Part 12: Starbuck Adrift.

ON THE ROAD TO MARTHA'S VINEYARD
DAY AFTER VISIT TO GEORGETOWN

In all the times I've felt joy, despair, frustration and
confusion, it always helped me to write things down and do
some self-examination. As I write this entry, I realize I
have already nearly come to the end of this Journal and will
need another soon.

During my years with Fox Mulder in the X-Files assignments,
I have been physically, emotionally, and spiritually tested. My
life has not been easy, but the walk through this life never
is. We learn on the way, I keep telling myself. Right now,
I feel so many things: guilt over sending William away and
hurting the ones I loved so dearly, sadness that I cannot hold
him and show his beautiful, perfect being to Mulder, and a
feeling of impatience. Why can't we get everything done right
away and live a nice, normal life as other lovers do?

The houses I see in towns we pass through shelter loving
families with growing children, a heritage to pass on, floors
to wash and stacks of dishes and homework assignments.
Oh, how I need those, want those, crave those things.

It matters so much that now Mulder is ready to join me in our
life with our son.

Mother remarked last night that I ate only one piece of pizza.
She made me a wholesome breakfast and I left half-eaten
scrambled eggs, two bacon slices and half a slice of toast
behind. I know my appetite is off. I have seen the palor in my
face when performing my morning ritual.

I've been wondering just where Mulder went yesterday in such a
rush. We had only arrived at my apartment and he was running a
personal errand. Sure, he came back with refills for his
razor, but that wouldn't take two hours.

My depression is hopefully well-hidden from Mulder. Yet, is
it? He knows me like a book in some respects.Dana Katherine
Scully, the strong one in the family, is not as powerful and
independent as she lets on. I have to let these needy feelings be
seen, as well as the sorrow, pain, guilt and apprehension about
what comes next.

I once remarked that I felt I should not be so reliant on Mulder, yet
when it seems all I should do is depend on him, he seldom
disappoints me. My selfish pretense of indestructible Dr. Scully
has nearly cost me my life in the past. More times than when I
care to admit.

With the end of this entry, I resolve to be more honest with
Mulder about the inner me. That I owe the man who has openly
cried and opened his heart and soul to me.

"Two more hours, Scully, and we'll be there."

My heart jumps for some reason. "That's good," I say. "We've
made good time."

"Still trying for the Nobel Prize for Literature, Scully?"

"Uh, no. Not really. Just catching up with myself," I say
with my patented forced smile. "I think we'll have some
talking to do later."

"Oh? What, my dear, do you have in mind?"

"Everything I haven't said that maybe I should have."

Journal, I fear our time together has passed. Your replacement
will be purchased in my beloved's old stomping grounds.

Dana Katherine Scully.