Title: Alive Alone
Author: RocketMan >lbontger@wmcstations.com<
Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No fringe is
intended. What's so bad about sharing?
Notes and Dedication: Thanks go to Pandora again, for sending me the
lyrics again.
SPOILER::::::The movie. Just a reference.
Content: MS-UST, no Angst, just stupidity

~~~~~ 
Alive Alone
~~~~~
"And I'm alive
I'm alone
And I never wanted to be either of those. . . 
And she shines
she shines for me
she shines for me"
--'Alive Alone' Chemical Brothers
~~~~~

I promised myself this wasn't going to be a pity party.

It's not.

I won't let it anymore. I can do better than sitting at home on my couch
watching television and simply wishing for things I don't think I can
have.

I almost had those things. I can have them again.

I can. I can. 

A kiss (almost) in an empty hall, a brush that went nowhere but said
everything. Light hands touching, whispers of feeling threading through.
It had been an impulse, but it remained a fact.

I won't let myself slide back into that destructive funk wave I was
riding for about three years there. The wave that built up when she was
taken and I could only think that I had done it to her.

My wave has crashed into the shore and it's a glorious beach: white
sand, palm trees, coconuts, life. And this island is ripe. Deserted
except for one thing:

Scully.

It's like I'm sunbathing and getting warm and toasted all over,
stretched out in the sand and feeling the little fingers of sunlight
massaging every inch of my skin.

That's what she does to me.

Right now, though, in this ratty dim light, with the noise of the Three
Stooges making me realize just how pathetic I am, I don't feel so hot.

I feel rather like I'm having that pity party.

Because she's not here. I'm not there with her, and she doesn't want me
there either.

I know.

I called.

I asked.

She refused.

Refused.

Not a polite, oh sorry, but a downright shouted "NO" don't come near me
kind of panic.

I don't want to be here, alone, by myself, having no one but myself to
think about. I want to be with her, even for an hour, even for a second.
Just to reinforce my earlier decision: that I can get over my stupid
depression, that I don't have to wallow in the horror my family was
steeped in.

Without her is deep darkness.

In her I find light.

She shines.

Stupid, corny, cliche, yes. Yes! Gloriously cliche. Wonderfully
hackneyed. 

It's a mervelous feeling, being so normal as to be cliche. Cliche.

Nothing for me is ever cliche.

I want the phone to ring.

I want her to be on the other end, telling me that I can come over, that
she will shine some more for me.

She doesn't though.

She just doesn't.

I wonder why.

Isn't this the part where she calls and the story actually goes
somewhere, redeems itself from being some long, drawn-out, emotional
tirade against the forces that conspire against me?

Yes. I'm pretty sure something is supposed to happen here.

She is supposed to call, to tell me to come over and let my ego rest,
let my depression lift.

Yet she doesn't.

Because this is real life.

And I'm alive.

And alone.

And she's shining for herself.

Not for me.
~~~~~

end
adios
RM
this was a kick in the head for me, how about you?