Title: Spiderweb
Author: Jaybird
Rating: PG13 (just a little bad word)
Category: Just musings of M&S,slight MSR
Distribution Statement: Please do (tell me where first), and keep all original headers attached
Feedback: All kinds welcome to: jaybird_scrub@yahoo.com
Spoilers: The Unnatural, small ones for the whole show
Summary: Another deeply metaphorical and philosophical story . . . I know, I do mostly those, but I still suck at dialog and XF plots, so you do what you can.:) Author’s Notes: My attempt to make people comprehend what a fan fiction writers nightmare and dream come true Mulder and Scully are, at the same time Disclaimer: I’m not making money off of this story . . . why would I want to anyway? So don’t sue. I don’t got much ‘cept a big ‘ole bird cage, and what would Fox want with that anyway?

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“It’s something unpredictable.
But in the end it’s right.
I hope you have the time of your life.”
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(Scully’s View)

I watch the spider outside my window weave it’s web of silk, drifting off into thought. It carefully pulls each strand of the fiber out and works it into it’s creation. Silk’s quite an amazing thing of nature; in proportion, it’s as strong as metal cables. And yet it is also elastic; flexible. It bends in the breeze. I watch as the spider works her way round in circles, creating a perfect geometric shape. The reason she can do so is because the precise instructions are encoded in her brain; instinct. Instinct tells her the design of a web and she builds it.

Maybe we’re all like that little spider. We all start out with the perfect plans on how to weave and balance all the elements of our life in perfect harmony, perfect beauty. But for some reason or another, so many seem to loose their way, to miss a loop, and trip up. My life is so knotted and tangled, I fear that it’s too late to fix. Too many years of wrong turns and loops. Too many years. Now each passing day pulls the knots tighter and tighter. This tangled ball, these snags, they run far too deep for a solution now. I could spend the rest of my life trying. Sometimes I do tug free a snag; but that is only one small part of the whole mess. I’m in too deep; I’m trapped. It’s trapped in a spiralling course to my own eventual oblivion.

How much I’d like to start over. How much I wish to start fresh and new and young again. The last of my fire was stamped out long ago, I fear. I go through the motions of my everyday life, but they are void of emotion. I’ve been shattered to pieces and glued together so many times now, all that’s left is the glue. My energy, my joy for life, the last remnants have been extinguished. The Dana Scully that I knew has already died several years ago. Maybe if we had worked to change things a few years ago -maybe just even a year ago- there would of been something left to save. At least perhaps someday if we worked hard enough, my life could be spun anew. But it’s too late for that now . . . it’s too late for anything. I have lost my humanity. I only know the creature comforts now. I’ve lost my soul.

The spider has nearly completed her web. It glints in the sunlight as it sways back and forth softly. If only, I thought. If only.

“Scully?” I heard his voice call softly, with a hint of concern. He always worked so hard to protect me, gave me everything. Blamed himself for the road I chose and the suffering it had brought me. I constantly tell him not to blame himself, but he doesn’t know what else to do.

“Yeah.” I murmur, not in the mood to break my hypnotic trance the spider had played on my mind. I was thinking in circles, just like my life was going,trying to find a way out.Like an animal pacing a cage. I didn’t want to stop, get back to that life of mine. That mess of twisted and torn silk that any psychiatrists wouldn’t touch with a nine foot pole. Even they would shake their heads and say, “It’s hopeless.”

“You ok?” he asked, coming up to me from behind cautiously. Not wanting to bother me, but wanting to help at the same time.

I didn’t feel like answering. What could I say, anyway? Yes, I’m fine, Mulder. My standard answer. Which really meant; No, I’m not fine, but my life is not in danger, and there is no real reason to woe except for the fact I have no life, which you can do nothing about, so yes, I’m fine. I heard him sit down at the desk next to me wordlessly. He made a Worried-Bout-Scully sound at the back of his throat. The spider had completed her web and was at the center, waiting for an unsuspecting insect to pass by. Did you know their webs of silk are lined with sticky material to keep the prey trapped? So then, how they not get trapped themselves? They make some strands sticky, and others not. And then they know which to step on, and which not to. If only we had instructions in life like that.

(Mulder’s View)

She has been staring out that window for almost two hours now, a million miles away. It was torture for me. What the hell can I do? Over these years I’ve watched helplessly as my partner’s spirit slipped away like mine, slowly and to my utter horror, transforming into what I have . . . nothing. This maddening, obsessive, addictive quest for the Truth- it’s tearing both of us apart inside out. It used to tear me apart, alone. I was walking that thin line of sanity vrs. insanity when I met her. For a while she brought me back, and I was alive again! I had my humanity, my soul back. She made me whole.

And now . . . the quest has worn her down as it did for me. This thing called the Truth . . . I got her addicted to it . . . she shared my passionate search until it took all the fight, all the spark from her, robbed her. Her blue eyes used to glow with such energy, and now they have grown as empty and dull as mine. Why was I such a fool? Why didn’t I call this all off years ago? Hadn’t she suffered enough as it is? Her cancer, her sister, her daughter, her abduction? Just to name a few? How much more was it going to take until I was convinced it wasn’t worth all of this to continue this stupid search?

I’m afraid. I’m afraid it’s too late for anything. That we’re in way too deep and there is no turning back. And the only thing we can do is keep charging forward after the truth. With no turning back . . . “Scully, are you ok?” I repeated myself. I followed her gaze outside. A perfect spiderweb was swaying in the breeze, with a spider perching almost proudly in the center.

“Yeah. I’m fine, Mulder.” she muttered softly without turning. Her standard answer. It meant she was far from fine. It meant she was everything but fine. I sighed, so frustrated. Trapped. There was nothing I could do about anything. We had both lost our hope. I stared out the window with Scully. Blue skies, puffy white clouds . . . it was a beautiful day outside. I remembered a time were we could enjoy that.

“It’s a beautiful day outside, Mulder.” Scully had told me once. And I was in here on a Saturday, checking out stories of UFO sightings in Mexico. A smile slowly crept to my face at the memory. She had brought one of those disgusting tofutti-rice things in here and was acting like it was the best thing in the world to eat, and so smug that she didn’t bring me one. They aren’t as bad as I expected them to be, though, after I made a lunge at hers . . . Scully snapped her head around to look at me when I started snickering so fast that you’d think I just shot a gun at her window.

“What’s so funny?” she demanded.

“No, no, it’s not you. I was just thinking of something.” I quickly defended myself.

She cocked her head at me as if unable to comprehend that. Then she got such a desperate look in her eyes. “What was it?”

My God, she really wasn’t fine. She really, really, really wasn’t fine. She must of been making herself suffer there, staring out that window . . . oh God . .

I blew a quick sigh and leaned my chin on the desktop. Normally I wouldn’t of told her, but she looked about ready to fall apart at the seams, mentally. “I was just remembering. About that Saturday I spent in here looking through mexican UFO’s.”

The smile was slow in coming. First that twinkle of soul in her eyes flickered back to life. That was all. It spread though, slow but sure, until we were both grinning like total idiots.

“It’s a beautiful day outside, Scully. Why don’t we just finish this work off tomorrow and take the rest of the day off?” I offered.

She seemed to consider this for a moment. “C’mon. I’ll go buy you a real icecream. I know this great old fashioned place just a few blocks away.”

She smiled, showing her teeth this time. “That sounds perfect, Mulder.”

(Scully’s View)

I’m eating a double-scoop chocolate icecream cone, and I don’t think I’ve been happier in months. Make that years. Mulder’s next to me with a matching vanilla cone. It amuses me endlessly how we’re so different and yet so much the same. The ice cream parlor is perfect; spotless black and white tile floor, bright red stool seats, marble square tables, a long counter top at the cash register, and extra-large windows. And the selection was a good old fashioned 20-flavors, the most popular being chocolate and vanilla, of corse. How on Earth could something as simple as an icecream cone with Mulder fix the huge ball of knots my life was? Well, it didn’t really fix it all. But it did give me one thing; a reason to keep trying. My soul was not lost, my spark was not stamped out. As long as I had hope, and we were willing to start changing things. Because change is small at first; eat more icecream, take more walks, and have more honest conversations with your partner. But it leads up to bigger changes, and that’s what is going to finally undo the snags in life, and that’s what is going to weave a fresh new one.

THE END

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