From:             Sivara <Sivara@aol.com>
Date sent:        Wed, 18 Mar 1998 01:30:24 EST
Subject:          Indistinct (1/1) by Katrina Ross


Title: Indistinct 
Author: Katrina Ross
Email: Sivara@aol.com
Disclaimer: Mulder & Scully aren't mine. I'm just borrowing them because they
won't shut up. They belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox
Broadcasting. No money is being made and no infringement is intended.
Rating: PG
Classification: V
Summary: A lonely man.
Spoilers: None for the show.
Archival: Gossamer, yes. Anywhere else, ask first.
Notes: This is a sequel to my story titled "The Gesture". It would be a good
idea to read that first. Feel free to email me if you need a copy.

This one is for everyone who asked for a sequel. Hope it lives up to your
expectations. :)

Indistinct
By Katrina Ross     
______________________

     The dining room is hushed and dark, a few patrons huddled over half-eaten
plates of food. The atmosphere is bleak, colorless, save for the deep blue of
the tablecloths and the fat, white candles jammed in colorful glasses. 
     "Will you light the candle?" he asks.
     "Sir?" replies the waiter.
     "The candle." he repeats. "Will you light it?"

     A match is produced and the wick set aflame. He leans back in his chair
and tents his hands over his face. The flame skitters and dances, throwing
wild patterns across the tablecloth. His right hand leaves his face, delving
into his pocket and withdrawing a crumpled sheet of paper. He carefully,
almost reverently unfolds it and flattens it with a quick swish of his hand.
He smooths it again, slower this time, soothing the creases away gently, as
one might caress a cheek. His eyes settle on her bold script calling his name
at the top.

"Mulder,                                          
     I've been offered a permanent position at Woods. I can't begin to express
how the idea of staying affects me, Mulder. The experience I've had here has
been satisfying. The investigations and experiments are going well and my
colleagues are intelligent and likeable. Yet, I feel that something is
lacking. Some inexplicable need is not being met here, and I'm at a loss to
explain it, or even begin to comprehend it. 

     How are you doing, Mulder? I envision you as immersed in your work as
ever, 
seeking and searching without much regard for yourself. I considered
extracting a 
promise from you, a promise that you would not take such risks, but I know
you. Your passion for truth and justice does not cultivate timidity and
cautious behavior. Please, take care of yourself, Mulder. I will write again
soon.

                                                   Scully"

     He glances up as he refolds her letter, carefully aligning the creases
along the 
original lines. The door opens, and a man enters. He stands in the doorway,
dressed too nicely in a suit and tie. The patrons of the restaurant flinch
against the sunshine pouring in, shielding their light-sensitive eyes until
the newcomer allows the door to swing shut behind him. 

     Mulder watches as he winds his way through the closely arranged tables, 
heading towards the back table where he has established himself. He quietly
seats 
himself across from Mulder, his face a parody of light.
     "You found us easily, I see." remarks the newcomer.
     "You're not too far off the beaten path." he replies, settling back in
his seat.
     "Ah, you're back." he notes. "Nice. Your tribulations haven't stifled
you."
     His jaw jumps and he purses his lips briefly, exhaling lightly. "That
remains to be seen." 
     "You miss her."
     "No." he says quickly, his eyes flicking away from the man's.
     "You wonder. It's been some time, hasn't it? The nature of your
relationship 
with her, if not human curiosity, leads you to wonder about the lack of 
correspondence." He leans forward now, his intent clear in his eyes. "I can
tell you 
what you need to know. I can give you everything, right now."

     He looks at the man across from him. The silence is intense, almost
palpable, but he is careful to tuck his care away from his eyes. He drops his
hands into his lap and bows his head. His voice comes in a stuttering whisper,
tongue tripping over the simple syllables. "Not--not today. Please. I don't
want to know."

     Disappointment written across his face, he arises slowly, pushing the
chair away, towering over the other man. "Stay. Your day will come. We are
sure of the future." He tucks the chair carefully into the table and turns
away, leaving as he came, in a blaze of light and the soft snick of the
shutting door.

The End
feedback? sure! send to Sivara@aol.com