've been through worse.
And, you, stop it! I just came out of the toilet!
So why am I feeling like Linda Hamilton at the end of the "Terminator 1"? At least I don't look like her. Yet.
But at least I have goal now.
9th of October, Thursday, 2003
I have not told you everything I do. You know it anyway. All the things I have written are true, but these are the moments when I feel brave enough to plan or just to live. To share myself with this paper and you.
There are other times. Harder ones. When I wake up sweating and shivering, when I drink till I drop - and I know it is not good for either of us - when I find myself wishing that I could cut my veins... Or eat my gun. Would be more appropriate and faster too...
I'm afraid. I'm afraid of everything: the change, the world, the future, you... And him. You killed me couple of times. He kills me every single day. If I heard that he's dead, I might be free, although dead inside. The insane hope, that he would like me at least, keeps me hanging on. Tell me about obsessions...
Or about abysses. I meet them in my mind daily. It gets harder and harder to find even a toehold for dragging myself through yet another day. Or night. Or the grey morning hours. Or everything.
I wrote that I hate dreaming about good things. That's true, I do. I definitely hate nightmares. Like the one when I'm caught again by this bastard whose stench can be tracked from miles away... if you happen to be a dog.
I'm not, but he treated me like I was. I wish I were. I would like to rip out his throat with my teeth - not very sane talk, is it? That department is not strong, I must say. Your father has been in a mental hospital. I haven't, but the boundaries of sanity have blurred for me too.
The last sentences are good examples of how one thinks while heavily drunk. You know that too. That I drink now... But I was telling another bedtime story.
The bastard who hired me - why does it remind me of a Bond movie "The spy who loved me"? - anyway, that bastard would like nothing better than to torture me. Even if it's only mental torture. And the situation I'm in now, would lift his mood enormously. One's renegade agent turns out to be knocked up by his/her worst enemy...
I dreamed that I was in those dark rooms with wood panelling, the way I will look in about two months and.... They had this diary, they read it out aloud, they laughed... It was awful.
And I'm afraid that most of my stories, bedtime or otherwise are like that. You have to have strong guts for my stories, kiddo.
Mulder celebrated his birthday that year in a small bar Frohike had booked. And God forbid, also decorated. It was even cute in a hideous kind of way. Scully danced a lot - some dances even with Frohike - laughed a lot and drunk a lot. Which resulted in crazy things happening in Mulder's bedroom. And being very late the next morning.
13th of October, Monday, 2003
It's his birthday. I found myself looking at the flowers and wondering which ones he would like. Really pathetic. I'm sure Scully bought him some. Or more likely her gift is practical, more sensible. She was always very sensible.
But flowers are nice. I wish someone had ever bothered to give or send me any.
My parents gave me sensible presents, too. Perhaps that's the reason why I dislike sensible people... Yes, I used to hate Scully. Now.... I don't anymore. She helped me. She probably would again, if I asked. Maybe I should? Dial her number, say Hi, and wish her happy Mulder's birthday... Okay, you can call me mean, I'm aware of having my moments.
I won't though, they would probably try to trace the call and if he comes to the phone and tries to win time they might succeed. For a good word from him I'd trade my feeble freedom. I would, sincerely. That's love, "I'm guilty of love in first degree..." Yeah, you are witnessing your mother going not so slightly mad.
Be smart and don't fall in love.
25th of October, Saturday, 2003
Mulder stretched on his bed and smiled, seeing Scully by his side. She had been staying in his place quite frequently. She was asleep on her back, her hair all over the pillow. She was magnificent.
The intense staring, however, made her wake. She shifted, peeked at him, and rolled closer.
"I had a most peculiar dream, Scully," Mulder raked fingers through his hair and turned to slip one hand around her waist. She yawned and mumbled half-sleepily:
"A good one or a bad one?"
"A weird one. You were driving a car-"
"Very peculiar indeed..." she smiled when he pulled her closer and kissed her behind her ear.
"In your pyjamas," he whispered. The smile on her face widened.
"That certainly qualifies." Now the top of her head was under the assault from his kisses.
"On the front seat," Mulder continued, "there was a baby, I'm still not entirely sure whether it was totally human: it had whiskers and a tail, hairless and long..."
Scully was fully awake now: "Are we getting anywhere near rodents, Mulder?"
"You're psychic. Yes. Krycek was on the back seat, he-"
"She."
"Well, she was holding two foot stools, one big and one small. She insisted that the baby got the small one, since... Jeez, how was it..." Mulder struggled to remember. "Oh, yes. 'This is the only motherly gift I bought for my child'."
Scully snickered: "You're not serious?"
Mulder smiled. "I am."
Scully snickered even more and laughter could be heard in her voice. "This is totally ridiculous."
"I'm more than aware of that." They laughed some more.
"Do you ever think that... this thing we have," Mulder motioned a wide gesture. "That it's too good to be true?"
"We fought for this for too many years. We deserve this."
"I know, just..."
"Being paranoid?" Scully looked up to him.
"Perhaps. You know, just when you think that you are comfortable, something happens?"
"Party pooper."
Mulder was right, though. Something did happen.
"Mulder..."
Scully had the important-stuff tone again.
"Yes?"
"I'm pregnant."
He took his glasses off and came up to her. "What?"
"I'm pregnant. I went to see a doctor and did the home test."
For a couple of minutes the basement office was really quiet. A dropping pin would have set off an avalanche of files.
Then Mulder hugged her, very gently and very tightly. "I'm happy." That was all he said, but Scully felt a desperate need for a tissue.
"Damned hormones..."
They went for a long dinner that day. The question 'how did it happen?' surfaced.
"We used protection all the time," Scully commented and reached for the napkin.
"I think so... unless... Do you remember what we did after my birthday party?"
"No, to tell you the truth. But my knees were weak for a half a day later, so we must have fucked like crazy."
"Then that must be the date. I don't remember using anything, you don't either, chances are that we didn't." Mulder watched Scully to calculate. She did look somewhat different...
"It can be." She sighed. "I still would have wished our child to have more sober start."
Mulder laughed but fell suddenly silent.
"What is it?"
"I just realized that I'm almost into the habit of heavy drinking and unprotected sex."
"Krycek..."
"Yep." Mulder agreed.
They were silent for a moment.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" inquired Scully.
"I'm afraid so... What if I am-" Mulder halted but Scully ended his sentence.
"The father of that child too. My idea exactly."
"Until we meet her again, there is no way we can determine that."
"And since we don't know where she is, we better concentrate on more urgent issues. Like what to say to Skinner?" Scully almost laughed when she saw the expression Mulder made.
"Nothing about exactly how we got into this situation."
13th of November, Thursday, 2003
The preparations for the Holiday season are on full swing... Although it is illegal... There are some five days to go till they could officially advertise any Christmas goods... And then the sales go up... Do you know that the suicide rate goes booming, too, at the same period of time? Should we go along? Booming like a rocket on New Years Eve?
Yes, you understood correctly, your mother has been taking a long thorough look on the bottom of the vodka bottle. Kick what you will, I don't care today. My legs hurt, my back hurts, I'm having a real hard time trying to appear just beer-bellied instead of simply pregnant and... Ah, never mind.
There is one good thing after all... Somehow I've been able to write around it... My arm is growing back. I don't know how it happened or why, but it's growing. It itched three months like crazy and I was about to turn to doctors when I noticed that the stump had changed, and it has been growing ever since. It has elbow now... It's so strange to move it.
So, no bad without good, eh?
Yes, I think that I'm harming us, but... Even if the hand grows back - as it seems to be doing, drinking or no drinking - my life as I knew it, would be over. Can you imagine yourself being a fugitive with a newborn? Not very likely. Me neither.
I've been living here for a week. Nice, quiet, full of snow. Thank God for cold and big fluffy parkas. I can still go around and appear almost normal, because here everybody looks heavily over-weight because of the clothing. I just fit in. Sort of.
25th of November, Tuesday, 2003
I took a long look of myself in the mirror and came to an inevitable conclusion - I'm not passing as a man anymore. No man has a stomach big enough to drink so much beer... So I have to move again... To be 'officially' pregnant. Jeez... How in a hell all of this happened? Would, anyone tell me? Please?
28th of November, Friday, 2003
How can one contain so much salt water? I don't know what pushed me into crying - been doing just fine without you, the tearfolks, thank you! - but...
Today started nice, you were quiet, I felt relatively normal - looking like a tanker but not worse. The first surprise came in the bathroom.
The old couple keeping the store told me yesterday that I must have found a new sweet-heart - yeah, that line is getting really thin really fast - anyway, they said that, I asked why and they commented with polite smiles that my eyes were full of energy and light. Feeling myself like a beached whale, I tried to appear shy and happy, wanting to confirm their impression.
But a look in the mirror this morning did confirm their words - about my appearance. I'm fucking glowing!! If this doesn't pass over, I don't know how I'm going to keep my act together.
And the crying fit occurred when I saw two young things really in love and kissing just across the road from my window. They were beaming, too. I just wish I had a similar reason...
Here we go again....
9th of December, Tuesday, 2003
Scully yawned, and smiled. She was alone in Mulder's big bed and the mirror on the ceiling showed one very satisfied Dana Katherine Scully spread underneath the sheets. She felt happy and she looked happy. She stretched and rolled over to look at the clock. There was still some time before she had to leave. She smiled again, one of the pillows in the crook of her arm.
Mulder's apartment was quiet, only the plumbing made some noises, somewhere somebody was washing their dishes or something... Nice domestic noises.
Mulder had gone for his morning-run, although she found it somewhat astonishing that he was up to it after last night's session of bed wrestling. She stretched again, sat up and hunted for her blouse. It had dropped over the end of the bed, which was no surprise: the act of undressing had been rather hasty... to say the least. She was on her second month, had some of the dizziness but the whole load of the horniness a pregnancy can bring along. She wouldn't have got up from the bed, if she could have arranged things that way...
'Skinner wouldn't approve...' Scully grinned, got up as she was and headed for the shower. She had to get there before Mulder. Skinner had hardly kept himself from shouting at them, when they had confronted him with her 'condition'. There had been a lot of paperwork, and he had mentioned that they might even be reassigned to separate posts for a while, but since Skinner had promised to keep their relationship a secret just between them three, they could still work together until.. well, until things were too obvious to ignore. Until then they would keep their usual low profile and live as happily as they could.
The water hit her and she leaned into its hot touch. Now she thought about the first child she had carried, William.... and Emily.... The sorrow hit her but the warmth helped her to endure it. She had been doing this masochistic mood-lowering stuff for a week but it kept her professional during the office hours. She couldn't go around, performing autopsies with a goofy grin on her face. 'The Spooky Missis has gone over the edge at last' she heard the rumors in her head. No, she needed perspective and the lost chances gave her that.
Without any qualms she put on Mulder's bathrobe. She had taken care of him more times than she cared to count and it was sort of a payback time: his things were relentlessly used by her when she stayed in his place... Not that Mulder minded at all.
'Speak of the devil', Scully heard the keys in the lock and he came in, yelled his 'Hello' and headed for the shower. She smiled, no longer so crazily happy but still content and she went to make the coffee they both desperately needed in the morning.
"I picked up the mail."
"You have mail, Mulder?" Scully looked at him over the rim of her mug. Well, one of his mugs that she had claimed as her own. He was wearing another bathrobe, a dark blue one, and stood there - barefooted.
He looked good.
"One newspaper! You smell edible..." he had come close, his arms went around her, just under her breasts. She felt him nuzzling her, whispering into her ear: "-although you have raided my shower-gel again."
"And coffee... Guilty as charged. Help yourself." Scully felt herself smiling inspite of her mood regulation procedure when she saw how Mulder padded across the kitchen to fetch his favorite poison. He was so-so .... She couldn't quite find the right word, but she liked him like that. Very much so.
She shifted the newspaper closer and opened it. A small envelope dropped from the folds. She took it up. It was plain, only Mulder's address on it. Somehow she didn't believe it could be a bomb so she opened it.
"What do you have there?" Mulder walked upto the table and took a seat.
"Looks like a Christmas card. Mmm, 'Merry Christmas, Scully, and happy Hanukah, Mulder. K.', that's it." She gave the card to Mulder.
"Hmm..." he was eyeing the card and drinking the coffee at the same time. "I have an eerie feeling that we both know whom this thing came from.... the one whose name starts with 'K'."
"Why would he-she send you a card?" Scully didn't even pretend to understand.
"Perhaps the Christmas spirit got her? Pregnant women are unpredictable, you know." Mulder gave her very suggestive leer. Scully restrained her smile, although she was fully aware of him teasing her about the last night's actions. 'Well, did we fuck thoroughly or not?' That thought came so abruptly that she burst into giggles before she could contain herself once more.
Mulder was watching her with concern.
"Are you all right?"
"Absolutely.... Just giving you an example of the unrestrained reactions of gestation."
8th of December, Monday, 2003
I did a really stupid thing. The second stupidest thing after going to bed with him. I sent him a card.
It became unbearable to look around at people getting happier and more excited about Christmas with every day that passed. I've tried to drink less, mostly for my own good. So I had to do something different... I was at the same small shop again, there were the cards laid out... Somehow it occurred to me that by sending him a card I could remind him that I'm still alive, still a stain on his conscience... I wanted to hurt him. And, yes, her, too. She has all the 'cards' now, she has him... So I hurt him in the kindest way.
After I had posted it, I regretted it at once. The postage stamp gives my location away, but mostly it would be better that he was no longer aware of me being alive at all. What if he found out about you? He would just hate me more, that's for sure. Perhaps he could live with the memory of spending fucking quality time with one particular Alex Krycek - the emphasis being on the word 'fucking', of course - but he would kill me, if he knew that the aforesaid 'quality time' had results - the results that really are asking for a beating! I'm sick and tired of you doing kung fu or whatever it is! STOP RIGHT NOW!
Must be my child, getting people pissed off with it even BEFORE being born... Or actually we share that quality, to think of it. He is a real pain - most of the time. So why do I care? Why do I feel so bad that I want to hurt him?
11th of December, Thursday, 2003
Maybe I should leave? He might decide to track me down... Scully must have told him about the night visit and our discussion. And the disc. Jeez' they seem to share everything!
Why did that hurt now? Heh-heh, stupid me...
17th of December, Wednesday, 2003
Today the blues hit again. Perhaps I should just let go and....
I didn't get up from the bed, there seemed to be no point.
I don't even feel like crying much anymore, just lying here and letting the mood spiral into the abyss... It is dark here, hopeless, the story of my life.
I don't want to go through this... I don't want this life, this change, and this child... All I wanted was him to like me.
The saddest thing is that he might have liked me. But not now, not with the things we have in our past. The word 'doomed' comes to mind, I wonder why.
In my case Shakespeare was right: my love's labour is lost. For nothing than pain.
More pain will come, of course. In another labour.
Unless I get enough courage to end this all....
20th of December, Saturday, 2003
"Mulder, are we going to the dinner on the 26th?"
Mulder sighed and hid his face in the pillow. "I don't know... I'm not that great with people."
Something that bore the weight of Scully and had hands indistinguishable from her climbed onto his back and started to tickle him - fortunately through the covers. He squirmed and tried to get away, but the pathologist knew exactly when and what to attack and he capitulated:
"Alright, we'll go, we'll go! Just-" A red wave of hair washed over his face and then her lips were on top his. He didn't fight off this assault, though.
"So," he said when he got his mouth back. "Who's going to be there?"
"The usual family gathering, brothers, their families.... my mother."
"Oouuhh... are we going to have to be there long?" he laughed when he got tickled again. "Okay-Okay!! We'll stay as long as Your Majesty of Patholo-" a pillow landed on his face.
"Call me that once more and you'll end up on that table under my scrutinizing eye, Mulder!"
The pillow nodded its approval.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" She lifted the assault weapon and found a red-faced Mulder blinking at her happily.
"I would be naked under that sheet..."
"Pervert, you'd be cold and stiff and dead!"
"But still naked. And stiff is not so bad, either...." The rest of the conversation didn't require words.
24th of December, Wednesday, 2003
I'm cooking. I can't believe this, but I am. I used to like it. I used to be quite good at it. Time to remember how to be good at something.
I cried yesterday, almost wept my heart out... Why?
The old lady from the store gave me a home-baked gingerbread and wished me 'Merry Christmas'. I saw and felt that she meant it.
Nobody had ever given me anything from the pure goodness of their heart. There was always a price attached. And she gave me something just because she thought I was worth it...
Jesus! I'm hunting for another tissue...
I hardly got out of the store, I couldn't see, because of the water leaking out of my traitorous eyes. Me, traitor, had been given a gift... I felt like sitting down on the pile of snow and weeping on the spot like a small child. 'Shameless' is the word for this, I guess. I can't remember the last time somebody was nice to me. Made an extra effort for me.
Mmm, actually, I do. Scully. The Mad Patcher's Tea Party. Though there was a price - she wanted information, she got some. The tea was extra, though.
The lady, however... She really thought that this barn-like being - aka me - was worth of a gift. I never realised that pure goodness could make one feel so helpless and whiny. I crawled back to my hole and held that fragile piece of candy in my hand and wept and wept on the bed until the pillow was soaked.
That gingerbread is sitting on the shelf in front of me. A remembrance of my worth and people's good will.
25th of December, Thursday, 2003
Been drinking again.
Hope, damn it, is hard to kill.
I've hoped to get free from this...
Every time when I've not seen him for a while, I start to feel better. Hope for immunity, wishing it done.
Not this time, though. You take care of that.
Each time I see him - the feeling is back. A thousandfold worse: a raw throbbing ache that just won't dull. Each time....
The food, the things I made, were good, been eating the leftovers. Somehow oat cookies and mustard on smoked bacon have been favourites for a long time now...
Food cravings? Moi?
Well, drunk and pregnant, then why not also food cravings... Then why not the tickling feeling in the left arm that somehow is back... fingers don't move very well yet, but... Should be happy about it...
Nope. Just checked. Not happy at all.
Instead of that... Miss him. Like crazy. Getting on pop-music flashbacks again...
Talking about flashbacks: there was one moment in that night when he actually held me. He was tired of - you know. Perhaps he forgot to remove his hands but for the brief moment he was holding me and I felt.... safe.
Call me nuts, but I did.
Even loved, when his breath was warming my shoulder.
Of course I'm fooling myself. He is with Scully now. Drinking eggnog and exchanging gifts...
Envious? Sure.
Though what gift could I wish for? A bullet with my name engraved on it? I'm sure one is out there, along with Mulder's precious truth.
Me... sad... drunk... very drunk... Looking occasionally at the gingerbread - shaped like a heart, by the way - sitting now on the nightstand under the lamp. Cradling in one arm the box of tissues, in the other the bottle. Notebook sits on top of you.
Not the way an expectant mother should spend her time.
Doesn't help. Still miss him. Sorry about the water marks on the page....
26th of December, Friday, 2003
Mulder closed the bathroom door and sighed aloud in relief. Finally alone, although only for a brief moment.
They had arrived at 'Maggie's' - as Mulder had so elegantly put it and almost got punched for that - three hours ago. After the usual exchange of 'hellos' and 'how are yous' with Maggie - and after Scully had given away something she had been mysteriously cradling in her arms while they drove out here - they were shown to the livingroom.
And the rollercoaster of hell started. Both brothers were very much there, they both wanted to get to know the 'strange' man who has claimed their sister. Well, Charlie wanted to know, Bill just stood there like a big dark cyclone ready to come down hard on him.
The fact that they are co-workers with Scully went down smoothly, Charlie was also happy to learn that they were partners - "So you protect her well, don't you?" had Charlie said and Mulder, his mouth full of hot punch, nodded trying hard not to think back to the abduction. Bill raised his eyebrow - 'that gesture must run in the family' - but kept his silence. At least Maggie was fortunately out of the hearing distance.
He had to describe some of their assignments, he made an effort and talked about the funny things - like the cockroaches and the mobile home vampires.
Thank God, they both laughed.
Then came the first round at the table. The female horde - Maggie, Scully and the two wives - carried to the table so many dishes that Mulder felt almost seasick. But blessed be Scully, who sat quickly next to him, secretly patted his knee and smiled so brightly, that he forgot all about the others. She even had to nudge him to eat something and not just sit there being happily unaware.
The brothers noticed his doting, of course. There was a conversation between them that Mulder didn't quite catch but felt alarmed about.
When Scully had left with her mother to do something in the kitchen, and the wives - who somehow didn't give him any impression whatsoever - tended the three children who were running constantly around, Charlie leaned closer to him and asked:
"She is amazing, isn't she?"
"Yes, she definitely is," Mulder agreed.
"So, are you partners in the whole meaning of the word?"
Mulder paused before answering the common double-entendre. He was almost sure, that he still wouldn't qualify as a proper son-in-law, well, in Charlie's case, brother-in-law, but he also had the eerie feeling that he shouldn't lie. Bracing himself for the later argument with Scully, he nodded.
"Good, you two know each other long enough... But if I hear anything that suggests that she is unhappy...." Charlie concluded and both of the brothers gave him looks that could have frightened even aliens.
Before the coffee and cakes occurred a break - and now he was looking at himself in the bathroom mirror and wishing feverishly that he could leave with Scully and make her happy, 'so about three times in a row'.
Eventually he had to come out or Scully would say something about desk-jobs and constipation. He definitely didn't want that. His name in this family was tainted anyway. Mulder sighed, dried his hands and stepped out from the door - only to almost bump into Scully who was carrying some tray again.
"Watch-" she only shouted when the tray went sailing towards the floor. Somehow they managed to save it from crashing - both on their knees.
"You really must watch were you're going", she scolded half-seriously. She took the tray when she stood up.
"Then what would I need you for?" Mulder smiled and, then noticing that they were alone, he leaned in and kissed her quickly.
"For kissing and keeping you honest?"
"Touché. But what is this thing anyway? Smells nice..." he tried to poke at the a bit out of shape dark mush on the tray but it was snatched away.
"Something I made."
"Perhaps the mysterious package in your lap?"
"The same. How perceptive of you."
"And it is...?"
"A mystic reminder of Old World... Christmas pudding." She smiled at him and walked to the living room. Mulder started to follow but stopped - the brothers and wives and children were there too... He didn't want to confront the Hydra of Scullys... his own red head was quite enough for him.
Scully found him still standing in the corridor.
"Why don't you go back to the living room, I heard that Bambi was quite a hit..." she teased.
"Mmm..." made Mulder. Noncommittally, he hoped. No such luck.
"Haa, you are scared, aren't you?"
"Scared?"
"I understand, Bill is a big man and Charlie isn't that small either... And the wives... and children...." she was really enjoying this.
"May I say that the teasing is useless. I'll go wherever I want, whenever I want."
Scully snorted, amused. "That's real man's talk... Are you enough of a man to come and help me in the kitchen, then? Until the time comes, when the man wants to go to the living room again?"
"Okay." The-Man-Mulder said at once.
The kitchen was full of smells, the strongest being cinnamon and custard and something alcoholic that Mulder couldn't quite place. 'Scully would... and give the list of its chemical properties as well - and all from the top of her head.'
"Mulder, it's good that you came." Maggie grabbed his arm and dragged him near to an oven that radiated heat. "The cinnamon buns will be ready in a minute. Here're the gloves, don't burn yourself... I have to -" And she rushed from the kitchen again carrying something. Scully was putting some cherries on top of- something - that looked suspiciously like an ice-cream cake. The way her fingers moved over the creamy surface gave Mulder a rush he never thought he could have from the simple act of decorating a cake.
"Earth to Mulder!"
"Yes?"
Scully waved towards the oven, couple of cherries still in her palm.
"The buns! Take them out!"
He obeyed, and didn't even burn himself as he placed the hot plate near to the sink. "You haven't told her about the other bun, have you?" Mulder looked at Scully who finished the dressing and raised her head.
She shrugged "No, not yet. I think I'll wait until we can be alone with her. It would be better than turning this family gathering into a surprise party." She walked closer and pushed a cherry into his mouth. "You seem to really like me doing household-chores, don't you?" Her voice had changed; it was the tone that drove him crazy. Munching at the cherry, he mumbled:
"Don't tease me..."
"Where's the man now?" Scully chortled as she referred back to their recent conversation.
"The man is still very much here..." Mulder pulled her into a tight embrace and when she didn't fight, he gave her the Casanova back bow while kissing her.
Half of that cherry ended up in her stomach.
12th of January, Monday, 2004
Guess, what?
I'm drunk. After two days of total soberness. Not that it matters to anyone.
I must say that the constant visits to the local liqueur store must have caught the attention of the locals. They probably think I'm an alcoholic...
Perhaps they're right, I can't tell the difference anymore.
They probably think I'm someone whose sweetheart left her in this distressed and disgraced condition... In a way, they're right.
I would feel so much better if you hadn't happened, if I hadn't met him.
If I wouldn't love him.
Yeah, right... As if I truly believed any of this I just wrote. It's the alcohol talking, it seems to make more sense than I do.
Yeah, an alcoholic mother tops it all, doesn't it, kiddo? With all the other nice qualities you inherit... you'll be a smash.
One thing must be said though - alcohol surely helps to bear pain. And loneliness. And fear...
Somehow there has been a lot of fear in me lately. I'm alert all the time, can't sleep properly. You're behaving yourself quite nicely, but I still fear something... Started to sleep with the gun under my pillow again.... Not that it seems to alleviate any of the sense of dread I have.
Just spent two hours reading and sipping vodka. I used to love Bradbury before the dark side of my own story started - you know, the aliens, the feelings, all that crap.
Now I hate him. Even found it totally eerie to read over the "Little Assassin". Would you grow up to be one, or would you try to kill me, as that child in that story?
Me being rather prone to drinking by now - I would be an easy target. Very easy.
That thought frightened me.
It really did.
I have to stop drinking.
If anyone wants my head, I should at least be aware of the threat. Right now it means - I have to be sober.
And afraid.
Fuck that, I've been afraid for most of my life. I'm well acquainted with that feeling. Time to embrace it again. Still better than nursing a 'healthy' slow brain damage.
16th of January, Friday, 2004
Mulder woke with a start.
He had been having that nightmare again. The same one for three consecutive nights. Not that having nightmares would be anything new but it was still a personal record for one and the same thing to come up three times... in a row.
He sat up, slipped his feet to the floor and looked around. It was very early. He didn't bother to look at the clock, the darkness outside said it all.
The dream kept nagging at him. He sighed, stood, stretched, went to kitchen for a drink.
It still nagged at him, when he returned and fell to the couch. It nagged at him as if asking something, but because he never remembered what he saw - just knew that it was always the same - he couldn't figure out what it wanted.
'Damn dreams...'
In the morning, after taking the usual jog around the blocks, Mulder grabbed his newspaper and pounded upstairs. While holding the paper between his teeth to open the door, he suddenly understood one thing about the nightmare: it had happened in a place full of snow.... in a cold place. At first he thought about Antarctica - a place of some acquaintance - but it didn't feel right. 'Has to be the Northern Hemisphere, then.'
He threw the paper to the table - and found himself waiting for an envelope to drop out. 'The last envelope that didn't contain bills was....' He realised that it had been Krycek's. 'Just what you need, Mulder, to think about that thing you did, that's really good for your sanity.' He scolded himself but he couldn't stop either.
'Where's the damned card any way? Did I throw it away?'
Mulder found the card underneath of a pile of folders beside his computer. The card was the same as always. It hadn't sprouted legs or hands. Just a piece of printed paper with a few words inside.
'So why does it feel so important?' Mulder stared at the card. The card stared back at him, probably hoping to turn blank again.
A minute ticked by.
'The envelope... There must be a stamp.'
It took a lot longer to find that thing. Mulder thanked himself of not being better housekeeper, because the trashcan the envelope had ended up in was overflowing and a proper housekeeper would have thrown the contents away weeks ago.
There was a stamp. A quick search on the computer and Mulder became aware of three cities of that particular name existing in the States. Only one of them was in the northern part of the country. In Washington state.
'She's long gone... she wouldn't stay in a one place, so you could track her down, Mulder!' But he couldn't shake off the feeling that he had found a vital piece of a puzzle - one to unlock his nightmares.
Two more nights with the unnerving unremembered frightening dreams and then came the last straw, the one to break Mulder's fragile patience.
Scully was nuzzling his neck and making herself really comfortable in his lap - and he had finally managed to forget about the nagging voice - when the computer beeped. Mulder had been able to shut his machine up so that it bleeped only when something of interest came up.
Scully sighed, she was aware of that arrangement, too.
"You want to look at it now?" she asked, her tone carefully neutral. He shrugged but she knew him better. Kissing him sweetly, she slipped off his lap and leaned back on the couch, making the leather creak. "Go and look, perhaps it will ease your mind from whatever has been bothering you lately..."
"You noticed?"
"As if we hadn't been working side by side for years. Of course I noticed. Now go and check your mail!" and she kicked him gently, the impact on his thigh almost convincing Mulder that he really shouldn't get up.
But he did and after tugging the mouse he saw that the e-mail was from the Gunmen. "Mmm. Let's see what the unwholesome trinity has found this time."
"Gunmen?"
"Yep."
Scully smiled, hoping to hear something really odd and funny, but Mulder, after couple of chuckles, grew silent. Scully bore the silence for a while, but then stood and walked over to Mulder, who sat there, scrolling the news.
"What's the matter?"
"There has been a massive UFO sighting in Washington State. Actually, frequent sightings... Five nights in a row."
"So?" She put her head on his shoulder and he leaned in, feeling her warmth and the softness of her hair tickling his neck. He continued to read, now out loud.
"These brightly colored lights are centered around the little city of - oh my God..."
"What's the matter?"
"It's the same city-" Mulder's hand snaked inside the paper pile that in Scully's opinion had no order whatsoever, but he managed to catch the thing he wanted and pull it out without tipping the wobbly pyramid over. With a twist of his fingers the envelope turned the right side up for Scully to read it. "-where this thing came from."
Scully took the envelope. "So what are you saying then?"
"That we should go there and check it out."
"IT out? Are you referring to her as 'it' now?"
"I meant the UFOs."
"But there is something more." Scully put the envelope down. "You're relieved now. What's been bothering you?"
"I've been having these nightmares... I don't recall the content but... The envelope seemed to be important."
"Seemed to be? And because it seemed to be important and there might be UFOs on that place, you want to go out there? It's very cold there, you know."
"I know. And somebody out there is really afraid."
"What?!" She considered getting angry, but Mulder met her eyes and there was pure desperation in his. He had been experiencing fear, that was obvious.
"It is the only thing I can recall from the nightmares. Somebody fears for its life."
"And you assume that IT is Krycek."
"Would be logical, considering the co-incidence of the locations."
"Why would she even be there? If anyone wants to hide, why in a one place for so long?"
"Who would suspect a pregnant woman?"
"Like she would advertise it..." Scully went back to the couch. "I've thought about her life, she wouldn't show herself at all."
"You've thought about her?"
"Yes. If she changed - and I emphasize the 'if' - she doesn't want anyone to know about it. She used to be a killer, a thug... Think what would happen when this kind of information leaked out?"
"I'd rather not."
There was a moment of thoughtful silence. "Do you still want to go, Mulder?"
"I'm afraid so."
"Because of the UFOs, or Krycek, or even because of the child?"
"Scully!"
"You must have thought about that, Mulder. What if it's yours?"
"I-... I don't know. I really don't know." He came to sit on the couch, placing his elbows on his knees. He was a sorry sight when he mumbled: "I can fuck up my life so easily..."
"True. But what if it yours? What if you have a chance to ask her and she says it's yours?"
"Why assume that she is even pregnant anymore? In her place... wouldn't you have had an abortion?"
Scully looked puzzled for a split second. "Well... yes. In her position and with her background, I think that would be a viable choice."
"But you're not convinced that she did."
"I'm certain that she didn't."
Mulder blinked. "Why?"
"Call it a hunch. I just know." Scully snuggled closer. "Are you still insistent of going?"
Mulder played with her hair. "I won't, if you don't want me to..."
"But it will nag at you. Okay, let's go. At least the UFOs make it an official X-file."
20th of January, Tuesday, 2004
I've been thinking about the future. Not a thing I usually, or moreover, casually do. Anyway...
I don't know exactly what I'm going to do when the labour starts (I hovered over the l-word for about ten seconds before I managed to write it... Am I so afraid of that thing?! I having no problems whatsoever pulling a trigger to kill - either human or alien - yet I am struggling with a word! Having a real hard time with a word! I can't believe it!)
Back to the main theme. The other thing I'm not sure about, is how to arrange my life after - yep, again the same word - after I have had this child. I can't picture myself with a child, I just can't.
I could never picture myself even as a father... Now I'm supposed to be a mother... What an irony! Mulder would like it, although in this case he would agree with me - I'll make a terrible parent, of whatever sex. He's right this time and I both hate and love him for it. Love him, because he can assess people by simply glancing at them and because he is just... him. Hate him because I generally hate stating the obvious. Not that I haven't done that in more occasions I care to remember.
Me and parenthood are totally contrary things... I wouldn't have the patience my mother had - to endure the unruly child - aka me - and to take care of the household and to prepare meals and to love her husband. I can see that now - that they really did love each other, my parents, that is. Although my father seldom mentioned anything about the work, they seemed to have things to talk about. I wish I had things to talk about that wouldn't scare the shit out of the listener... They had. Lucky them.
They could also afford to have a child around breaking things. I did some calculations and what a cosmic number emerged - all for the items a newborn would need. Children are damn expensive.
You didn't like that, did you? Is that the reason you are trying to make it to the football world cup series?
But you are going to be expensive, there is no doubt about it.... Yeah, sure, kick away, my intestines have been through worse. Not lately, however.
Hmm, yeah, even a brief thought about Mulder is not good for my mental health - or what's left of it. I'm like an addict who knows that there is a dose, just out of my reach. A fix I should have to feel whole again... So where are the tissues?
Whole... what would I give to feel mentally whole? Not to feel the pain? The constant withdrawal from- Why do I torture myself? Eh, whatever. At least I have acquired physical wholeness - and annoying roundness - I have now TWO fully functional arms - real arms with elbows, forearms, wrists, palms and ten fingers. If I wasn't as pregnant as hell, I would be feeling like I'd gone to heaven. I had tried, and almost succeeded, in making myself believe that the loss of a limb doesn't make a difference. Now, having it back, I don't understand how I could have thought that way. A person adapts to almost anything, I suppose. When there's no choice, one either bends or breaks. I prefer to bend.
Not that I'm really able to do that just right now... Another moment of bitter irony, the kind that he likes...
I wish that I could see him once more. If the labour goes well, I might be able to. If there is a future.