TITLE: It's Been Awhile (3/3) AUTHOR: FabulousMonster EMAIL ADDRESS: fabulousmonster@hotmail.com DISCLAIMER: I do not own the X-Files characters. They are the property of Ten-Thirteen, Chris Carter and Co. and FOX. However, I do own the ones that you have never seen in the X-Files before. They are my own creation. DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Gossamer, Xemplary, yes. Anywhere else, just let me know. SPOILER WARNING: Up to and including Season 8. RATING: PG-13. A couple of bad words-nothing you haven't heard on the playground before. CLASSIFICATION: Mulder POV, MSR, A SUMMARY: Welcome back, Agent Mulder. Nowhere Man. AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story is comprised of a series of snapshots of Mulder's life during Season 8. I have tried to flesh out the physical and emotional trauma of his 're- birth' while staying within the context established by 1013. Please see additional Author's Notes at the end. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX It's Been Awhile--Part 3 "Why did you keep my apartment, Scully? "Somehow I knew you'd be back." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX I am underfoot, overbearing, and driving Scully crazy. "Mulder, go for a run!" she says in exasperation, tossing me a pair of my old running shoes from her closet. A run. I haven't been for a run since... I pull on the shoes. "Where should I go?" "I don't know--run to J. Edgar Hoover's grave and back for all I care, but get out of here!" I return an hour and a half later, dripping sweat and gasping for breath. She regards me with amusement. "Feel better?" Wait. Is that a lung I hear collapsing? "Yeah, I feel great," I rasp. But I do feel better, more alive than I have in weeks. She smiles again. "Well, go take a quick shower. I made some of Captain Bill's four-alarm chili." Cold flames of fear lick at my heart. Her casual invitation hints at a degree of intimacy that has not existed between us since my return. And showering--any form of personal hygiene--continues to be torture for me. Sponge baths or a hand-held showerhead has been the order of the day, accompanied by the inevitable heart palpitations and vertigo. I can't let Scully see me this way. Weak. Frightened. Emasculated. "Are you all right, Mulder?" she asks, her brow furrowing. "Yeah, I'm fine. I think I should just go home." The frown between her eyes deepens. "Don't be silly,I *made* chili. My Dad would be insulted if you didn't sample his wares," she grins. "No, no," I stammer. "I should go--I'm not feeling too well." Big mistake. Scully moves into doctor-mode, placing her hand against my forehead. I stumble away from her. Her concern is now palpable. "Mulder..." "Look, Scully, don't worry. It's just a little problem I'm having right now." "Problem?" My flight-fight instinct is overwhelming, but she's not going to let me leave without an explanation. I stammer out an excuse, joking about a 'water phobia' and how I won't make the Olympic Synchronized Swimming Team this year while trying to keep the details to a minimum. "How long has this been happening?" she asks quietly. I'm suddenly very tired of lying. "Since I got back." "Back to Washington?" "No, *back*..." There is such an expression of sadness in her eyes that I cannot continue. We stand looking at each other, and then she turns on her heel and walks down the hallway. I hear the water running. The blood pounds in my head. Didn't she hear what I said? I pace about the living room. The water continues to run. Is she mocking me? My ailment? I feel my resentment grow. Hell will freeze over before I chase after her, I resolve. The water finally stops. She doesn't return. Standing in the middle of room, feeling abandoned and abused, I contemplate walking out the door, and out of her life forever. But I can't. Instead, bristling with anger, I burst into the bathroom. "Goddamn it, Scully, I thought I told you!--What the hell happened to you?" I am stunned by what I see: Scully perched on the edge of the tub in nothing but her maternity bra and panties. Her back is slightly turned, giving me a quick glimpse of a jagged scar snaking between her shoulder blades and one at the base of her spine. Without thinking, I cross the tile floor and put my hand on her back just below her neck. "Who did this to you?" I want to tear about the place, ripping off doors and overturning tables to find the culprit. She doesn't answer for a moment. Instead, she leans into the pressure of my hand against her back. She might as well of doused me with ice water. I spiral away from my rage and back to the here and now, and pull my hand away. I glance at it, half-expecting to see the flesh peeled away from the bone. She pretends not to notice. "I was hurt trying to help...I was hurt because of my own foolishness." "'Foolish' is not a word I would use to describe you." "'Dishonest' isn't a word I would use to describe you." The room is quiet expect for the dripping of the tap. I fixate on it, watching the droplets crash slow motion into the water. She is oblivious. "But I guess that's what you've been the past month. With the Gunmen, Skinner, me. And yourself." Drip. Drip. I can't hear what she is saying over the din of the water and move to leave. Her voice comes to me again, hushed and anguished. "That's it Mulder, keep running." She is still sitting on the edge of the tub. I've seen that look of clinical detachment. I am a bug under her microscope. A corpse to be autopsied. Drip. Drip. In one step, I reach over her shoulder to tighten the tap. Straightening, I loom over her. She doesn't move. Doesn't flinch. "I haven't been dishonest with you--with anyone," I inform her through clenched teeth. "I've been protecting you..." "Protecting me--like you did with your brain tumor?" she interrupts softly. The tap is dripping again despite my efforts to turn it off. She stands up, forcing me to take a step back. "No more 'protecting', no more lying, Mulder. It's time for the Truth." In one smooth motion she strips off her bra and panties and stands before me. Naked. Vulnerable. Swollen. Damaged. Wondrous. She steps into the tub. Breasts and belly gently bob in the water. If I were the Mulder of Old, I'd do my best Captain Nemo imitation and join her for a round of Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea. Instead, my arms are behind me, my fingers leaving imprints in the porcelain of the sink. She takes a sea sponge and begins to bathe water over her neck and shoulders. The scar between her shoulder blades turns an angry purple as her skin warms in the bath. "You know, when I was first returned, I couldn't sleep with the lights off for almost two months." Her tone is light, almost conversational, as if she were discussing the items on a grocery list. "When we were out on a case together, I was afraid you'd burst into my room with one of your 3:00 AM brainstorms and discover my secret." "The light bothers me--I was always under some sort of spotlight..." I stop, embarrassed by my sudden revelation. She continues as though she doesn't hear me. "Later, we'd be in a city or town, and I'd get such a feeling of deja vu, like I'd been there before." Her tempo increases. "And I'd know I hadn't, and then I'd wonder if I might have been there during my abduction." The pace is now frenetic. "And I was sure it meant that They were going to 'call' me again, and I would disappear and you wouldn't find me..." She stops, takes a deep breath, and sponges some water on her neck. "I was afraid all the time." Drip. Drip. "How did you get over it?" Please Scully, give me the key to get my life back. She looks at me intently. "I talked to Karen Kosseff and she helped me. She told me to set small, manageable goals for myself each day like: 'Don't sleep with all the lights on--just keep a nightlight on. Give yourself some 'wins' each day. It won't change your life overnight, but each day will get a little better, a little easier.' She was right." Her smile warms me. "Besides, chasing you all over the country kept me so busy that after awhile I forgot to be afraid anymore." I don't want to be afraid anymore. She regards me thoughtfully. "Why don't we start with a goal for you? She doesn't wait for an answer. "Get in the tub, Mulder." Her voice is whiskey swirling in a glass. Too big a goal. My head begins to spin. "C'mon, Mulder. You can do this." She holds her hand out to me. Shaking, I begin to strip off my clothes. I catch my 'panic-face' reflection in the bathroom mirror. A sudden thought makes me pause: my injuries, while healing, are still pronounced. The scars on my chest and back, the bruising around my groin... I am still painfully thin. Damaged. Ugly. I turn slowly to face her. "I'd forgotten how beautiful you are," she says tenderly. Just breathe, Mulder. And get in the tub. I expect the water to be hot, awakening demons I have battled for too long. Instead, it is cool against my skin. I draw my knees up to my chest, my back to Scully. She sponges my shoulders and neck, and I will myself not to leap out of the water. Her touch is efficient. It is not meant to titillate, but to provide comfort. I feel my muscles begin to relax. While she bathes me, she tells me about how her mother is determined to give her a baby shower; how Bill Jr., on temporary assignment to the Pentagon, set up a crib for her after several hours of sweat and several bottles of beer; how the Gunmen--Langly excluded--argued about who would attend Lamaze class with her; how Kersh's face turned into a prune when she announced she was pregnant; how Skinner's face glowed. "If I give Bill a bottle of Scotch, do you think I can get him to put up some bookshelves for me?" I inquire, and she laughs with delight. It feels wonderful to laugh with her again. We sit in comfortable silence for a moment. She continues to bathe me, and I discover I have moved closer to make it easier for her. Her belly juts into my back. She begins to soap my hair. "Tell me about the baby, Scully." She stops her activity. "Mulder..." "Tell me about the baby, Scully," I repeat. "I really need to know, to understand." "The baby is fine, Mulder. Healthy. Normal." "But how do you know? How can you be sure?" "I've had every possible test run, and checked and re- checked all the results. I have a doctor who I trust--and I have faith." "Faith?" I can't see her face, but I know she is smiling. "Faith, Mulder. Father McCue says 'faith is believing in the unbelievable.'" She rests her forehead against my back. "You're my living proof." I cover my face with my hands. I am exhausted. It's too much. And not enough. But it's a start. Small, manageable goals. Her fingers move gently through my hair as she rinses it. This time, I do not pull away. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX "Dr. Nguyen?" "Yes?" "It's Fox Mulder." "Mistah Muldah! I hav'n heard from you since you release." "I know. I apologize. I'd like to come see you." "Are you really ready?" "Yes. Yes I am." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX I find the doll in a box marked 'TM Bedroom.' I can't remember who packed it. She is missing some hair and the dress is yellow with age. Samantha used to call her 'Grubby Grilda' and toss her aside to play with her 'Newborn Thumbelina.' My mother wanted nothing to do with her after Samantha disappeared. She deserves a better future. We all do. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX There is a new agent working on the X-Files. I should sell tickets. We trudge back from the crime scene, picking our way through the mud and thistles. I have played this scene out too many times before. In the past, I was able to divorce myself from the misery of such a tableau. Now, as I struggle to gain a foothold in my emotional life, it is not so easy. After all, even I am not blind to the man's torment. I pick up the pace, hoping to put some distance between his pain and my fragile psyche. The new agent is muttering to herself. "Dammit, John, if you'd just be truthful with yourself, maybe we could help you." "*We've* done all we can, Agent Reyes. You can't help someone who won't help himself." She stops abruptly. "That's a cold thing to say, Agent Mulder. Do you always give up on a case when a witness isn't co-operative?" "He's not a witness, Agent Reyes. He has no knowledge of the crime. And this tenuous connection that you are trying to make between the body and the death of his son..." She regards me curiously. "Maybe this is hitting too close to home for you." Man, she doesn't gives up. "My assessment is in no way compromised by my personal circumstances, Agent Reyes. You are simply seeing things that aren't there." I move past her, sliding in the mud. She calls after me. "Must be quite a change for you--the shoe being on the other foot." I almost fall on my ass before I reach the car. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX "How are you feeling, Scully?" I try not to look as scared as I sound. "I'm okay, Mulder," she replies groggily. "The baby?" "A little scare--I'll have to stay off my feet for awhile, but the baby's fine." Tentatively, I place my hand on her belly. I feel a flutter under my touch. "Just like a butterfly," I say in wonderment, and she beams. "My butterfly baby," she intones drowsily. I leave my hand on her abdomen. I am making progress. "How's the case you're working on with Agent Doggett?" I don't want to talk about Doggett--I want to concentrate on the movement underneath my hand. Reluctantly, I answer: "I'm not sure--well, I am sure he doesn't want my help." "Don't give up on him, Mulder. He's worth the effort." A stab of jealousy. Maybe I'm not making progress after all. "He's hanging around the hospital right now like a ghoul, and the nurse tells me he's been disturbing you." "He hasn't been disturbing me, Mulder." Her eyelids begin to droop. "He's just being a good partner." She sighs softly. "Actually, he's been a better partner to me than I have to him." "I find that hard to believe." A soft snore is the only response I receive. Late that night, I go back to the office and pull out the files again. This time I read between the lines. She's right: he was a better partner. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX We sit across from each other in the hospital waiting room. The fluorescent lights buzz angrily. "How's Agent Reyes?" "She's okay. She took a nasty smack in the head, but she'll be okay. The doctah wants to keep her overnight for observation." "Standard procedure." "Yeah. How's Agent Scully doin'?" "The doctor says she'll probably release her tomorrow." We stare impassively at each other. "What are you still doing here, Agent Doggett?" "Look Muldah, I made sure Monica was okay, and then I wanted to check on Scully. Whether you wanna face it or not, she's still my partner." "You sure that's all you're doing-just checking on Scully?" "What the hell does that mean?" "Did you ever come across a case file on an Emily Sims?" "Wha--? Emily Sims? What's that gotta do with anythin'?" "Emily Sims," I repeat. "Do you know the case I'm talking about?" His eyes narrow. "Yeah, I know the case." "Did you and Agent Scully ever talk about it?" "Why would we?" "Because you share a similar past--both losing children--" "I told you to leave it alone, Muldah! Goddamn it, some things are personal! I respected Agent Scully's privacy..." "Did you know that she had visions of Emily after she died?" He gulps for air as if I just hit him in the gut. "There was nothin' about that in the file." "We--I--kept it out. I respected Agent Scully's privacy, too." "Why're ya tellin' me this?" he chokes. I stand up wearily. "Agent Reyes believes that her vision is the key to this case." I smile crookedly. "She can be very persuasive." He opens his mouth to protest, but I cut him off: "Maybe there's another reason why you need to see Agent Scully." I hear the sadness in Scully's voice: 'He was a better partner to me than I was to him.' "I think she might need to see you, too." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX The session is not going well. "Mistah Muldah, you are very quiet today. Is somt'ing wrong?" "No." I get up and pace about the small office. "My fear of physical contact seems to be dissipating. I was able to stand in a shower the other day without hyperventilating. I'm feeling better..." "How is Dr. Scully?" she interrupts. I smile. "She's fine." "An' your job?" "I am a joke to my peers, an annoyance to my superiors- everything is perfectly normal," I sigh. "Hmm," she responds. "What?" "I ha' nevah heard you describe your job as normal." I examine one of her diplomas as I have done countless times during our sessions. "You know, I always used to be the 'big dog' at the X-Files." "'Big dog?'" she asks, puzzled. "Yes, 'big dog'--you know, the one in charge, the one with the answers." She laughs gleefully. "'Big dog'--I will ha' to remember that for my narcissistic-aggressive patients. You Americans ha' such wonderful expressions!" She looks at me closely. "An' you are no longer the 'big dog'?" "No, there are other agents in the office who are running things. If anything, they look to Scully for guidance." "How does that make you feel?" How does that make me feel? I sit down across from her. "I'm not sure. A year ago, I would have fought anyone who tried to interfere, to take away the X-Files. I don't seem to be fighting that much anymore." "Perhap there are other t'ings that ha' capture your interest?" she suggests. "I've dedicated my life to the X-Files." "Your *first* life," she corrects. What is she saying? "Are you saying I should leave the X- Files?" "I would nevah presume to sugges' such a t'ing." She taps me gently on the chest. "Only you' heart can tell you that." The Alien Bounty Hunter cut into my chest, pulled out my heart, and showed it to me. "'Wheresoever you go, go with all your heart,'" I murmur. "N'Sync?" she asks, her eyes crinkling with mirth. We laugh together. "Don' be afraid of the future, Mistah Muldah," she says after a moment. "'You will find it or it will find you.'" "Jimmy Hoffa?" She smiles. "My father." My thoughts turn to Scully and the baby. I think the future just found me. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX "Let me talk to Kersh!" Doggett bellows over the din of the helicopter blades. "I'll tell him that I asked for you on this case--that I specifically requested that you accompany me to the oil rig." "He won't buy it, Agent Doggett!" I shout back. "When we get back to the mainland, my career as an FBI agent will be over!" I can see he is frustrated and angry by the turn of events. He doesn't give a damn about me, but the baby and Scully should have a man in their lives who can support them. "The X-Files are everything to ya." "Actually, there's only one X-File I'm interested in now." He looks at me questioningly. I meet his gaze. "But I don't think I can protect her through the FBI anymore." He considers my words. "What will ya do?" "I'm joining Miss Cleo's Psychic Hotline. Thought it would be right up my alley." He looks at me incredulously, and then begins to laugh. He clasps me briefly on the shoulder. "You're a piece of work, Muldah, I gotta give ya that!" Right back at ya, Agent Doggett. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX We sit beside each other on her couch, not quite touching. "What would you have told the baby about me if I hadn't come back?" I ask casually. "But you are back--you'll have plenty of time to introduce yourself." "Scully..." She thinks for a moment. "I would have told the baby that you were brave and principled and creative and honest. That even when you were surrounded by ugliness or evil, you never lost sight of the good. That you accepted people for who they were." I reach over and capture a lock of her hair. I make a moustache of it under my nose. "Nice." She moves a bit closer to facilitate my access. She smiles slightly, but her expression is thoughtful. "I would have told him--or her--that you were single-minded, and that in your pursuit of what you thought was right, you occasionally alienated people." "Occasionally?" I tease. "And that sometimes you lost sight of the fact that you could lose the battle and still win the war." I let her hair slip from my hand. She tilts her head. Her eyes are shining. "But the day I walked into your office for the first time was the day my life changed forever, and that I wouldn't change a fluke worm, a late-night stakeout, or a greasy room-service cheeseburger for anything." "Don't tell the kid about the cheeseburger--it'll scare him." She holds my hand in hers. "And that you would have given anything--anything--to be part of his life if you could." "He wouldn't have understood as he grew up. Kids never understand when someone who loves them leaves them." I say somberly. She looks at me, her expression unfathomable. "Really?" I think of my own father and how our paths separated and then came together. "Well, maybe not." She is quiet for a moment. "Mulder, I never want to have this type of conversation with our child." *Our* child. For the first time since my return, she has clearly voiced what I have avoided. Time to stop running, Mulder. "You won't." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX My future just drove away in a cloud of garage dust and a squeal of tires. 'Be safe, I love you, I'll be with you soon,' I send to her on whatever interstellar plane we share. "We gotta get you outta here, it's not safe," growls Doggett. I look at him uncomprehendingly. "C'mon Mulder, let's go," Skinner chimes in. They are worried about me. "I'm not the one you need to be worried about," I tell both of them. "You're in just as much danger as Agent Scully," stresses Doggett. "I can take care of myself." "Muldah..." Doggett snarls. "Don't worry, Agent Doggett. I've got him." Skinner moves behind me and touches me on the elbow. I glance over my shoulder. Trusting my life, my future to others are foreign concepts to me. I am unnerved by the idea. "When did you become my nurse maid?" "About nine months ago in a forest in Bellefleur, Oregon." Oh. "And Mulder-" "Yeah?" "Don't wander away this time." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX My son--*my son*--was born today. He is fuzzy-haired, wrinkled as a prune, and splotchy. The jury is still out on the nose. He is beautiful. Scully is pale and her voice weak, but she grips my arm fiercely. "Tell me, Mulder--tell me the Truth. Is he okay?" she asks, her voice breaking. I place my hand over hers. "He's fine, Scully. He's wonderful." Her eyes search my face for any sign of deception. Trembling fingers touch my lips, my cheeks. "You're crying," she says through her own tears. Three months ago, I thought the Alien Bounty Hunter stole my resolve, my strength, my heart, my tears. I look down at Scully and my son. I've got them back. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX We introduce our son to his grandmother. "He's absolutely exquisite!" Mrs. Scully exclaims, holding him tenderly. "What is his name?" "William," Scully responds, "After..." "After his Grandpa Scully," I interject. Both women look at me wordlessly and then begin to cry. Like mother, like daughter. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX My life continues to unfold in ways I never imagined. I find myself attending a private Mass surrounded by friends and family. "It would mean so much to me, Mulder," Scully says, and after my experiences over the past three months, who am I to deny her? The Lord moves in mysterious ways. Scully invites everyone--a heartfelt 'thank you' for their support. They are all here, an unlikely gaggle of allies: Mrs. Scully, Skinner, Frohike, Langly, Byers, and Dr. Nguyen. Doggett and Monica hang back a bit, uncertain of their role. I know the feeling. I catch Monica's eye and smile, and she takes Doggett by the elbow and leads him closer to the group. We kneel as Father McCue takes his place before the altar. He smiles benevolently. I don't pretend to understand everything, but I follow Scully's lead, cradling William against my chest. "Lord have mercy on us," chants Father McCue. "Christ have mercy on us," everyone responds as I glance up at the beautiful stained glass in the sanctuary. I feel Scully's gaze upon me. I turn to look at her, and my breath catches at the glow in her eyes, on her face. At least once in a lifetime, a man should have the privilege of seeing such an expression on the face of the woman he loves. "Lift up your hearts," says Father McCue. "We have them lifted up to the Lord." The silence is pierced by the first clear call of the bell. William stirs in my arms. I look at him and then at the collection of heads bowed before me. "Thank you," I mouth to Scully. Her eyes glimmer in the candlelight. Twice more the liquid peals of the bell call us. Father McCue uncovers the chalice. "The mystery of faith: which for you and for many will be shed unto the remission of sins." He splits the Host in half over the chalice, and then breaks off a particle. "World without end." Scully shifts slightly towards me. "I love you," she says silently. The priest covers the chalice, genuflects, bows low and says: "Lamb of God, Who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy on us. Lamb of God, Who takes away the sins of the world, grant us peace." Scully and I look at each other, then at William. I hug him tightly. "Amen," we say in unison. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX "Scully, I'm giving up my apartment." "It's about time, Mulder." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX ADDITIONAL AUTHOR'S NOTES: From Part 1: Nietzsche, Kierkegaard, and Ayn Rand are all philosophers. Nietzsche originated the phrase "God is dead"; Kierkegaard equated the immortality of men to those of insects; and Ayn Rand of 'Atlas Shrugged' fame rejected any notion of the supernatural, preferring to rest a man's fate on the judgment of his own mind and willingness to stand alone against tradition and popular opinion. "Ce qui est votre diagnostic, docteur?" translates to "What is your diagnosis, doctor?" From Part 2: The Washington Wizards is a professional basketball team. Rod Strickland was a point guard for them last year. Brown-Wynne Funeral Homes is an actual funeral parlor in Raleigh, North Carolina. It specializes in Jewish and Christian funerals. The Partnership for Critical Infrastructure Security created between Microsoft and the US government really exists. From Part 3: Newborn Thumbelina is a doll from the Sixties. I still have mine. Narcissistic-aggressive people can be described as overbearing achievers, or A-type personalities. 'Wheresoever you go, go with all your heart,' is a quote from Confucius. Jimmy Hoffa was the leader of the Teamsters Union from 1957 to 1971. Alleged to have ties to organized crime, he was convicted of fraud and jury tampering, and served four years in prison. In 1975, while trying to regain power in the union, Hoffa disappeared. It is assumed that the Mafia killed him. His body was never found. For our Euro-friends, Miss Cleo's Psychic Hotline is a 24- hour telemarketing venture accessible in North America. Last year, estimated revenue was over $400 million US. The hotline is being sued by various government agencies for fraud. The Mass in the last scene is a highly condensed summation. I am not Catholic; my information comes from various web sites. The Title: It's Been Awhile, by Staind (lyrics) It's been awhile Since I could hold my head high It's been awhile Since I first saw you It's been awhile Since I could stand on my own two feet again It's been awhile Since I could call you But everything I can't remember As fucked up as it all may seem The consequences that I've rendered I've stretched myself beyond my means It's been awhile Since I could say that I wasn't addicted It's been awhile Since I could say I love myself as well It's been awhile Since I've gone and fucked things up Just like I always do But all that shit seems to disappear when I'm with you But everything I can't remember As fucked up as it my seem The consequences that I've rendered, I've gone and fucked up things again. Why must I feel this way? Just make this go away Just one more peaceful day It's been awhile Since I could look at myself straight It's been awhile Since I said I'm sorry It's been awhile Since I've seen the way The candle lights your face But I can still remember Just the way you taste But everything I can't remember As fucked up as it all may seem to be I know it's me I cannot blame this on my father He did the best he could for me It's been awhile Since I could hold my head up high And it's been awhile Since I said I'm sorry I will miss the X-Files. Thank you CC for nine wonderful years of entertainment, and inspiring me to write again. If you would like to read some more of my X-Files fanfic, please check out Fran58's excellent site: http://www.fran58.net/authorspgs/fabmon/fabmon.htm Thanks for reading!