TITLE: One
AUTHOR: Shoshana
EMAIL ADDRESS: [email protected]
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Gossamer
SPOILER WARNING: Ninth season premiere episodes.
RATING: PG-13
CONTENT STATEMENT: MSR
CLASSIFICATION: VA
KEYWORDS: Mulder, Scully, Angst
SUMMARY: Life on the road.
DISCLAIMER: These characters do not belong to me.
NOTE: Thanks to my wonderful beta reader Sallie!

One
By Shoshana

One cup of coffee. One motel room. One single, solitary life.

I yearn for the days when I bought daily commodities in twos, when I
depended on my ironclad memory to deliver just the right amount of
cream and sugar in her coffee, just the right salad order (dressing
on the side, no American cheese, please), just the right amount of
ice in her diet sodas.

I order for myself now. I live by myself now, roaming around the
country like some kind of desert nomad.

There's no end in sight. No goal yet revealed.

She told me to go and I left.

Until when--who knows? For exactly what reason--not too sure about
that either...

She believed Kersh. She's seen his actions, reactions, to everything
that's happened in the last eight months. Months I was missing,
months I was six feet underground, this past month and a half when I
was floundering, no better than one of my mollies on a sandy shoal.

I struggled to reclaim my life, my love, my unborn child.

As soon as I had all three, I had to go.

I argued the point with her, just like old times.

I demanded proof from her; she had none.

All she had was the cautionary advice of a man I never trusted. A
man who was under scrutiny by the new heir to the X-File throne,
Agent Doggett.

Our deliberation came to a stalemate when she refused to budge,
refused to listen to reason.

'They will come after you,' I told her.

'No they won't,' she countered.

'They will find me.'

'Not necessarily.'

'They'll take the baby,' I argued.

'It's you they want. It's you they want out of the picture.' Her
words faded tremulously to a barely heard whisper.

'How do you know, Scully? How do you really know?'

'We can't take a chance on this, Mulder. You won't be a sitting
duck if I have anything to say about it.'

Her glorious obstinance, which I have admired and disdained over all
these years, triumphed in the end. Our verbal skirmish was
approaching acrimony; I could not, I would not, allow our last night
together to devolve in that manner.

I gave in.

Her strong will, her sense of what is good and right and proper, won
over my own intractability.

So here I am, standing at the checkout counter of yet another
convenience store, the spitting image of the last one I stopped in
several hours ago. I've choked down a fast food meal, gassed up the
car, paid cash for my no-tell motel room.

I grab a quart of beer (all I ever allow myself anymore), a bag of
Cheetos and a local newspaper. The clerk is ringing up my purchases
when I remember I'm low on one more item. I grab it from the
freestanding display and plunk it down on the counter.

I watch the young man scan the plastic sack and add it to my meager
purchases. Through a thoughtful haze, I hear him tell me the total.
I don't move, even though I clearly sense he's waiting for me to pull
out my wallet (or my gun, considering how grungy I look tonight).

I think I'm waiting for Scully to come up behind me, to gently nudge
me away from the counter so she can drop her purchases there, too. I
even hear her teasing me, always the same sweet scold concerning my
junk food habits.

The kid nervously clears his throat and my hesitation ends with an
apology, as I reach over and snag one more package of sunflower
seeds.

Tonight, I'll buy something in twos again.

fin

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