Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Date: 1998/12/31 Category: Vignette/Some humor, some pathos Rating: PG-13 for some profanity Spoilers: For all episodes, up to US Season Six Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. CC does. Archive: Nowhere, thank you. Feedback: Yes, please. Fanfic is like cybersex. I don't do it to improve my typing skill. Summary: Have yourself a Happy Little New Year... ========== RESOLVED by CiCi Lean, 1998 cicilean@yahoo.com =========== In the end, he had to get me the scotch. No matter how much I begged and pleaded with Bill not to get it for me as my New Year's gift, as always, he knew best. I opened the silver bag with trepidation, and then scowled at its contents. It was a full fifth of Johnny Walker Black. Not exactly chicken soup for the soul, but for someone as crass as my brother, I suppose it was close enough. Thank God for him, the thickheaded bastard. He knew how much I loved drinking and smoking on New Year's Eve. Alone. Well, I don't -love- it, but Christ, it makes me feel so wonderfully decrepit and tragic, like a Southern belle on the skids. Sure it makes me feel like crap the next morning, but isn't that what this holiday is all about? Ring out the old, ring in the dry heaves. It's the quintessential amateur night, right down to the milk glass I pour my *shots* into and the makeshift conch shell "ashtray" that I'll no doubt hold to my ear at some drunken point later in the evening getting a face full of smelly ash and a cigarette butt lodged in my ear, just because I wanted to "hear the blessed sea." Oh look, dear. It's Blanchette Dubious, and isn't she something? All sooty and giggling, and sniff, sniff ... my goodness, what's that awful smell? That can't be our good scotch and tobacco, why, could it be embalming fluid? I swan... I wonder what Mulder's doing tonight. Somehow, I doubt he'll be outside my window, screaming "Scull-yeee! Scull-yeeeeeee!" ala Stanley Mulder-oski, but just in case he is, I suppose I'll look the part. Dana Scully. Depending always on the kindness of strangers. The stranger the better. Two more "shots" and by golly, I knew that I was almost ready for my New Year's resolutions. Oh, I had them already made up in advance, even typed out a few onto a document that I'd named "HaHa.txt." In retrospect, it -was- a funny little list, full of very proper resolutions all about eating right, exercising, along with stern admonishments to stop wondering if that chip in my neck was going to have to be upgraded anytime soon. Had a whole section devoted to Mulder, all about how I was going to be tougher, firmer, and more hard headed with him than ever. Nope, that boy wasn't going to get away with a damn thing come the year of Our Lord, nineteen-hundred and ninety-nine, that was for sure. "Ignore Him and Proceed" was my new motto. Or it was until I burnt the only hard copy I had left of the damned thing and dumped its remains into my "ashtray." Sure, I -had- planned to paste up copies, sans thumbtacks, in every conceivable corner of my consciousness, but for some reason, it didn't read as well as I thought it had when I'd originally written it. See, for some odd reason, my neat little list suddenly, in the light of a few ounces of fine scotch, looked overly harsh. Cold. Unforgiving. And not one damn bit different from what I'd been doing for the other thirty some odd years of my life. It was then I realized that what I'd been making for all these years weren't resolutions. They were reminders. Reminders that flexibility and risk-taking, were, perhaps, the greatest flaws of all. When what I really needed were reminders that demanding infallibility of oneself and others, while comforting in its own safe, sterile sort of way, was no means by which to live one's life. To flourish. To survive. Which I've determined, after all that I've been through, is a noble cause unto itself. So, I pushed my laptop away, grabbed a pen and a piece of old Christmas wrapping, turned it over and began my new list of resolutions. Yes, I began to make a list of things that in my heart I knew were probably good for me, and that I wouldn't have such an easy time of sticking to, unlike eating dry lettuce every day and grumbling when Mulder used the phrase "reincarnated cats." So, I chewed my pen for a moment, took another generous swig of Johnny W. and began. I, Dana Katherine Scully, henceforth resolves... That one day next year, I will go into the most expensive store I can find, buy a pair of the most impractical shoes I will never wear, and not allow myself one single regret. That one day next year, I will casually notice a "stain" on Agent Spender's tie and when he looks down, I will flick him right in the nose. Next year, on my birthday, I will get a present for my mother instead of the other way around, and thank her for her priceless gift to me -- the gift of life. I resolve to indulge in more manicures and paraffin treatments. Yes, paraffin treatments, at least twice a month and no leg shaving for all of February. Even when I get a pedicure. If things get too hairy, they can braid 'em up. Next year, whenever I'm not "feeling fine," I'll say so. I will stop muttering "Fat Lips" under my breath every time I see Agent Fowley in hallway or elevator. I'll try to think of something much, -much- crueler. I will finally admit that bee pollen in plain yogurt tastes like earwax in curdled milk. I will no longer mourn my daughter's death. Instead, I will cherish her life. During our next expense review, when AD Kersh yells at Mulder and myself for being wasteful, overspending, insubordinate good-for-nothings I will smile and agree wholeheartedly all the way through, while intermittently yelling "Yes, SIR!" -- just to make Mulder smile. When Mulder and I go out on cases, I promise to rationalize less, listen more and let him have the car keys at least forty-five percent of the time. Natch. Make that forty. I will no longer make old lady "winky faces" when I stumble across Mulder's pornography collection hidden in the office evidence viewing corner. I will merely replace his tapes with some vintage "Little House on The Prairie" and then, deny everything. I resolve to make Mulder laugh, really laugh, at least once next year. A big laugh, even if it's one at my expense and I resolve to laugh with him, no matter where we may be. I promise to forgive him for the Chupacu... Chubacupbr... Rubicscube... that - goddamn- goat sucker. And... the reincarnated cats. One day, perhaps not next year or the year after, but someday, I will thank him, sincerely, for all that he's done for me. Given to me. Sacrificed for me. I will thank him for saving my life more times than I'd care to admit. For forcing me to be strong and for not tearing me apart, even when I was wrong and refused to admit it. For proving to me things I'd never have believed without the light of his faith. For requesting forgiveness of me, even without my askance. For accepting my apologies with grace and choosing to forget why I'd offered them to him in the first place. For trusting me and allowing me to trust him. For not breaking my heart, which God knows, is within his power to do. I hereby resolve to pray more, complain less, and fill the cup of life to overflowing, no matter how much time may be left for me. Because if I do all of the things I've listed above, even a day, and only a day, will have been worth it. As I put my pen down, somewhere in the distance, I heard the chant begin. Ten... nine... eight.... I took a deep breath and smiled. Wrapped my arms around myself, and within that embrace, I shivered with anticipation, waiting for the fireworks to sound. Seven... six... five... four... Shut my eyes and prayed for that single moment in time, one that was in many ways just like any other, but somehow gave me a greater sense of renewal than any I'd known in such a very long time. Three... two... one. Happy New Year, Dana Katherine Scully. Happy New Year indeed. =========== the end. Happy 1999 everyone! cicilean@yahoo.com THANKS to zoot and la for their inspiring "Southernisms."