Title: See You Tomorrow Author: cratkinson Email: cratkinson@mail.com Website: www.geocities.com/cratkinsonflynn Date: April 11, 2001 Archive: Yes, please just let me know Feedback: Please! Spoilers: DeadAlive and Three Words. Rating: PG-13, for stress-relieving language. Classification: Post-ep, A, V Keywords: MSR, Mulder POV Disclaimer: These characters are the property of 1013 Productions and Fox Television and are not mine in any way. Summary: Mulder's thoughts on what life is like after being returned from the dead. Notes: I'm sure that a lot of people were bugged by Mulder's behavior in Three Words, but I thought it was just right. He's a loner, an only child, a man used to being on the outside, and a man who'd recently found a bit of happiness. And then . . . A big ol' slobbery thank you to Heidi for speedy beta, and for saying just the right thing. ~~~~~~~~ See You Tomorrow by Cratkinson ~~~~~~~~ See you tomorrow. Ever say that to someone? Sure you have. Probably thousands of times. A simple phrase. No hidden meanings, no interesting etymology, no possible second interpretation. See you tomorrow. Okay, now, ever said that and then when you saw that person the next day, found that they'd grown their hair longer? Of course not. People don't grow their hair longer in one day, right? How about this one - ever said, "See you tomorrow," and then when you showed up the next day, found that no one will look you straight in the eye? That conversations come to a conspicuous halt when you enter the room? Not since junior high, right? When Tom Silva floated that heinous rumor about you and you didn't know what the hell was going on. Even back then it made you feel like you'd been punched in the gut, right? You didn't know who was on your side anymore. Didn't know your place in the hierarchy anymore. Didn't know what was the same and what was different. You remember that? Yeah, you're with me so far, but I'm about to lose you. You ever said, "See you tomorrow," to your best friend, love of your life, sole reason for drawing breath, and when you got back, found that person so incredibly altered that you could barely see your friend in this new person? You ever had your best friend and lover show up to work the next day with longer hair, three inches shorter, and pregnant? Of course you haven't. I have. You know that loose, shaky feeling you felt in junior high - the one that let you know for sure that things were not the same today as they were yesterday and may never be the same again? Compound that by a couple thousand and you might begin to get an idea of where I'm coming from. You want a list? Okay, from the top - Skinner won't look me in the eye, Scully's pregnant, there's a new guy in my office, Scully's pregnant, people are whispering about me, Scully's pregnant, Scully keeps bursting into tears, Scully's pregnant, the X-Files division has turned into a lame, candyass version of itself, Scully's pregnant, and Scully's fucking pregnant. People are tiptoeing around the truth. That pisses me off. No one will give me a straight answer about anything. Even Scully somehow thinks it's better to break the truth to me gently and a little bit at a time. It took her three days to tell me I'd been dead. If I'd known that from the beginning, my nightmares wouldn't have freaked me out quite so bad. My Scully wouldn't have done that to me. My Scully would know what the truth means. She would have given it to me. Like the truth about the X-Files. She waited quite a while to lay that one on me - a new partner, a man who knew nothing about the paranormal, whose connections and loyalties were unknown, a man who is, in her words, "above reproach." Really? Above reproach? I've never been above reproach to her. When did we decide to trust everyone? What did this guy do, some quick brainwashing? And Skinner - shit, the Skinner I knew was tall, strong, and showed weakness to no one. This Skinner slinks around, cleaning his glasses, nervously straightening his tie, lurking at my doorway. He never looks right at me, even when talking directly to me. And then he slinks away again. Scully says he feels guilty. But then she won't tell me about what. Who are these people? And Scully . . . hell, Scully. She's . . . different - so very different. She's soft where she was hard, hard where she was soft. She cries at the drop of a hat. She won't leave my side but won't tell me what I need to know. And her belly - shit! I can't even ask. This is the one thing I don't think I want to hear the truth about. It was the new Scully, telling me that I might get in trouble for searching for evidence the way I was. I wanted to turn on her, grab her, scream at her. Doesn't she know who she's talking to? Doesn't she know anymore what uncovering the truth means to me? Has she forgotten seven years of working with me? Has she forgotten who I am? Did she ever know? My world - which just yesterday was becoming more stable and solid than it had ever been before - is not in a shambles. It is nonexistent. It is nowhere to be seen. I have never felt more lost, more confused, more uncertain, or more alone. So pardon the shit out of me. I have an attitude? I'm acting like a prick? Big fucking surprise. Why don't you come over here and have a taste of this shit and see how you act? No? You're going to go back to your life - your familiar, comfortable, happy life, the one that was the same when you woke up this morning as when you went to bed last night? Well, okay. You go ahead. See you tomorrow. ~~~~~~~~ end ~~~~~~~~