Story Notes: This is a pretty insubstantial piece of nothing. What can
I say, I was compelled.

And yes, Virginia, I am.

*

She subscribes to too many medical journals. In the grand scheme of
things, this isn't an indictable offense. On a base level, she knows
she tests herself. She doesn't want to not know anything. Sometimes she
doesn't sleep until four am, reading them.

She doesn't know why.

She's become a little obsessive about strange things lately. She now
has twenty three pairs of sunglasses. It would be more but some are
just innocent casualties of Mulder.  She drove down to a store at three
in the morning the other night because she remembered, when she was in
bed, that she had no ceral for breakfast.

After all these years, every time she goes past a mirror, she still
checks her nose for blood.

There are empty compulsions in other areas, as well. Mulder-areas,
although she hates admitting it. A few times over the years she has
found herself below him, moving slowly against him. Fucking Mulder
makes her top five recent memories (one, three and five to be exact)
but she can't forget about the afterward. About holding him in her,
entranced with the weight of his body on her.

She's tried, she tries, to find men who feel the same on top of her
body. They never stay, or they're too light, or they squash her to the
point of pain. She thinks if she can just get it right, if she can just
find someone who pushes her into the mattress like Mulder, she can
forget that the only time she doesn't want to read journals and buy
ceral at three in the morning is when he is in her bed.

But she doesn't ask and he doesn't ask and they wait until something
breaks before they let it happen again. And in the meantime she reads
the journals and buys the ceral because there's not much else she can
do.
 

*** fin
 
 
 
 
 

"I want to know how bad it can get."
http://Appelsini.tripod.com
 

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