Category: Angst, Vignette, Mulder POV.
Summary: Mulder's in his own little dream, world.
Archive: Gossamer. Anybody else ask politely, please
and thank you.
Okay. I'm okay. I keep telling myself that. I'm okay.
Here I am and I'm alive. Although the alley is dark and
stinks to high heaven, I've managed to survive another
night in this *place* I've been calling mine for months.
It's humble, but I feel carefree in my place here.
As long as I don't go too far from my place while I go
scrounging the other alleys for thrown out restaurant
scraps, and digging through dumpsters for bags of dinner
rolls with recent expiry dates, half-eaten steaks from
the noon hour crowd, this place is still mine. Why? Well,
my secret is a little beer bottle cap I place on top of
my cardboard box. It says, "This is mine, so is the space.
So, go away now. Find your own place." Does the trick
Yes, I once held a fine job, with lots of action, and
mysteries galore to challenge my brain. I wrote profiles
about killers, kidnappers, thieves, so-called healers
and heathens. I didn't wear old discarded flannel shirts
and torn pants to that job. No, I was a well-dressed
man, and I had a well-known reputation: *Spooky* was my name.
Paranoia was my game. Well, actually, I knew damn well
everyone was out to get me. That's why I left. Yup, I
was a G-Man! Okay, get that laugh over with. I'm not
done my rambling. Finished? Good. Now, where was I?
I seem to have lost my place... Okay...
I had a home, too. A nice apartment in Alexandria. My
neighbors and I didn't really get acquainted. Well, I was
always chasing some lead, or at my office when I wasn't in
the apartment. When I was there, I watched TV, videos, wrote
more little profiles, taped an X on my window to call a
friend. Heck, sometimes I even picked up the phone and
called... somebody. Don't ask. I want to forget.
Anyhow, now I have this whole place to myself. I see what
I only knew of in passing. Sometimes, I even ran down alleys
just like this one, chasing people who could jump without
getting hurt, disappear without a trace, and all the while
oozing green stuff that ate... someone's shoes.
Now, I must have had someone to work with, you ask. Umm...
Don't ask. I'm just improving my technique of thought
stopping, much the same way obsessive-compulsives snap
an elastic band aginst their wrists to turn their mind
away from the temptation to follow a strange ritual.
Where was I? Yeah, chasing guys down alleys just like the
one I live in now. That seems to be the story of my life,
really. Chasing things. I chased ideas that were probably
just figments of my imagination, and I saw some very odd
things, but I really think that all changed when I cracked
my head open looking for something that didn't exist. I
even had three friends who, I think, still do that for a
living by writing about it. Do you believe that crap? One
weirdo in this world is bad enough. Three? In agreement
about the crazy goings on, things that go bump in the
night and conspiracies? C'mon, now.
So, I'm sitting here right now telling you all this about
me, a man with no siblings, no parents, and no co-workers
and... hey! Where'd you go? Hey! Hey!
"It's okay, Mulder. You're in hospital. You sustained a
minor concussion, several bruises and a gash to your left
shin, but you'll be fine."
"Hey! Omigod... How long have I been gone, Scully?"
"There's this alley over behind... "
"Yes, and we found you there and we caught up with Dunn.
Now just calm down, Mulder! That must have been some
"Uh... yeah. Scully, I wouldn't try to forget you, and
I wouldn't leave my job. I pay my rent every month and
I'm not crazy. I know they're out to get me, but you
know that too, right?"
"Well, yes, Mulder. They're out to get me, too. But
don't say that too loudly. Kersh is right outside. He
thinks I should be back at my desk. Let me just get
that pillow fixed up for you. There."
"So, they really do want to separate us."
"Of course. But don't worry. We'll get the X-Files
opened again someday and... I should be writing my report
about Maurice Dunn. He's in a lot worse shape than you.
He may not live. His spinal cord was pretty much
severed. Good thing I pulled you out of the way of the
truck when I did."
"Please tell me I have a job?"
"Mulder? Of course you still have a job. Why would you
even think you didn't?"
"Nothing. Uh, Scully?"
"If I still have an apartment, will you feed my fish?"
"Hey! Slapping my arm? Some friend. What was that for?"
"I wanted to see if you could recognize reality. You did.
Get some sleep. And Mulder?"
"Whatever you were saying before you woke up, I think you'd
better keep to yourself."
"Thanks for putting me in my place, Scully."
"You're welcome. Get some rest."
Author's Note: I don't know what got into me. I just had to
put the guy in a down-and-out scenario and show him why he
needs to feel grateful.