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Prelude - Surly Voice

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I light your cigarettes
I bring you apples from the vine
How quickly you forget
I run the bath and pour the wine
I bring you everything that floats into your mind


This has to end. I love him, but I hate this situation, and
it's killing me. Perhaps even as fast as it's killing him. Of
course, I found out he's not dead, but from the way he looks...

I survived my own death in Vietnam. I survived my parents'
deaths. My wife's. I always survive, but if I'm going to
survive him I need to get out. I don't want to cut through this
knot we've made, but perhaps I can untie it, gently, take my
piece of string and walk away.

In the last few months, I've taken so much from him. I've taken
his silence, his silent accusations of betrayal. His distance
and his pain. That crazy stuff up in Rhode Island, and he
didn't even call me. His fucking death I took, and he has no
idea what that did to me.

Most days I'm not sure who he hates more: me or himself. It's a
toss-up. God knows he throws enough witty barbs and cold looks
my way, but I can only begin to imagine what he does to himself.
In my darkest nightmares, I think I get a glimpse of what it's
like inside Fox Mulder's head these days.

So, it's not that I don't feel sorry for him, or that I don't
love him. It's that he won't even let me in to help him, and
his pain is killing me.


But you don't bring me anything but down
You don't bring me anything but down
You don't bring me anything but down
When you come 'round


Our relationship, if you want to call it that, started off
beautifully. We'd been seeing each other, occasionally, as
friends. A few beers, whatever. One night shortly after
Sharon's death, I found myself in the arms of Fox Mulder, boy
genius and spooky extraordinaire.

He was no mean lover, and we warmed each other's beds most
week-ends when he wasn't away on a case. We never spoke of
future plans, forevers. We spoke with our thighs and eyes, an
indistinct language of lust and affection. I greeted him at the
door with my lips and arms; he returned the gesture.

Now, we haven't slept together since before Rhode Island. We've
had sex, mind you, but I don't find him in my bed in the
morning, rumpled and sweet. He arrives at my door drunk or
exhausted. I put him back together as best I can, scrambling
with my fingers, and then he leaves.

He leaves me standing in the middle of my living room with no
comfort but a glass of scotch and his scent on my skin. I don't
care to be that person--the one who waits, the one who doesn't
get what he waits for.


You are a raging sea
I pull myself out everyday
I plea insanity
Cause I can't leave but I can't stay
You say, won't you come find me and yes is what I say


We have it down to a science. He knocks on my door and we
stumble to the bedroom. Ties come off first and then shirts.
Shoes, pants, shorts hit the floor. We kiss roughly,
thoroughly, teeth clicking.

Then we fall onto the bed, and I fuck him, bring him off with my
hand. His eyes are closed, and I don't think he's even there.
I'm his drug, his narcotic to escape his mess of a life. We
both come, and then for one moment he is at rest in this world.
I study his smooth back, his knotted shoulders, his thin neck.

I try to memorize him, but too soon he's up. Shorts, pants,
shoes, shirt, tie. I say we'll watch a game. We walk
downstairs to the door and he leaves to go destroy himself a
little more.


You don't bring me anything but down
You don't bring me anything but down
Everything is crashing to the ground
Maybe I'm not your perfect kind
Maybe I'm not what you had in mind
Maybe we're just killing time


I felt, some nights, like his living, breathing security
blanket. While he was still actually sleeping in my bed, he
would roll over when we finished, spread himself out. Then, in
the night, when whatever things haunts him came around, he'd
roll back, wrap himself around me, hold me with all the strength
of his fears.

I tried to kid myself that I was the one, the only one who could
make him feel safe. I've come to realize that's crap. I'm a
breathing body who'll welcome him. I could be Scully. I could
be that bastard Krycek. I could be someone kind he met at a
bar, anyone with a firm ass and a soft heart. Maybe. God,
maybe not.

I want to believe.


You with your silky words
And your eyes of green and blue
You with your steel beliefs
That don't match anything you do
It was so much easier before you became you


And it would be so easy for me to let you make be believe. Your
chip cured Scully--apparently. You're the miracle man. Your
convictions are like a force of nature, in the sense that you
sweep everything before you out of the way. In the sense, also,
of destruction, decimation, ruination. Is the washed-out
village the fault of the tidal wave, or was it simply in the
wrong place?

Your charming sleepy eyes and your skilled mouth call me like a
siren. It's taking all of my strength to resist your call.
Before you, I never knew what temptation was. Before you, I
never wanted to throw everything away for the love of one man.


No more playing seek and hide
No more long and wasted nights
Can't you make it easy on yourself

I know you wish you were strong
You wish you were never wrong
Well, I got some wishes of my own


I'm sorry, Mulder, I'm so sorry. Whatever I can do to help you
in the Bureau, I'll do it gladly. I'll pull you out of the
cauldron and hand you back to Scully. She's recovering now, so
you'll have her. I pray you'll have her.

I know you haven't meant to hurt me. I know; you didn't think
of me when you staged your death. I know that entirely too
well. I know that you wish your hot mindless kisses could wash
it away, but that's not going to happen. Not this time.