Chapter 1: A Professional at Work
Summary:
Mind of a killer.
This is chapter 5 of a longer piece that will travel into MSR territory, for now its just angst and UST. I guess its 4th season…
Disclaimer:
"Disclaimer: 1) a renunciation of any claim to or connection with; 2) disavowal; 3) a statement made to save one's own ass.
"Though it'll go without saying ten minutes or so into these proceedings, Anna Fugazi would like to state that this fanfic is from start to finish a work of x-phile fantasy, not to be taken seriously. To insist that any of what follows is incendiary or inflammatory is to miss our intention and pass judgment; and passing judgment is reserved for God (aka Chris Carter) and God alone (this goes for you critics too...just kidding).
"So please before you think about hurting someone over this trifle of a fanfic, remember: even God has a sense of humor. Just look at the Platypus. Thank you and enjoy your read.
"P.S. I sincerely apologize to all Platypus enthusiasts out there who are offended by that thoughtless comment about Platypi. I respect the noble Platypus, and it is not my intention to slight these stupid creatures in any way. Thank you again and enjoy"
Disclaimer 2: Yes, I realize my first disclaimer was respectfully ripped off from the intro to Dogma. So, I'm disclaiming that and as always:
My cousin tells me that I'm crazy. Brett tells me I should write more. Copyright laws tell me that the X-Files are not mine.
A/N: Please read and review. I am a happy, but confused college freshman.
There are times when clarity sweeps over me. Rouses and alerts my senses as a strong gust of wind activates a windmill. A connection is made; disassociated images cohere flowing like electricity to shock a revelation out of purgatory. If I am lucky, a relaying of this message might be enough to have an effect and collapse a vicious system. Today, I feel numb. I need clarity, yet I am the one who is disassociated. From the buzz of those around me, from myself, and that which has been relegated for deliverance. Don't they know? I am no savior.
Xxx
My Father traveled often when I was younger. After Sam was taken, the frequency of his trips increased. Apparently his need to escape his mourning wife and silently grieving child were too extreme. What he couldn't express in violent words and action, or what he was unable to blame on us, caused him to flee from his dark and depressed home-life. After particularly venomous encounters, when both his wife and child had retired to their respective rooms to nurse their emotional and physical pummeling, I would hear him drag his overnight bag down the steps, slam the front door, and take off in the invariable black state department fleet car. The sleek town car acting to disguise the recklessness of the man within.
My Father was never an emotionally available man, but before her abduction, he would at least say goodbye. My sister and I would joke that the reason for his "business trips" was that he was CIA. My mother seemed to be just as oblivious as we were. I guess him being a spook would have been an improvement from his actual occupation. Although I don't recall all the places he had traveled, I was given a souvenir from each one, his last trip before November 27th was the most significant.
I was given a board game. It consisted of a bag of wooden pegs and a circular block of wood with a corresponding arrangement of holes patterned as a square cross. The pegs filled all the holes save one. By jumping adjacent and diagonally opposed pegs to clear the board, the objective was to leave the one remaining peg in the originally vacant niche in the middle.
I have acted as that remaining peg. I was willing to sacrifice all around me to reach my elusive goals. I realize now how wrong I was. Playing the game, one comes to realize that although you may annihilate all the other pegs to get what you desire, you may not wind up in the middle. And, even if you do, you're completely alone. I don't want that solitary existence. And the only person that I could ever pray to for deliverance has been removed from the board.
XXX
This is the thirteenth time I have listened to his taunting.