Title: 180 Degrees Around An Angel: My Paradise Lost 

Author: Teagan Riley

Rating: Why not make it a PG-13er?

Summary: Character Death, Romance (To say who to who would be to spoil it,
no? But rest assured the A.D. is rather involved in it all.), Vignette,
Angst

Disclaimer: The X-Files gang in it's entirety are ALL not mine in a rather
big way. They're yours Chris. I promise. (Why is he so insecure about that,
I wonder...)Anyway, I'm not making any money. Don't sue.

Distribution statement: Should you feel the need to archive this bad boy
anywhere, I'm cool with it as long as you let me know and you keep my header
attached. Danke.

Author's Note: It's weird. I know. It gets weirder.

All feedback should be sent to atr48@iname.com

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


[part 1: My paradise lost]

Tears stream down my face in a never ending flood as I watch you turn away,
anguish stamped on your features as plainly as the guilt in your eyes. In
my eyes, too. I replay the memory again, watching closely for some other way
I might have stopped you, looking for a cause for still more self-flagellation. It 
never stops, it never will. I let you go. Regret rages through me, white hot in its 
intensity. The words echo hollowly through my mind: I let you go. Hindsight is 
always 20/20 and my vision is clear as I watch myself take that chance ...as I 
watch myself extend an olive branch in the form of my hand. Snorting, briefly, 
without humor, I glance down at my open palms. Calloused and large, my 
hands are hardly as poetic as an olive branch.

Softly, I trace my left hand, remembering the times I used it to still you,
to calm you, to reassure you. My eyes fill again, and the hot liquid spills
over, slowly coursing downward. The tears gently run over my cheeks,
reminding me of your fingertips as you playfully dragged your hand over my
face, telling me that a smile wouldn't break it. Even now, my mouth turns up
slightly at the memory of your twinkling blue eyes. I can almost hear your
musical whisper against my ear as you told me for the first time...the words
I'd waited for, not ever expecting. The slight catch of breath that accompanied 
the statement, given in a rush, as though you were afraid that halfway through 
you'd forget. I didn't even hear myself reply as you hurtled yourself into my 
waiting arms, but later you told me I said "Thank you."

My arms are empty now, as they were before, but more so now that they know
what it was to hold you and to warm you. Empty arms, empty smile...empty
heart...I am empty without you. Everything is empty without you. All is
devoid of meaning without the light of understanding you carry with you as
though it were a flashlight. Are the batteries dead? I wonder, my mind
muddled by pain and exhaustion. No, wait...the batteries aren't
dead...you're dead...or am I dead? There is no difference now- either way,
I'm alone again, in an entirely new sense. Before, I didn't know I was
alone...so I couldn't miss what I didn't have. Now I do. I miss it so much
I ache with every breath.

I inhale the air left stale by your passing, and remember a time when it
was fresher. I remember when we first met. You came to my office, fierce as
any lioness defending her pride. You demanded that I make Dana take a
leave of absence to get over your father's death. You didn't go to the
funeral yourself. Too many demons, you said softly. But you knew what Dana
felt. You knew what she needed just as you always knew. I loved you then,
even as I told you that Dana would do what she saw fit. I wanted to take
you into my arms when you conceded defeat, sinking to the chair like a
wilted flower. I thought you might cry. I actually hoped you would. Then
I'd have reason to hold you. But you looked up at me, resigned laughter in
your cobalt blue eyes and accused me of being the most stubborn man you'd
ever met. I snort again, you were probably right. You came to me many times
like that, asking me to watch over your sister. Every time you made me
promise not to tell her that you were there...you didn't want her to know that 
you lived in DC. When I asked why, you'd smile sadly and say, "I just need to 
know she's all right. But I can't face her yet."

I treasured your clandestine visits to my office, savoring every one as
though it were the last. In my mind at least, it very well could have been.

Then one night you appeared at my doorstep, a red-headed waif with joy in
her eyes and forever in her smile. You fidgeted by the door as I got you a
drink. When I re-emerged from the kitchen the words bubbled up out of you, as
though you had been waiting to say them your whole life. Maybe you had. I
had been waiting to hear them for all of mine, that's certain.

You filled my arms so well, warming me right through to my very center.
The crown of your head nestled neatly beneath my chin; it was as though you
had been made solely for me. I wish that I could hold you now, cradle your
head and stroke your lavender scented hair. That night I discovered how
happy I could be. I discovered that it wasn't a sin to need someone else and
that it didn't make me weaker.

I could not believe that it was real, at first, and even later from time to
time. You were young enough to be my daughter almost, and so very
beautiful. To think that you were mine, even for the most fleeting amount of
time still humbles me beyond measure. But it was too fleeting, I whimper
deep within the recesses of my soul. Too fleeting...the words escape my
mouth, and my voice, so long unused sounds rusty and jagged as I rage
against the powers that be. Regret is replaced with wrath...all consuming.
It was not your time, dammit. You weren't meant to die...not now...not
ever.

It is this wrath which I must latch onto, forsaking other emotions like
despair, grief, loss and most of all the crippling yearning that threatens
to make me fall on my knees and beg God for another chance with you. I have
been trained to deal with wrath. It was part of my stock and trade deep
within the jungles of Vietnam. With the wrath comes a fierce determination
to avenge you, one tempered and honed by the despair which I cannot fully
confine, despite my Herculean efforts to do so. Who could, when remembering
your smile, your grace the way your strength lay within your delicate
fragility? The way you seemed elemental, as though no one could really hold
you, but only grasp you for as long as you would allow? How your sweetness
seemed to radiate from you, seeping into everything you touched? Just the
slightest thing seems to somehow remind me of you and bring me once more to
my knees. What has become of the stone man I once was? You softened my
edges, and I am in desperate need of an edge to cling to.

I want to scream until my throat is hoarse, to throw myself onto your
grave and never move from that spot, to kill the man who hurt you and the
doctors that couldn't save you, to cry as though I was a child but most of
all I want you back, Lissa. The anguish is doubled by the fact that my last
words with you were in anger. I had asked you to marry me and you had
accepted. On the condition that we elope and keep it secret. My pride was
unable to accept that possibility, though now I would cherish such an
arrangement if it meant having you near me again.

Before me on the table lies an envelope, it's stark whiteness standing out
in sharp contrast with the polished mahogany of the wood. Your ornate
scrawl across it boldly bears my name. I am afraid to open it. Assistant
Director Walter Skinner? Afraid to open a mere envelope? I think mockingly.
But I am so very afraid. Afraid that it will make me love you more... miss
you more. Or, perhaps, conversely it will be a confession that you never
really loved me at all. Either way, I do not know if I am equal to the task
of reading such a letter. I make myself open it, hands shaking. As I read
it, the tears begin anew and my soul shatters into a million tiny pieces all
crying your name.

Walter,

Although I am dead, I can still see your smile; I can still feel your
touch. And I can see the adorable furrow in your brow as you wonder what
the hell I mean. Since you're reading this, it follows that I'm no longer
alive...at least it should. But as I write this, knowing that I will die
and you will read this, I can see you and I can feel your kiss on my mouth
still. I'll be with you forever, beloved. You can't lose me, no matter how
much you might want to... You're stuck with me.

About a week ago, I saw it happen, right before my own eyes. I saw my own
death, a thousand times over. I saw myself as a Druid priestess, and as the
lady of a grand castle and each time I was your lady and you were the lord
of my heart, as you are now. I also saw the end of this life. I saw the
bullet fly from the dark into me, and then I saw that it was Dana they meant
to kill, not me.

Walter, please understand me, and forgive me for what I must do. Dana is
my baby sister. I cannot let her die when it is my time. And yes, it is my
time, beloved, despite what you may believe. It is written, somewhere, that
I must die in Dana's place and I won't disrupt the balance any further than
I must for but a few moments stolen from time's clock. Could I spare you any
pain, I would. But know this, beloved: I am as sure that I shall see you,
and love you again, as I am that I do love you. I will wait for you, for
all of eternity, if I must. Will you wait for me, and hold a space for me
deep within your soul?

I love you,

Lissa

Yes, I whisper into the void through my sobs, knowing you will hear me.
Yes, I will wait for you. I will wait for you, and love you forever.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[part 2: Slumbering angel]

There are three of us here, hiding in the
dark, one of them a stranger to me. Glancing through the shadows, as I have
all my life, my eyes light upon a photograph displayed prominently on the
desk. Dana Scully's red hair shines and catches the light in the picture,
contrasting sharply with Mulder's dark head rested atop of her fiery one.
His arm is wrapped loosely around her waist, and both of them are smiling
slightly as they lean against one another, drawing strength from that
contact it seems. Despite the soft smiles on both of their faces, the pain
both have suffered is easily readable within their partly shadowed eyes. The
physical reality of the photograph is underlaid with the undeniable essence
of their true relationship, as lovers rather than friends, or even partners.
Although from what I have witnessed, they have not actually consummated it,
they truly are and always will be lovers. They anchor each other in the here
and now. Both are mystics in their heart of hearts, but they pull each other
back from the brink at regular intervals, tethering one another to the ground and
themselves. They are meant for one another. They love each other more
deeply than any I have seen before. It's not as though I have much practice
or experience in loving, but the bond between the two of them is
unmistakable, and quite obviously irreplaceable. Suddenly ashamed, I glance
away.

Detachment has long been my most useful asset, and my most trusted friend.
Typical that it abandons me now, when I need it most, just like everything
has. Once again, I try to shake the foreign guilt-like emotion that has
overtaken me since I stepped into Dana Scully's apartment with the intent to
kill her. Even to my jaded sensibilities, it seems wrong to deny a man of
that which completes him, and Mulder's partner does certainly do that.
Without Scully, he is nothing more than a blind man groping his way through
an obstacle course, and badly at that. When did I grow a conscience? I
wonder briefly. Is it because I envy them? No, even though I do envy them,
that isn't why I feel this eerie disquiet as I lie in wait, here in the
dark.

Nobody has ever really loved me, or showed any interest in me. I was
abandoned as a child, left in the hands of a man who cared little about me.
It was through him that I learned this way of life, that of the assassin. I
suppose, in his way, he was trying to watch out for me. Excuse me for not
jumping up to thank him for propelling me into a life of suspicion and
constant betrayal. That's unfair of me, I know, but I cannot help but feel
as though rather than helping me with his empty gesture he managed to
condemn me to eternal loneliness. I have nothing other than instincts honed
razor sharp from years of watching my back among friends.

My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of light footfalls. With a brief
signal to Cardinal and the mystery man, we flank out and get into position
as the sounds of a key being fitted to lock are heard. I still, quashing
the last feelings of guilt, and trying to convince myself that this must be
done, despite my misgivings. The door inches open and from my vantage point
the profile of the woman behind it is thrown into a vivid relief by the
light in the hall. I can smell her perfume, its innocence seems to be
leading me into madness. Don't look at her face, something within me
warns...but it is too late... Her lashes are gilded and her azure eyes are
filled with tiny flecks of silver, as my gaze meets hers the single truth is
burned into me: This is her. This is the one. For life, for always,
forever, for you, Alex. My soul swells and I swear I can almost hear the
angelic host singing in my ears. On the heels of this startling revelation
comes the realization that they do not know that this isn't Scully....

THEY DON'T KNOW! THEY'LL SHOOT! GOD NO! My brain screams as I 
frantically signal to the shooter. "Stop!" I attempt to yell, but it comes out 
as no more than a croak, which is silenced by the sharp report of a gun. 
She crumples into a heap onto the floor, the smile of welcoming on her 
face turning to a grimace of pain and betrayal, and then becoming slack 
as her auburn head hits the floor, hard. Without thinking, I raise my firearm 
and shoot the mystery man between the eyes as I rush to her side. Lord, 
she looks like an angel, curled up asleep. I yearn to reach for her, but I 
can't. I'm afraid, were I to touch her she would be dirtied, as everything I 
touch is. So beautiful, so peaceful, an angel lying in a pool...My fevered 
mind suddenly remembers that it isn't water or even a halo around her 
head. It's blood my angel's lying in.

"Call the hospital, Cardinal." I order, my voice as detached as I wish I
felt. Oh, God...she's dying...dying...fading away before my eyes on the
floor here...She shouldn't be dead. She shouldn't be dying. She should be
laughing, or flying even. She's otherworldly, her beauty almost elfin in
it's delicacy. God! I want to hold her...just once...to have something as
good and new and fresh and decent as her within my grasp without ruining
it....

Cardinal stands there dumb, as I crouch by her side reaching for her, yet
pulling back at the last instant. "Call the goddamn hospital!" I order
again, my voice cracking. "Can't you see that she's dying?" That was a
whimper, one that holds the breaking of my heart.

"We were _sent_ to kill her. She _should_ die." He says, confused by my
actions.

Not even bothering to look away from her, I raise my gun and cock it. "Do
you want to live, Cardinal?" He nods instantly. All self-preservation, we
assassins, I think grimly. "Then call for a fucking ambulance and then get
the hell out of here. I won't tell you again." My voice is flat, numb, and
filled with determination.

As he dials the number I move closer to her, almost afraid to do even that,
as though my aura would somehow infect her. But it already has, Alex, a part
of me sneers. She's lying on the floor in a pool of her own blood within in
seconds of seeing you. You've already killed her, best to leave now that
the ambulance has been called. But I can't, I just can't leave her alone
here in the dark...she looks like she would be afraid of the dark. A creature
of the light like her would be threatened by the overpowering veil of night
that those such as I have come to welcome. I will protect you, angel... my
slumbering angel...I will watch over you...for now...for life...for
always...forever...

Cardinal skirts us as he rushes from the apartment, as though afraid he
would contract my madness were he to come any closer. Before he plunges
into a headlong flight from the building, he turns to me. "Alex, come, you
will be caught." But I motion him away with the gun. I cannot leave her. I
will not.

As I remain at her side, watching my angel slip farther and farther from my
grasping hands, I reflect on my earlier guilt over killing Scully. It was
well placed...I know now what Mulder would feel if she was to be hurt, or
killed. I was right, the agony is unbearable as I watch her life's blood, my
heart's blood, flow out onto the hard floor.

I lick my dry lips as I hear the sirens, knowing these are my last few
seconds with her. I have to say it to her...I must...

"I don't even know your name." I whisper, and then I laugh, trying to bite
back a sob. "I-I-I-These past few minutes, from the first time I saw you...I
don't believe in fate or destiny or love at first sight...well I didn't till
tonight. There's no way for me to explain this...I know it's bizarre, but do
you know what I saw in your eyes? I saw a reflection of a woman who could
love me...despite me. Angel, I love you." I say, my voice no more than the
tiniest scratch. Hearing the paramedics scrabbling from the elevator, I
quickly lean over and smooth back her hair, not allowing myself a kiss. I
climb through the window and down the fire escape to the infinite night,
where I belong. I whisper up into the sky, "Mulder, cherish your
angel...hold her while you can...and never ever let her slumber...." as I
turn, from the last little bit of salvation there could have been for me.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[part 3:  To have loved and lost]

It happens when I least expect it, the bittersweet rush of memories, the 
nostalgic anguish that always accompanies your name but is, over the 
passage of time, dulling somewhat. Caught unawares, I'll find myself 
weeping silently at some new recollection, or thought of you. You're 
always there, in everything I do, smiling your approval at me and radiating 
your gentle and all-encompassing love. God, I wish you were here again. 
In Vietnam, I learned that memories aren't easy to live with, but some 
are easier than others. The look on your face when I told you to leave 
my apartment after you had agreed to marry me but only in secret is the 
most difficult memory of all. I hurt you badly, and I'd willingly give a pound 
of my flesh to undo that wrong against you. I'd willingly submit myself to 
all the tortures of hell to know that you're alive. And there's nothing I 
wouldn't do to see you, just once more. I scrub my hand over my face, 
my burning eyes paying tribute to the fact that I can still cry over you, even 
after all this time. I've wandered this path a thousand times, more even, 
and I know that this way lies madness, but I cannot help but think: "What 
would have happened that night if you hadn't left? Would you still be here,
with me?"

I haven't told them, not Dana, not your mother. I didn't because, for some
reason, you didn't want them to know. Lissa, that's one thing I'll never
understand, but I'll respect it. I just wish...I just wish that I could
grieve with them. Maybe that would give me more of a sense of closure. I
shake my head; I know I'm deluding myself in that. There is no respite for
me, without you, I know that. I've learned it the hard way. But then, is
there any easy way to learn that you need someone more than the air in your
lungs or the blood in your veins? I suppose it's sort of a contradiction in
terms.

And, although I know the pain will always be there, with me, I wouldn't
ever choose to not have known you. To have not loved you. Emptiness is
passing, and can be filled, if you know it's there. If you acknowledge it.
We're not the only ones who have ever loved, Lissa. Nor the only ones who
have ever been separated. But the sensation seemed so new, so unique unto
us, that it's difficult, sometimes, to remember that. Is this hollowness
what Mulder felt when he lost your sister? Is this the same void that your
mother experienced when your father died? And did they feel the same need
for vengeance that I do?

That day that he first came to my office, Lissa, I almost killed him right
away. I was across the room with my hands around his throat before it even
registered who he was. The months of pent up anger and anguish rose to the
surface immediately, and I could not have stopped myself from attacking him
anymore than I could have stopped myself from wanting you back or drawing
breath. Actually, the only reason I stopped myself was the thought that I'd
have to kill him quickly due to noise. When he wheezed your name through
his bruised vocal chords, I almost strangled him again. I controlled
myself, and listened to his story. I wasn't sure whether to buy it or not,
until he got to the part about seeing you for the first time.

I found myself on common ground with the monster, for I, too, had felt the
same soul deep reaction to you the first time I saw you. I had the same
reaction to your physical beauty. Later, I learned it was nothing compared
to the beauty within you. He said he loved you, Lissa. He thinks he does.
He's shed his crocodile tears over you, convincing himself that his
obsession with you was love. I still would kill him if I could, but he is
now my last tenuous chance to bring the men that killed you and abducted your
sister to justice.

The bullet that ripped into you tore me apart as well. I will always bear
the scar of it, as long as I live. When Cardinal shot me, it just seemed
like overkill. Had I known his intentions, I would have drawn a large X
across my heart and told him to hit the center. I would have been by your
side again. Awaking from the surgery, I saw Dana's face at my bedside. For
a moment, I mistook her for you. I almost wept when I realized it was her.
They say it is better to have loved and lost then to have never loved at
all. I agree, wholeheartedly. To never love is to go through life as a
drone, without any feeling or color in your life. You saved me from that
fate, and I thank you for it. Yes, it's true that it is better to have
loved and lost. But it's a long road to becoming whole again without the
one you've loved. I'm trying. I take one step down that path every morning
when I wake up and you aren't there. I'm trying Lissa, but I have a feeling
it's going to be a long journey.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[part 4: To grasp an angel]


The silence is my undoing. There is always noise, everywhere. 
Everywhere except here, I amend. In noise, there is distraction. 
Distraction from memories best left forgotten. But I cannot hide
from myself here, for there is no where left to hide. I have been laid 
bare by nothing more than a cold block of marble with the words
"Melissa Scully, Beloved Friend, Daughter and Sister You live on in
our memories, young and eternal". I knew you had been buried here. I knew
exactly what your grave marker said, despite the fact that I've never been
here, not once. I knew that if I did come, it must be now, alone and
enveloped in night, creeping in silently and steeling but a few hours here,
nothing more than a thief in the night. Yet here, underneath the shining
canopy of brilliant stars and the mantle of winter's deep chill, I find
myself forced to revisit the aching void that screams for knowledge of you,
Angel. I am unsure what hurts more, that I did not know you for more than
the last tortured seconds of consciousness or that you are gone.

I wonder what your favorite color was...Was it blue, like mine? No, blue
is too cool a color, for you were kind, and giving, I could see it in your
easy smile. Perhaps it was yellow, yes, I believe it was yellow. A soft
yellow, one which would have washed out many another woman, but not you. No,
never you. You were too vibrant to be washed out...to alive to become pale
or sallow. Did you like to read, or were you more of a movie fanatic? No,
you enjoyed dreaming to much for movies. You were clearly a book woman. I
can picture you, curled up in a large armchair, intent upon the pages before
you. Your brow would be creased just so between your eyes as you
concentrated fully on the words in front of you. From time to time you'd
smile because of something you read. In my mind's eye, I can see you so
clearly it seems like I could just reach out and touch you. But then I open
my eyes, and I know that I can't ever touch you, won't ever hold you, and
that's when the tears begin to fall.

The agony roils inside of me, like some sort of ravenous animal, it
consumes all other emotions, leaving nothing in it's wake. It's the aching
emptiness I fear more than anything else. You're the last thing I have
left, Angel, and the only thing I care about anymore. If I lose you too then
I know that it will only be a matter of time before I become like Them.
Cold, calculated killers. I have killed before, yes, but never like that.
Never without some twinge of regret, some pang of self-loathing, some sense
of remorse. They're made of ice...and I can feel myself being sucked into
their winter...

But not here. Here, I feel only the autumn like fading of your warmth. It
is your love, although it is not for me, with which I am now warming my
chilled and frost-bitten heart. If you had only lived, would I have ever
seen you again? I doubt it, greatly, yet, the possibility would have been
real. The chance of seeing you, alive, well, and happy, would have been
enough for me, enough to keep me from the precipice before me. I can all
but feel myself falling over it...but you, you would have been my life line.
He hates me, you know. With every fiber in his being. I don't blame him.
I hate myself for what I did to you, what I let happen to you. But I hate
him too. It's a hate largely born of jealousy. He loved you, and you
loved him too. He had, for a second, the life I'd never allowed myself to
dream of, a life where he could wake up with you in his arms.

None of that matters, however, because the only way either of us will ever
achieve justice for your death is together. He has the ability to work
freely that I lack, and I have the information he needs. Ironically, we
make the perfect team for such a mission. Cardinal is already gone, by
Skinner's hand, the other, killed the night he killed you. But the man who
ordered it, he is beyond even our reach at the moment. But someday, he
won't be. Someday, all of them will come toppling down. That's what
Skinner and I are working toward, by aiding Mulder and Scully in their all
important quest. And on that day, Angel, I'll join you, finally, and maybe
we'll shake hands.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


[part 5: The angel speaks]



Life, to the living, is, in it's most distilled essence, merely a field of
vision that's been narrowed down the most it possibly can be. Death, is
taking off the blinders, and seeing everything and anything that one could
possibly hope to see. It's enlightening, beautiful, horrifying, electrifying, 
tranquil and agonizing all at once. Life lasts for a very long time in some 
cases, in others such as mine, not so long, yet long enough to
be recognized and appreciated for what it is, although it seldom is. On the
other hand, death is a single moment in time, an event that can happen so
swiftly that the dying don't even realize what has happened. But after
death, what then? Does the soul get categorized and tossed into one of the
three bins, labeled heaven, hell and purgatory? Does it come back again,
waiting to try the blinders on once more? Or does it simply evaporate into
thin air, disappearing when there is nothing more for it to do? I wondered
that for most of my life, and after I did die, I learned that after death the soul is 
unfettered and free to see and do what it will. It's something that I've classified 
as Being. Simply Being, and loving. And so that is what I am doing. I am Being,
loving, and watching.

They dance around, like two boxers thrown together in a tag team fight who
desperately long to hit each other yet must round on the other corner before
demolishing themselves. I often miss the blinders that life provided,
especially when I watch those two. The lives they lead have but one
purpose now, and I am that purpose. What they don't understand is that what
I want for them is more than that, I want joy for them, and yes love, for I
do love both of them, though drastically differently. Walter is my beloved,
my better half, and every time he hurts, I can feel it too. And then there
is Alex, all earnestness, all eagerness, and despite his cynical corruption, he
is so easy to have affection for when you can see everything, as I can. I
don't understand him at all, why it is he thinks he loves me. Maybe it's
because to him, I am a symbol of who he could have been if his life had been
different in some way. Walter, I know, loves me for the sake of who I am,
and who he is, was, with me, not because I am the embodiment of a life he never can 
achieve.

He will always love me, despite the fact that I'm gone, and he'll always
remember who I was, not who he wanted me to be, or who he thought I should
be. There's comfort in that, even for one who no longer has to worry about
the finite, more than I care to say.

For most of the time I had with him, I hid. Not just physically, from my
family, but from myself and from him as well. You see, I was afraid. Very
afraid. Afraid of loving him, afraid of not being loved back, afraid of
being loved back as well. I was afraid of my family, that they might not
have forgiven me for abandoning them. And oh, God...I was afraid of
facing myself again. After so many years of lying to myself, telling myself
that I was someone I was not, I didn't think I could handle who I had
become...But he taught me that who I had become was not without any merit.
That she was not unlovable, nor incapable of loving. He saved my life in a
very real way, in the way only a man you love, a man who loves you, can.

When I met him, I had spent most of my life moving, always moving. First as
a child, it was because of Dad's job. Base to base, new home to new home,
school to school, we kept moving. In most places we only stayed long enough
for the newness to wear off, but not long enough to fall into the rhythm that
time and familiarity brings. That kind of childhood generally produces two
different kinds of people, those who long for permanence and security, my
brother Bill and my sister Dana fit that profile, and the wanderers, me and
Charlie. Even as a teenager, I'd run away, just long enough to see a new
place, never more than a week, but never less than a weekend. I always came
back though, I always had a place to come back to. When I left for college,
I knew I had that place to come back to, but I also knew that I'd never come
back to it just the way it had been. That scared me, more than almost
anything else, so I ran. I left college, and I didn't let anyone know where
I was. I told myself that I was finding myself, that I was experiencing life, but
I wasn't. I was deserting my family, and every time something got too real,
too permanent, I'd run away from that too. I became a coward.

Walter was the strongest man I'd ever met. I could see it, in his eyes. It
surrounded him, not some mere aura, but a radiant halo of strength,
solidarity, bravery, and nobility. He was everything I was not. I came to
him, at first, only to know how my little sister was. Dana has a habit of
sugar coating any news that we hear of her. When I saw her one day walking
along the street with a large bruise on her face and a limp in her walk, I
immediately got in touch with her superior, Walter.

He needed me just as badly as I needed him, for once somebody really needed
me. It was an empowering, and humbling feeling. This man, strong as a
mountain had laid himself at my feet, and told me to do what I would with
his heart. Well, only after I had told him that mine belonged to him. It
had since I opened the door to his office and he looked up at me. Normally,
I found myself attracted to men who were as pretty as I was. He was
different.

The only reason I refused him, which was what in essence I did, I knew his
pride wouldn't allow for a marriage that was kept a secret, was that I knew
I would die. I don't make a habit of making promises I don't keep. I dreamt
that night, that Dana died from that gunshot. I saw her bleed to death on
the floor of her apartment. I saw her buried. I saw her partner become a
hollow man, driven by hatred and pain. I watched as he killed everyone in
his way, and then eventually killed himself. I woke up crying. When I fell
back asleep, I saw myself die. I saw, and felt Walter's pain, but I watched
as he distanced himself from it. He recovered from his grief, he too, tried
to avenge me, but it was without the emptiness that had marked Mulder's
motions. He did it to further a greater good, not to further hatred. This
was right, this was what was supposed to happen. I knew I would die, and I
went to Dana's home anyway.

The only thing I didn't see was Alex. He was the surprise for me. I'm more
than slightly bewildered, by him, really. He doesn't love me, not really,
I'm just an object that came into his life at the right moment. I'm glad
that his...fixation for me, or who he thinks I may have been, has made him
help Walter, Dana and her partner. Life and its blinders have been unkind
to Alex. Everything he has ever done has punished him in some way. He
breaks my heart, he is like a child trying to please a parent that won't be
pleased.

But for all the empathy and compassion I feel for Alex, it is Walter who
brings tears to my eyes most often when I watch him. Just to look at him
brings a tremulous smile to my lips and moisture into my eyes. He is so
beautiful, in his rugged way. I love him, simple as that, and not even
Death can change it. Love lasts forever, it is beyond time, beyond life, and
beyond death. It is beyond me, and beyond him as well. It is a force
separate, and yet so much an integral part of each of us that it is a
stranger in our midst until we look it in the eyes and hand it our hearts.

It had mine from the day Walter and I met. Death did not part me from him,
and nothing could, nothing would dare. In fact, it brought me closer than
I'd ever been, for each night, I dance in his dreams, through his mind, and
his heart, and when I fall, he catches me. When he falls, when he loses his
blinders, it will be I who catches him.


THE END