| "And She Broke Your Throne: A Noli Me Tangere Interlude" |
| Kathrine F. |
| Pairings: Scully/F |
| Rating: none given |
| Disclaimer:Dana Scully is *not* mine, no matter *how* many hours I spend fantasizing, dammit! Flipper *is* mine, and that's some consolation. (Anyone want to borrow her, y'all just let me know...) Song lyrics from "Telescope Girl" by Engine Alley and "Sleeping Pills" by Suede, used without permission. ... |
| Spoilers: none. |
| Distribution/archive: anywhere, but let me know |
| Notes: This is what happens if you listen to Jeff Buckley over and over and over again... |
| Summary: Takes place after NMT IV. Flipper talks to a friend about what's been going on. |
********
"Your faith was strong but you needed proof,
You saw her bathing on the roof,
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew ya
She tied you to her kitchen chair,
And she broke your throne and she cut your hair,
And from your lips she drew the hallelujah..."
-- Leonard Cohen, "Hallelujah"
Flipper's apartment is small. Not even a very good realtor
//estate agent//
could get away with describing it as "bijou" or "compact"; it's just
plain small, and there's no getting around that. It doesn't bother
her. She grew up in a huge house on Ardenza Terrace, to be sure, an
old house with lots of little nooks and crannies where a child could
hide, but she has slept on far harder beds than the one she's sleeping
on now.
Or rather, the one she *isn't* sleeping on.
Sometimes she has bad dreams, about the blackness that wells up in her
mind when life turns in the wrong direction. Sometimes in winter the
heating makes mysterious and worrying *chugga chugga* noises that keep
her awake. Tonight, however, all that keeps her awake is the bubble
and churn of her own thoughts.
//I should have just told her to get stuffed.
But I missed her. It was good just to see her again.
Shit. Katina's going to think I'm nuts.
Oh, and I'm not?//
She rolls onto her back and watches the ceiling. Every now and then a
car passes the building and lights up the room briefly; when this
happens, she can see the damp patch on the wall to her left and the
stain on the ceiling that looks sort of like a swan if she squints.
It's a big, wide bed she's got, big enough for two, but only one other
person has ever slept here.
//Danny...//
At that thought something in her snaps, and she sits up. No point
lying there and brooding all night. No point pretending to sleep when
a drugstore full of pills wouldn't make a damn difference.
She reaches over for the phone -- a cheapo cell that chokes if she
tries to call anyone outside Baltimore. What she needs right now is
not to brood, not to sleep, not (Goddess forbid) to get drunk, slouch
down to Lulu's and leer at the floor staff. What she needs is a
shoulder to cry on. What she needs is a sounding-board.
She hefts the phone in her hand, considering. She *could* call Yvonne,
though Yvonne's been getting pretty cosy with that Deenie girl lately
and might not like being interrupted. Not that the mental picture that
calls up isn't entertaining -- but Flipper knows Yvonne (in the
Biblical sense) and knows she gets ugly when she's pissed off, and
guilty afterwards, and Flipper has neither the patience nor the energy
to deal with Yvonne's conscience.
Which leaves Natalie, who's in Annapolis and thus unreachable, and
Katina.
She dials the number and breathes deeply. In for four, out for eight,
like her yoga teacher says; deep and relaxing and cleansing and maybe
she won't be in and --
"Hi, Katina here."
"Um... hi, Tina."
"Flipper?" She yawns noisily. "Jesus, girl, do you know what time it
is?"
"Time I got a watch, maybe."
"Oh, hardy har har. No, but seriously, Flip, what's up? This better be
an emergency or the next time I do your hair, I'll give you the
Homophobia Haircut."
Flipper laughs despite herself. She and Katina have known each other
for so long and have so much in common that half their conversations
are in a sort of shorthand, natural to them but impossible to explain
to outsiders. Sometimes that's all she needs to centre herself, a half
hour or so of being an eejit with her best friend to drive away the
dark.
Not now.
"Yeah, Tina, it's an emergency."
"What is it, then?" The other woman's voice is wary, braced for the
impact of a revelation but ready to slip into jocularity at the first
sign that this is what's needed. Even over a bad line, Flipper can
read the slightest nuance of Tina's voice; and she knows Tina can do
the same. It makes talking to her easier, and infinitely more
difficult; because she *can't* lie to Tina, no matter how hard she
tries.
No matter how tempting it is.
She takes a deep breath, and tells the truth. "Danny."
"You're not dreaming about her again, are you?"
"No. No, I -- I saw her."
"Saw as in saw or saw as in *saw*?"
She sighs. "Saw as in saw, ran away from, got grabbed by, had a coffee
with...shit, Tina, I almost kissed her."
"Flipper -- "
"She said she was sorry."
"And how much does *that* mean?"
"I don't -- Tina, you weren't *there*. She was crying."
"Crying. Hm. And that makes it okay?"
"No. But it does mean she meant what she said."
"Maybe. Maybe, but..." Katina heaves a sigh heavy with the memory of
unheeded advice, and for a brief instant Flipper wishes that she'd
listened to her friend more, done as she said, and not just because
she's usually right, but because she knows how much it hurts her when
Flipper goes off on her own and gets her heart broken, leaving Katina
to pick up the pieces. She knows that there have been times when she
could have been a better friend. Now, though, she needs Tina -- her
support, her advice, and, yes, her love -- far too much to be
unselfish.
"I don't know what to do, Tina. I mean, I told her I'd be in touch. I
even gave her a flyer."
"A flyer?"
"Uh-huh."
"You think she'll come?"
"I don't know. I don't even know where she lives." A pause. She leans
her head back and stares at the poster she'd put up to cover up the
flaking paint.
"Do you want her to come?"
"Yes." The word is quiet, exhaled rather than spoken. So soft -- she
remembers Danny's forehead touching her own, words breathed onto her
lips. Sweet breath. Soft words.
"...regret it?"
"Uh -- what?" She hasn't been listening; the thought makes her blush.
What was that she was thinking about being a better friend?
"I said, you shouldn't make promises like that unless you're sure you
won't regret it."
"You can never be sure."
"Not completely, but...Flipper, what are you getting into?"
"I don't know. I don't know, I -- "
"Do you even know what you want?"
//Touch. Kiss. The weight of her head on my breast as we slept. The
heat of her eyes burning into mine.// "...yes."
"Well?"
"Well, what?"
"What do you want?"
"I want..." Impossible to put into words that rush of memory and half-
memory, that flow of blood and prickle of skin. Or perhaps not
impossible; perhaps only...difficult. //I *want*.//
"What's so special about her, anyway? That you're beating yourself up
about it? I mean, never mind the fact that you have the biggest
ability to take unnecessary shit that I have *ever* seen, this
woman, she -- I mean, God, Flipper, you see her *once* and she
disappears for no reason, and now all of a sudden you want to be her
girlfriend? What is up with that?"
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't say anything." Another sigh, this one frustrated. Flipper
suddenly wishes that she hadn't called at all, or at least not *now*,
when Tina's tired and most likely doesn't feel like talking.
"It's hard, Tina. I don't know what to say, it's -- it's not like
anything I've ever felt before or -- or something I can put into
words, you know? Not without sounding stupid."
Tina grunts at that, amused. "Flipper, it's me you're talking to,
remember? I already know how stupid you are."
Flipper smiles, though she can't laugh, not now that Tina has her
thinking about It. The Thing. The Complication. The thing that stopped
her from blowing up in Danny's face and running away.
"It was...it was the way she looked at me. The way she touched me. It
was like a prayer, almost. Like...worship. Does that make sense?"
"Sort of," says Tina, and Flipper begins to think that maybe she *does*
understand, or could, if she could only find the words.
"Tina, she -- " Deep breath. In for four, out for eight. The most
important thing, and the most difficult to say. She trusts Tina to
love her and be there for her, but there have been times before when
she has opened her treasure box and had her most precious memories
mocked. Another deep breath. It was never Tina who mocked. That's
important too.
"She *what*?"
"She kissed my scars."
Silence from the other end; then a long exhalation. "I see," says
Tina, and Flipper starts to breathe again; because she *does* see. The
understanding in her voice is reluctant; but it is there.
"I know it's nuts, I just -- I have to give it a try, Tina, you know?"
"Is it a love thing?"
"Love?" Funny; the word "love" had never come into it, even in her
most secret conversations with herself. And there were so many reasons
for that..."How do you know, Tina? When it's love? How the fuck do you
know?"
"I believe the traditional answer is 'you just know'."
"That's not very helpful."
"Yeah, well, unfortunately that's as helpful as it gets. I mean, it's
not like there's a litmus test or something...so you're not sure?"
"No, I'm not. But you know me. Sometimes I'm not even sure of my own
name."
"Flipper..." Another pause. Flipper can picture her friend now, biting
her lip the way she does when she's concerned. She feels her stomach
start to flutter. Something serious is coming up.
"Flipper, I think you *are* in love. But I still don't think this is a
good idea. I mean, did she even tell you why she left?"
"She said she was afraid."
"Hm. Figures. Question is, is she *still* afraid?"
"I don't know that. I know I am."
"You should be. You don't even know this woman."
"I know her better than you do."
"Mmm." Conceding the point, but not admitting defeat. "I can't stop
you from doing whatever you want, Flipper, but I don't want to see you
get hurt, and getting together with someone who left you like that is
probably *the* most efficient set-up for heartbreak that I've ever
come across."
"Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe she really *is* sorry. Maybe she's changed.
You ever think of that?"
"Maybe." Another sigh. "Listen, Flip, you do what you have to. Just --
be careful, okay? I hate to see you hurt."
A lump rises in Flipper's throat. Goddess, but she needs to hear this.
She *knows* it, but --
"Thanks. For, y'know, putting up with me."
Katina's voice is soft now, intimate in the way of friends or sisters.
"Any time, Flip. I mean it. Take care."
"I will. Thanks again."
She hits disconnect and lies back down on the bed, her eyes closed.
//Love...//
It's a strange thought. A disturbing thought.
Yet when sleep steals over her, her dreams are warm.
[end]
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