Date sent: Mon, 17 Nov 1997 20:56:46 -0500
Subject: Strike A Match
From: noratramm@juno.com (Nora A Tramm)
Name: Strike a Match
Author: Nora Tramm
Rating: I dunno. The worst thing is the F-word.
Genre: A, V, enough MSR to get friendshippers riled
Description: This is The End... or was The End years ago?
Disclaimer: The characters described below are owned by Chris Carter,
10/13 productions, and FOX broadcasting network. I have used them without
permission and am very, very sorry. No, really, it's true. There's no
need to sue me.
I also own neither of the songs that I have quoted from. Yada yada yada.
Note: You will hate this. I hate this. Please send me flames, virtual
wedgies, virtual beatings, and viruses/worms/logic bombs/whatever as a
punishment for writing something so horrible.
P. S. I'm usually not this mean to M and S. I have written other fanfics,
but I haven't posted any others yet. I want to come in with a bang. Wish
me happy birthday... Letting myself post this and my top ten list is my
birthday present to myself... THIS IS MY FIRST POST!!!!
Hey, has anyone else noticed that the singer on Savage Garden looks a bit
like Carl Sagan?
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Strike a match
By Nora Tramm
noratramm@juno.com
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Get the kids and bring a sweater
Dry is good and wind is better
Count the years you always knew it
Strike a match go on and do it
--Shawn Colvin, "Sunny Came Home"
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As we walk down the road of our destiny
And the time comes to chose which shall it be
The wide and crooked or the strait and narrow
We got one voice to give and one life to live
Stand up for something or lay down in the game
Listen to the song that we sing
It's up to you to make it be
I guess I'll see you when you see me.
I'll see you when you get there
If you ever get there
See you when you get there
--Coolio featuring 40 Thevz, "C U When U Get There"
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molder (brit: moulder): vt. to crumble or decay, turn to dust
mulish: stubborn, obstinate
mull (over): to ponder or reminisce
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Time's up, Scully. It's over. Though when I think about it, it's been
over for a long time. And all this has been a charade. The real action
ended long ago. The truth left with you. I can face that now. I am
retiring.
I talk to you all the time, Scully. I guess if you hear me now, then
you would have been hearing me, and you would know that. If you've been
listening to me all this time, I'm sorry for bothering you. I'm sorry.
How long ago was it? How long since I've seen your face outside of
dreams? Heard your voice? Twenty-four years, Scully. Twenty-four years,
ten months, and thirteen days. We'd known each other for eight years, one
month, and twenty-one days.
I remember you, Scully. You've been with me. I remember how you went.
I was angry for too long, Scully. I was wrong. I'm not angry anymore.
Forgive me.
You decided to take things into your own hands, Scully. You broke
into their nest with your tiny, lithe body. You found the truth, Scully.
I know you did.
The truth you found would have been the answer, Scully. You could
have brought them down. You could have dragged us up out of the fucking
basement. You could have... found Samantha.
That quest is so empty, Scully. It has been empty for twenty-four
years, ten months, and thirteen days.
They shot you, Scully, because you knew. You died in my quest. And I,
Scully, I held you in my arms as you breathed your last. You spoke, and
all I could think about was my truth. But you didn't even try to tell me
it.
Your last words to me ring true at last. With the last of your life
you told me you loved me. For that I was angry, Scully. I couldn't see
how that could matter. I wanted that truth, Scully. I was a maniac. Ahab.
I went on for these twenty-four years, ten months, and thirteen days.
I went on angry and empty. Hollow. Meaningless. Hopeless.
I pretended I still had my search for Samantha, for the truth. But
that died with you. You took it from me. I was angry. I'm not angry now,
Scully. Forgive me for my past desecration of your memory.
Finally I have grown up, Scully. I can appreciate that you gave me
the greatest gift you could with your last breath. I have held your words
close to me since you said them, even when I was telling myself I hated
them. If you hadn't shown me it was really you, the real you, the you I
always knew lived behind your vibrant eyes, who was dying in my arms, I
might have believed that cigarette smoking fucking bastard when he tried
to lure me into his clutches with hints that you were still alive, that
he could give you back to me. You saved me yet again.
I went through the motions of the search for all these years, months,
and days since you left me, yet now I'm retiring with nothing to show for
it. As I knew I would when I pumped your chest, felt for a pulse, and
found none. Yet I went on. Why?
You've been with me, Scully. That I don't doubt. I know you cherished
those eight years, one month, and twenty-one days we were together.
Though you only remembered seven years, ten months, and nineteen days.
How dare they take those months from you, then take the rest of your
life, too?
How many times did I cry when I knew you? Surely not many.
I've only cried once since you left me, Scully, but that one crying
spell has lasted twenty-four years, ten months, and thirteen days, and
though sometimes I've had no tears left, Scully, I've cried.
Because you loved me, Scully, I went on. I'm kind of stupid like
that. Though the world turned against me and it took everyone else as
well as you. Why?
Not just you, Scully, though your loss hurt the most. My mother.
Marita Covarrubias. Semator Matheson. The Gunmen. And the one man I
counted as a friend after you left, Skinner. He cried for you, too, you
know. We cried on each other's shoulders, once, but I pushed him away.
He's gone, too.
Now, I'm ending this game. I'm retiring. My life has no more purpose.
I haven't turned in my--no, the bureau's gun yet. It still has some
use.
Your last words touch me at last. You're embracing me, Scully, I can
feel it.
They say that before you die your entire life flashes before your
eyes. I only see two parts, Scully. The time with my sister and the time
with you. And both endings.
I'm coming to you now.
Fuck it all, Scully, I love you too.
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Trust No One, because the Truth Is Out There even though they'll Deny
Everything to make you Believe the Lie, so just remember that Everything
Dies and Apology is Policy; still, All Lies Lead To The Truth, which by
the way is still Out There.
The guidelines said not to flame anyone
But getting nothing instead of flames is no fun
Don't be afraid 'cause I feel no shame
So please, go ahead and hit me with that flame
My spell check thinks Samantha is Satanical, Scully is Sculls, and
Covarrubias is Convertables.
END
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