April 28th 2008

~Belief Systems~

I finger the cross on my neck, the thin chain so worn from years of fondling it. When we were younger I was always so skeptical of Mulder's ideas- yet he was so skeptical of mine. He was never anti-religious by any means- he respected my beliefs as I do his. Through the years our belief systems have morphed into a pool of something resembling a UFO cult. Mixing paranormal with a strong belief in god.

Bill died last year. I didn't find out in till two months after the funeral. How could I? I haven't spoken to mom in at least 3 years. I strain to think when that was. Oh, I remember- Mulder bought a cellphone that we disposed of immediately after calling her. After that we watched our backs for weeks, jumping at the slightest sound.

I miss Mom...

But back to Bill. It was a freak chance that I even found out about his death. One day I was at home, singing to Libby, doing laundry, escaping...and then Mulder came in the door with that cocky smile he usually has for Libby when he gets home. But I noticed something different. Something was wrong. He finally got her to go into her bedroom and he led me back into ours.

"Mulder?" I was concerned, and it showed.

He didn't look cocky anymore. He avoided my glance for a few seconds, then dug his fists into his pockets. He met my eyes and my stomach sank at what I saw in his stare. He slowly took out a small folded piece of paper and put it in my palm. I looked at it, dreading. I carefully unfolded it. At first I thought it was my father's Obituary from 1993, but then I saw the JR at the end of 'William Scully'.

My mouth opened but nothing came out. I started to sink to my knees, not believing what I saw before my eyes.

Thankfully my angel was waiting. Mulder folded me into his arms, and let me sob into his shirt.

He had got a young wife and daughter- How could he possibly die? He was in Iraq near a school that blew up, killing hundreds inside and out. Why do I dwell on these thoughts?

Because I can.

Opening the top drawer of my desk, I take out a large battered piece of paper that's been folded and unfolded more times than I care to count. I finger it, letting the little ripples in the paper rub against my skin. I love this scrap of a piece of paper, yet it also causes me grief. It means I'm bonded with the man I love, yet it also means I'll never be able to take his last name, never be the person I truly want to be.

Mulder knows I write in this book- When he came in the door last week, he saw me quickly close it and shove it into my desk drawer. I locked the drawer, and that was a dead give away. He smiled that little 'Ok, you'll tell me when you're ready' smile of his. Damn him.

***

Dana