Title: "Not a Love Affair" Author: Fox's Gal Category: Vignette, Angst, Songfic Keywords: Character Death Spoilers: Various, up to "One Son" (but that's a very vague reference) Rating: PG Feedback: Naaaah...I don't want no stinking feedback... (That was my pitiful attempt at reverse psychology...) foxs_gal@hotmail.com Summary: A Fibbie's thoughts. I won't tell you which one right away. Disclaimer: *Sigh* Not mine. Never will be. Makin no moolah off of 'em. CC's da man. Also, "This Ain't a Love Song" doesn't belong to me either. Makin no money off of usin' it. Probably (since it was part of the challenge) belongs to Bon Jovi and Polygram Records. Note: I don't usually read songfic, and I don't usually write it. But, somehow, this happened. Don't blame me, blame the PMS. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* "Not a Love Affair" By Fox's Gal *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* * I should have seen it coming when the roses died Should have seen the end of summer in your eyes I should have listened when you said good night You really meant goodbye * It's quiet. So damned quiet. Part of me wants to turn on the television. Part of me just wants to lay here on my couch, not moving. I did drive myself home from the cemetery, which is a feat in and of itself. And I did take a shower once I got in. I had to wash the scent of death from my skin. It has a smell, you know. Of course you knew. It smells stale and sterile and just too sweet. I think they load funeral parlors up with flowers in an effort to cover up the smell. So I guess death also smells like too many roses and too many lilies clustered in bouquets all around the room. I can still smell flowers and death on my skin, even though I showered and nearly scrubbed myself raw with exfoliating scrub. I can smell that, trying to mask the scent of morbidity that's clinging to me. My nose is filled with the warm scent of sandalwood... And I turn on my side in an effort to ignore the visions floating in front of me. Damn it. Didn't work. I can still see you, that last night. You were working late at the office, putting together the charred up puzzle pieces that had been your life's work. Your Holy Grail. Your crusade... I wonder if that was what ended up killing you. I walked up behind you and touched your shoulder. I remember the way you jumped under my touch. You looked up at me, and your eyes looked so vacant. I thought, maybe, you were just tired... Things had been so rough lately. I can only imagine how it must have been for you to see Kersh send me off on a case that didn't involve shoveling shit. And I'll be damned if it didn't turn into an X-File. I should have known. I should have seen it. And you know, it's funny...when I got a phone call at 11:47 that night, I actually thought it was you. I nearly answered the phone, "What is it, Mulder?" At the last minute though, I didn't. And for some strange reason, Skinner's voice on the other line didn't surprise me. They think you fell asleep at the wheel. What do I think? I think they're right. I think your lifestyle finally caught up with you. I saw you that night, Mulder. You looked haggard. Your eyes were vacant, bloodshot...there were terrible shadows under your eyes. Mulder, why didn't you... Call me. Tell me. Let me help you. Damn you, Mulder. Damn you for working so hard. Damn you for putting your heart and your soul into a job that greedily sucked the color from you. Damn you for your early mornings and late nights. Damn you for driving that night. * Baby ain't it funny, how you never ever learn to fall You're really on your knees, when you think you're standing tall But only fools are "know it all's," and I played that fool for you * I always knew how important you were to me. I never felt the need to tell you though. Why should I have? To do something like that would have been... Well, it would have broken every single rule we ever established. But somewhere along the line, in our dancing around the subject, in our constant flirtation, I found myself wishing against the rules. It became a game of reverse psychology, didn't it? And didn't I play? Did you really believe that I was so completely in control? Or did you know all along how much you meant to me? Did you know all along that I would have given my soul for you? I really thought I had fooled you. Somewhere in the scheme of our partnership, I had fooled myself into thinking that I was in complete control. I had constructed a mask of humor and intellect... That you were able to slice through with a single smile. Damn you for your smile, Mulder. * I cried and I cried There were nights that I died for you baby I tried and I tried to deny that your love drove me crazy, baby... * God, I went through your death once already. What, did you consider that a practice run? Damn it Mulder, I've mourned you once already. Once already I've cried for you. I've been to your funeral once already. How many times can I be expected to run through the ritual of death for you? How many nights are you going to leave me, broken into bloody pieces, crying into the hard, cold wood of my floor? How many times are you going to make me cry, Mulder? Were you trying to kill me little by little? Bit by bit? Even if you never meant to, you did. You turned my soul into a thousand freezing, black shards every time you died. Putting me through what you did would drive anyone insane. I don't think I've slipped into dementia yet...which makes me wonder if you're really dead. Damn you Mulder, for dying to make me realize I love you. Damn you for coming back and lulling me into a false sense of security. Damn you for dying...again. * If the love that I've got for you is gone If the river I cried ain't that long Then I'm wrong, yeah I'm wrong, this ain't a love song * Could I claim never to have loved you? Quite possibly. It might even be in the best interest of my own mental health. Could I pretend that all I ever felt for you was platonic concern? Could I pretend that I'm just broken up over losing a friend? Could I pretend that I don't expect to hear your voice every time the phone rings? Could I pretend to not notice that the desk in front of me is conspicuously absent? I could. But I would also have to pretend that the past six years never happened. And you know, as well as I, that I could never do such a thing. I could not forsake my six years with you. I could not ignore the things I've seen working with you. I can not pretend that in those six years what had developed between us was merely platonic, fraternal, or even paternal. In those six years, you became a part of me. It's a part of me I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to grow back. Damn you for growing on me, Mulder. * Baby, I thought you and me would stand the test of time Like we got away with the perfect crime, but We were just a legend in my mind I guess that I was blind * I move on the sofa, stretching my tired, worn out body. I have on an absurdly huge flannel shirt that I think might have been yours, though I don't remember you wearing it. Somehow I think it might be Charlie's shirt. But something inside of me doesn't like that conclusion. I want it to be yours. I desperately want something tangible to remind me of you. You see, Mulder, I'm terrified of forgetting. I'm absolutely sick with fear that I'll wake up one morning and not remember how you looked when you smiled. I'll not remember the way you quirked both eyebrows upwards when you thought you had stumped me with a leap of paranormal logic. I'll not remember the way you looked while you drove, or the way your voice sounded on the phone at 11:00 at night, when you'd just call to talk. (But I'll never forget how Skinner sounded at 11:47 that night when he called to tell me...) For some reason, I thought we would be together forever, secluded in our own insulated basement world. I thought that we, the forces of good, would eventually triumph over evil. I thought we would find out what CGB stood for. We only traded one set of initials in for another. CSM for CGB. We'll never know now, will we? That's what I get for thinking we were indestructible. Damn you Mulder, for being mortal. * Remember those nights dancing at the masquerade, The clowns wore smiles that wouldn't fade You and I were the renegades, some things never change * Finally, I unfold myself from the couch. It has suddenly turned cold in my apartment. I should probably look for something to eat. Logic tells me that I haven't eaten since 6:00 this morning... Couldn't you have at least lived for me? Would it have been asking too much for you to exercise a minimal amount of common sense? I could see how overtired you were. Why couldn't you? I saw how horrible it was out that night? Why didn't you come to my home? Why not that night? You did so many other times. What changed your mind? I drop two pieces of bread into my toaster and lean idly against the refrigerator. I close my eyes and my mind wanders to New Orleans. I can remember that woman wearing those silver boots...with the sequins. I don't think you saw her. I'd remember if you had. I remember the look on your face when I lit up that cigarette. I can see you in front of me, "apologizing in advance." And then you kissed me. Sometimes I wonder how things would have been different if I'd drawn you into my arms... Like I had wanted to. I still have dreams about that trip, you know. Sometimes they're horrific nightmares. Sometimes not. Not that it matters. Damn you Mulder, for making me feel. * It made me so mad cause I wanted it bad for us baby Now it's so sad that whatever we had, ain't worth saving If the love that I've got for you is gone If the river I've cried ain't that long Then I'm wrong, yes I'm wrong, this ain't a love song * My toast pops up and suddenly I'm not hungry. I put the toast on plate under the pretense of eating it later. I wander back to the living room and sit at my computer. There is a report that needs my attention and, quite frankly, my thoughts are too occupied with you. It can't be healthy. I can't explain the rage I feel right now. I feel like the past six years have culminated into a parody. A series of empty opportunities..."would have's," "could have's," and "should have's." Did you not want it? A part of me is angry with myself for never having asked. Not that it matters anymore. Loving you is no longer an option for me. My eyes fall on a postcard from the National Gallery in DC. It's of Degas' "Green Dancer." I stare at it, lost for a moment. It's been propped up against my desk light and I'm not entirely sure how it got there. Out of curiosity, I flip it over and am momentarily stunned to see your carefully messy script. "I think redheads look better in green." For a moment, my heart leaps into my throat. You're not dead. This was all a horrible misunderstanding. Someone stole your car and lost control of it, running it into that overpass. Someone else's charred remains were extracted from what was left of your car. It was all a part of the grand cover-up. You're probably sitting in my bedroom right now, waiting for me to come in and... And then I look at the date you scribbled at the top of the card. You set this on my desk two days before you died. I remember now. You were using my computer. Sitting right here, sending an email to Frohike... And you left this. Damn you Mulder, for this false hope. * If the pain that I'm feeling so strong Is the reason that I'm holding on Then I'm wrong, yeah I'm wrong - this ain't a love song Yes, I'm wrong, yeah I'm wrong - this ain't a love song. * I can't remember ever feeling so much pain and so much numbness at the same time. My entire body seems to ache and throb, but I don't know the source of the pain. I can only guess that it's internal. I am cold all over, but my face radiates with the heat that accompanies tears. My stomach churns and cramps, sending my body into painful tremors. I feel as though my will has been sapped out of me. You know, Mulder, you got off easy. Do you know what it's like to wake up in the morning and making a conscious decision to open your eyes? Do you know how it feels to live in constant expectation? Do you know how shocking it is to not see you? To know that no matter what I have to tell you, you won't hear me? Can you even begin to appreciate what that's like? Finality, Mulder. And do you know what it's like to have the unspoken truth blaring you in the face? Glaring at you accusingly as though to say, "You should have expected this much." Do you know what it's like to wonder how you could have prevented such a senseless death? I do... I could have called you. I could have made you leave the office. I could have driven you home, for God's sake. And I ask myself, why am I feeling this? Why do I feel so guilty? Why do I feel as if I am the one to blame? Why do I feel responsible for your death? Why, indeed? Was this a love affair, Mulder? It hurts too much for it not to have been one. Damn you, Mulder, for making me fall in love with you. And damn you for leaving me before I could do anything about it.