d_scully: (black and white)
I'm exhausted. It isn't the mere absence of restful sleep or bouts of insomnia that are responsible for my current state. It's the knowledge that, once again, Mulder is about to lead me on some adventure that will undoubtedly end in disaster.

Actually, that isn't quite fair. I'm being judgmental and, for lack of a better word, cranky. My bone-weary fatigue can be attributed to more than the fear that my beloved partner's selfishness is responsible for our impending move. I am also the victim of a slight case of depression. While I can blame this on many things, I'm sorry to say that boredom and hopelessness are responsible. Could I possibly be any more trite?

This is also where I find myself facing a quandary. If my boredom - the soul crushing feeling of being trapped in a useless situation - is the cause of this malady, surely a change of scene should be welcome. However, I detest the reason behind the move, which serves to depress me further.

What gives Mulder the right to uproot us for his libidinous pursuit? I haven't met this person yet, but I've heard enough to know that Mulder's desire to save yet another helpless soul will more than likely lead to his being hurt once he's left high and dry. I've seen it happen too many times to count, and I cannot help being concerned for his welfare.

But, as in the past, wherever he leads, I will follow. He's led me into some dark places. I suppose a large city should be a welcome change of pace.

266 words
d_scully: (you've got to be kidding)
What is it that keeps me awake at night...

While I would love to have some pithy response that mentions someone's name or implies that my sexual activities are responsible for my being awake most nights, I am sad to say that is not currently the case.

When I find myself awake in the middle of the night - whether staring up at the ceiling of my hotel room or pacing the small space much like some caged animal - it is usually because my head is filled with 'what ifs' and 'whys' too numerous to mention here. I fear that if I make a genuine effort to list off every single thing that keeps me up at night, I won't ever be able to stop. I've made many mistakes in my life and live with many regrets. I have suffered at the hands of faceless men whose singular focus on retaining their power caused me and the people I love to suffer in innumerable ways.

It is for these reasons, for the sake of my own sanity, that I choose to answer the query this way:

Coffee.

188 words
d_scully: (Default)
No matter the number of years I spend on this planet, there is not one person who will ever know everything about me. Strangers may drift in and out of my life, some becoming friends, lovers or more, but they will only ever know the parts of me I choose to share. It's necessary for me to keep something back, to shield some piece of myself from public view. It's this little piece that keeps me centered, grounded, sane - whatever you choose to call it. It belongs to me and me alone, and I refuse to ever let it be subjected to judgment or scrutiny. There is nothing worse than revealing a part of yourself to someone you trust, only to have it used against you at a later time. When the warmth of friendship or love has cooled, any part of you is vulnerable to attack. Any part except that which is still unknown. That part of me that I keep safe and private will never be used against me.

172 words
d_scully: (laugh)
I was raised in the Catholic church and attended a Catholic school. Rebellion was an act in which I could only take part if I wished to risk the wrath of my parents. Fortunately, I was able to participate in various rebellious acts without my parents ever being the wiser.

My friends and I were no different from other teenaged girls hellbent on diving into womanhood whether we were ready for it or not. We smoked cigarettes and bought sacks of gum, mints and cheap perfume to cover the smell before we rushed off to class. We drank, always able to charm some older boy into buying us beer even though we neither liked the taste of it nor the way he would leer at us as if expecting some disgusting favor in return. Occasionally, we would find ourselves with older students who had procured a joint or two, tentatively inhaling and praying that we didn't have one of the "freak outs" the sisters were always warning us about when teaching us about the horrors of drug use. Luckily, not one of us ever went completely insane and jumped out of a second story window. Nor did we do the unthinkable and become Protestants. The most rebellious act we committed, though, was the one about which there was the most mystery. There was kissing and petting, and a pregnancy scare brought about by some misinformation regarding sperm's ability to permeate several layers of clothing.

Throughout all of it, there was excitement and the knowledge that we were doing something forbidden. We were growing up, something that I'm sure our parents saw as the most rebellious act of all.

278 words
d_scully: (omg she's got boobs)
I can't imagine not being monogamous. It's the way I was raised, to think about being faithful to one's partner. Infidelity is something harsh and cruel that only leads to heartbreak. Granted, I've had times in my life wherein my judgment was questionable, and I'm ashamed to say that I have had affairs with married men. But, she says shamefaced and backpedaling, I was always faithful. Faithful to the unfaithful. Honestly, Dana...

None of us is perfect. An obvious statement, true, but a fact that is sometimes overlooked by those who deem themselves the last word on what is and is not right. While I would never be unfaithful to the person with whom I was in a relationship, it is not my place to judge the deeds of others. I could only hope that my lover would give me the same regard. Barring that, I would hope to handle any betrayal with class and dignity. I believe one can be classy and dignified when chasing one's cheating lover with a gun.

172 words
d_scully: (pensive)
Over the course of my career with the FBI, I was unfortunate enough to see many things that often made me question the very nature of humankind. Like my partner, I choose not to become overwhelmed by the weight of these acts (to do so could result in a complete lack of faith in human decency) and have opted to focus on a characteristic that puzzles me in a less disheartening way.

Insincerity. It's something of which we're all guilty, in one way or another. When someone says "How are you?" and we reply "Fine, thank you," regardless of the sort of day we're having, technically we're being insincere. In fact, the person making the inquiry most likely doesn't care how we're doing, so they're not being entirely honest, either. If someone is wearing an atrocious ensemble, yet they take obvious pride in wearing it, I'm being insincere when I tell them they look nice because I wish to spare their feelings. I know that exchanges such as these stem from society's mandate that we interact a certain way with one another. However, no matter how innocuous it may be, sometimes being polite is wholly insincere.

I suppose, if I must get to the heart of the matter that puzzles me the most, it isn't the act of holding back one's true feelings that makes me the most curious. It's the fact that we want people to hold back their true feelings in certain situations. I wonder why people, myself included, are so afraid of hearing the truth.

258 words
d_scully: (OOC)
Out of town 'til further notice.
d_scully: (pensive)
Scully tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear, then bowed her head and made the sign of the cross. Rosary in hand, fingers grasping the cross, she recited the Apostles' Creed.

I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth; and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord; Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended into hell; the third day He arose again from the dead. He ascended into heaven, and sits at the right hand of God, the Father Almighty; from thence He shall come to judge the living and the dead. I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Holy Catholic Church, the communion of Saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body and life everlasting. Amen.

Fingers moved to the first bead and she said the Our Father.

Our Father, who art in heaven; hallowed be Thy name; Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil. Amen.

Rolling the beads between her fingers as she meditated on her Savior and his Mother, she recited three Hail Marys.

Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen.

The prayers fell from her lips as her mind dwelled on the mysteries of her faith, second nature to her after a lifetime of practice.

She'd been so lax lately, her devotion to her church falling by the wayside because of events in her life. It was when these events had threatened to consume her that she realized she needed her spirit and her resolve to be strengthened. That was when a small miracle had occurred. Mulder had presented her with a set of rosary beads, her own left behind when they'd been forced to leave the lives they knew in favor of escape. The miracle wasn't so much him giving her such a prominent symbol of her faith, but the fact that he'd given it to her when she'd needed it the most.

"Fox, it's beautiful," she'd said, taking the beads out of the small white box they were in and threading them through her fingers. It had felt like coming home, comforting in a way so little was those days. It had made her think of her family, of tradition and beliefs that existed long before she had been born and would remain long after she was gone.

"The nun I stole it from wasn't too happy, but I paid her off with a new wooden ruler," Mulder had grinned, wincing at the look she gave him. "Sorry."

She couldn't help smiling at the sheepish apology, and she'd touched her hand to his face. It had been a different type of faith that had led her to that place and that point in her life, but as he returned her smile, she'd known it held a place in her heart right beside the faith in which she'd been raised.

356 words, excluding prayers
d_scully: (omg she's got boobs)
The short answer is "no." The slightly longer answer is, "I wouldn't mind that being the case sometimes." I shouldn't say that. It makes it sound as if I've experienced mornings so full of regret and guilt, I'd rather they didn't exist in my memory. Honestly, I've never done anything I've regretted enough to wish I couldn't remember it. All of my mistakes mean as much to me as the moments of unadulterated joy and contentment I've had in my life.

No, what I mean is, should I ever find myself facing a morning after a night spent committing some atrocious act, I wouldn't mind having the luxury of forgetting all about it. Of course, I can't imagine anything I could do that would warrant me wishing for such a thing.

Actually, if he were still alive, I would make a joke here about Frohike, but it's mean to think so poorly of the departed. Rest in peace, Melvin.

159 words
d_scully: (black and white)
There are moments, lying in my bed at night, when my mind wanders back to certain events in my life. I lie there, restlessly fighting the sleep I so desperately need, forcing myself to face the things I cannot bear to ponder in the harsh light of day. There is a tremendous amount of grief, and on occasion there is an all-consuming guilt that rises in the form of a sharp, painful ache in my gut. Above all, there is fear. It is a fear borne of the knowledge that every ounce of grief and guilt, confusion and pain I feel, is conspiring to transform me into a woman I barely recognize.

It began when Missy was murdered. Unlike when I lost my father, there was never a true opportunity for me to grieve, the necessary mourning period encroached upon by a whirlwind of drama and conspiracy. I was forced to gather up my pain and put it away to be dealt with at a later time. The same occurred when I lost Emily, my first child. By the time I was forced to give up William, I knew that I would break if I opened the floodgates. I did cry with Fox, and together we mourned the loss of our son to a life in which we'd never be able to take part. I cried but I didn't allow myself to fully feel my loss and my grief for fear that it would kill me.

So, while I will display a demeanor to Fox that may say otherwise, no, I don't believe that whatever doesn't kill me makes me stronger. It's only made me harder.

276 words
d_scully: (believe)
My father was a man who lived his life by a strict set of standards and ideals. He possessed a disciplined and logical mind that I like to believe I inherited from him. Likewise, my mother is a gentle, loving woman, and I like to think that my compassion and need to nurture comes from her. While I would love to believe that becoming a mother aided the growth of my loving and caring side, I fear that the subsequent decision to give William up has only served to fortify the cold, distant part of myself. I'm not entirely certain where this hardness comes from or why I've allowed it to infiltrate the very core of my being. Perhaps my father had it and I was merely fortunate enough to have never seen that side of him.

I'm aware that I convey an image of cool, somewhat icy detachment. There isn't anything I can do to change the way others perceive me, but I would like, just once, for someone to see me as I really am. I know, without a doubt, that desire - that need to be seen as more than some uptight, humorless, unfeeling shrew - is all my own and inherited from no one.

208 words

Help

Jul. 17th, 2006 01:10 pm
d_scully: (full face)
My partner has lost his mind.
d_scully: (laugh)
I flirted with a small town sheriff. I was pushed around, as usual, by my pigheaded partner. I chased after my partner as he chased after a vampire. When he caught said vampire and staked him through the heart, I discovered that the vamp's "fangs" were, in fact, false teeth. I went on a stakeout (no pun intended) with the sheriff, I was drugged as he told me that he was a vampire. I awoke the next morning in a cemetery, the sheriff's coat around me. I walked back to town and found Mulder inside our rental car, fast asleep. When he awoke, he shared a story of me involving a trailer park full of vampires.

We returned to D.C. and decided to discuss the case. Our stories didn't exactly match, thus proving that perception is a rather impractical thing when it comes to composing reports for our supervisor. We couldn't deny what the both of us had experienced - more shocking for myself, I suppose, since Mulder was already a believer in the vampire legend - but how to present it to Skinner? In the end, we could only say that the vampires in question left without a trace. Everyone associated with the vampires in question left. Without a trace.

When Skinner looked at the both of us in that inimitable way of his, Mulder and I informed him that we could neither confirm nor deny the events that had taken place outside of our individual presence.

Then it happened. The lamest excuse I have ever used in my life, whether personally or professionally.

"Anyway...I was drugged."

268 words

(133) If

Jul. 2nd, 2006 03:10 am
d_scully: (pensive)
"If" is a song by Bread. The lyrics are here. I'm not in the habit of sharing song lyrics with strangers when attempting to respond to a prompt that makes one's head swim with possibilities. In fact, I'm not in the habit of sharing song lyrics with anyone. This particular song, however, wouldn't leave me alone because it seems so annoyingly obvious.

The first time I heard this song, I thought it was the most romantic thing I had ever heard. Of course, I was seven years old and wasn't quite sure what romance should be. I did know, however, that "If" was pretty and the man singing it certainly seemed to love the woman he was singing it to. I even decided that it would be played at my wedding - and I was certainly going to be married. Every little girl knows they're going to be married.

Nowadays, on the odd occasion when I hear it on the radio or in an elevator, it seems so ridiculously quaint to me. There is nothing as complicated or maddening in this world as love, yet this song - in fact, any song ever written on the subject - attempts to reduce it to a few flowery phrases and a sentiment that's almost laughable in these times. We live in a world so brimming with hatred, danger and ill will, it's a wonder that love can even survive admist the chaos and destruction. I try to maintain my faith in humankind and in a loving God who has a reason for everything He does, but there are days when I simply can't. I try to remember that love is an ideal and isn't something everyone is meant to experience, but I resent those who have it for being stupid enough to believe in it.

If the world should stop revolving spinning slowly down to die,
I'd spend the end with you.
And when the world was through,
Then one by one the stars would all go out,
Then you and I would simply fly away


It's funny. I know this is how things are going to end for us. Not just for Mulder and myself, but for all of us.

What's the point in fighting the inevitable?

336 words (excluding lyrics)
d_scully: (Default)
Unlike my counterpart, I am not being sarcastic when I say that my favorite retreat from the world is a hot bubble bath. From the moment I turn on the taps and the bathroom begins to fill with steam, I can feel myself starting to relax and unburden myself of the day's woes. As I sit on the edge of the tub and trickle bubble bath under the rushing water, I can't help smiling when the foam begins to appear. I trail my fingers through it, dipping in further to test the temperature of the water, adjusting the faucets accordingly and fine tuning until everything is perfect.

The part I enjoy the most comes next, when I stand and let my robe slip from my shoulders. It's almost as if I'm sloughing off my worries and tension, even if it's only for that moment in time. I stand free and ready to step into the warm embrace of the water.

When I lower myself into the water, I invariably sigh (though it's more of a moan, I've been told) and allow the soothing, scented comfort to pull me down. Every inch of me releases its tension, the heat of the water drawing it out of me, caressing me from head to toe like a much beloved paramour. I gather some bubbles in my hand, smoothing them over my arms and my legs. My hand slips under the water to lazily map the contours of my body until I'm left a sleepy, sated picture of pure bliss.

Mulder and I are currently staying in a hotel without tubs in the bathrooms. I'm extremely sad.

274 words
d_scully: (glasses)
Loyalty is the condition

When I think of loyalty, I

I've spent my life striving

Loyalty is not black or white. What I may see as a tremendous disregard for what is right and decent may be someone else's perception of loyalty. Perhaps one would behave like an amoral bastard simply because one was being loyal to one's own cause. A prime example of this would be Alex Krycek. Likewise, what some may see as my blind, stupid faith in a man who's been ridiculed, persecuted and hunted, is, in actuality, my loyalty to him. He is the only person on the planet I trust with my life, and I don’t give a damn how anyone else may perceive the ties I have to him.

Less important to me than the loyalty I feel toward Mulder is the issue of his loyalty to me. I know it's there, but I will never question it even when it may appear I have reason. The few regrets I have in my life are the moments when I know that Mulder questioned mine.
d_scully: (full face)
[Locked from the authorities]

Like many, I find the idea of injustice, in any form, to be cruel and unnecessary. I say unnecesary because any act of ill will that is perpetrated by one human being against another is always unnecessary. It's especially troublesome when these very acts are committed under the guise of following the law.

My partner was falsely accused of murder. He was subjected to a military trial that was nothing more than a mockery of the very system and ideals it was purporting to uphold. When they found him guilty, I was angry that this blow, this tremendous injustice, had been dealt to a man who was guilty of nothing more than fighting for his beliefs. When he was sentenced to death, I was devastated. Then, I became angry and vowed to do whatever was necessary to both protect him and the cause he had been championing since I had known him.

Thanks to our friends, he was able to escape, and the two of us ran. We're still running and won't be able to rest until this injustice has been undone.

186 words
d_scully: (serene)
I looked in the mirror, wondering if I'd seem different in my own eyes somehow. It wasn't merely the fact that I'd been intimate with someone that had me curious - I'd seen myself enough the morning after to know that it didn't usually make much difference. It was the fact that it was my best friend. It was the man I'd loved for so long but with whom I'd made a silent vow to never cross that particular line. But we had. We'd jumped over that line and not looked back.

My face looked flushed, and I could see the blush rise in my cheeks as I thought about what we'd done. I could still feel him touching me, kissing me; could hear him whispering things to me he'd never say in the harsh light of day. I'd done the same to him, sealing the bond between us with declarations of love I needed to express to him before something inevitably tore us apart. It was as if the both of us knew what was in store.

I never once thought that we'd done anything wrong. If anything, I felt regret that we'd waited so long to finally succumb to the feelings we'd had for one another. I didn't dwell on any of that as I looked in the mirror, though. All I could see was a woman who'd finally gotten what she wanted.

235 words
d_scully: (pensive)
There was a moment in time, not all that long ago, when a certain set of circumstances led me to make the acquaintance of a woman named Colleen. She shared with me beliefs that opened my eyes and my mind in ways I had never before thought possible. These things, these tiny bits of truth, stayed with me long after she revealed them to me, and I learned that it was necessary for me to approach the duty of living with a much altered perspective. While the specifics of what she shared with me won't be delved into in such an open forum, I will say that my encounter with her changed my life.

When I began to see things differently, to see the ways in which the world operated, I allowed myself to make decisions that I was certain were meant to be made. It was as if every connection between everything that exists was leading me down the path my life eventually took. My affair with Mulder, the birth of my son, and our eventual escape from a literal death sentence for the man I loved were all meant to be. But then, not only did my romantic relationship end, but I had been forced to surrender my son to an adoptive family in order to guarantee his safety. How could my life have possibly been destined to end this way? I found it harder and harder to accept the notion that I had been mistaken at every turn, and I refused to believe that nothing true or good could flourish in the debris of my life.

These years that Mulder and I have spent in hiding have led us both to realize truths about ourselves that never would have been revealed had we continued about our normal lives. While these revelations are nothing when compared to the gargantuan task that lies ahead of us - that of saving the planet - it does bring me some peace of mind that everything did have some sort of purpose. To anyone else, I'm sure that what I've discovered is meaningless, at best, but if I may allow myself the indulgence of self-absorption, it's important to me that I no longer deny that which should have been obvious sooner. Mulder is fond of ridiculing me for my "self-discovery," but I think that's only because he's not yet ready to accept his own. (There's a lot of late night talking and sharing that takes place when you think you're with the only other person on the planet you can trust.)

Perhaps all of this is simply a way for me to justify the decisions I made and really has nothing to do with any grand universal schemes or the way fate appears to toy with us. Perhaps I'm using this topic to come out in the open. I only know that I'm sure who I am, now, and if Colleen were standing in front of me, I would kiss her.

499 words
d_scully: (black and white)
Comfort is a rather personal thing to share with someone. I'm not only speaking of physical comfort, but the mere idea of what it is one finds comforting; the personal perception of comfort. If I share what comforts me, I'm revealing something that I may not have otherwise. What would someone think of me if I admit that a certain pair of fuzzy slippers has the same effect on me that a tattered and torn security blanket may have on a small child? Or, suppose I said that curling up in front of the television with a cup of cocoa (with the required marshmallows) in one hand and a homemade brownie in the other made me feel as if I were in a safe, warm place like home? Sometimes I wonder what those closest to me would think if I told them that I have a certain something sewn into my pillowcase because I believe it protects me and keeps bad dreams away.

Comfort can be found in many things. Someone might find comfort in a bottle or a needle; others in an intimate act with a stranger. Whatever it may be, I wouldn't ever judge what a person may choose to use in the pursuit of that certain feeling that allows them to press on and face another day.

220 words