From: susanf34@comcast.net   
      
   *NO ARCHIVE*   
      
      
      
   Title: Damariscotta   
   Author: Susan   
   E-mail: susanf34@comcast.net   
      
   Classification: post-ep story for Demons   
   Spoilers: Demons and various other references to   
   episodes from the first four seasons   
   Rating: PG-13   
   Keyword: angst, UST   
      
   Archive: After the Fact site.   
   Disclaimer: On paper, these characters aren't mine.   
   In my head, they are.   
      
   Author's notes: For those of you that have been   
   collecting parts of this story as it was being   
   written, please ditch them, and keep this one   
   instead.:)   
      
   More author's notes at the end.   
      
   Summary: After the events that occurred during   
   Demons, Mulder takes off for parts unknown, but   
   is running away really what he needs...or is it   
   what Scully needs?   
   ******************************************************   
      
   Damariscotta   
   by Susan   
   ~~~~   
      
   chapter one   
      
      
   When I woke up, I knew what I wanted.   
      
   Through most of my life, I sort of knew what I   
   wanted, but I never knew with certainty if what   
   I wanted was the right thing for me at the time.   
      
   But on this day, I knew.   
      
   I was going to leave my job, my apartment, my   
   partner.   
      
   The woman I pointed a gun at last night.   
      
   Again.   
      
   Yes, I was coming off a jolt of ketamine at the   
   time, but the truth is I knew exactly what I was   
   doing.   
      
   I wanted to know the truth so badly I was willing   
   to kill Scully to get to it.   
      
   And that's why I have to leave, and why I have to   
   stay away for good.   
      
   ~~~~   
      
   Two hours later, and I was on the road. Just me and   
   my car and a backseat full of assorted essentials.   
      
   In college, I used to take off on the weekends,   
   just take off for parts unknown and stay in places   
   where no one could find me.   
      
   At the time I needed to get away from the expectations,   
   get away from the pressure I felt to be the perfect   
   student, the perfect son.   
      
   But I wasn't the perfect son.  I was the son who   
   lost his sister. I was the son who questioned his   
   parents on their choices.   
      
   I was the son who carried a load of guilt on his   
   shoulders every minute of every day.   
      
   And now here I am again, still carrying that guilt   
   and taking off for parts unknown.   
      
   Where I end up, it doesn't matter, as long as no   
   one can find me.   
      
   ~~~~   
      
   Lunch consisted of a bag of sunflower seeds and   
   Diet Coke.  Dinner, a chicken sandwich, and a root   
   beer I picked up at a 7-Eleven.   
      
   When it came time to stop driving, I picked the   
   first motel I saw from the highway: a Motel 6   
   in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. Chuckling at the   
   irony of me, of all people, spending the night   
   in Bethlehem, I pulled into the parking lot at   
   11:00 p.m. and checked with the clerk.   
      
   Lucky for me, there was room at the inn.   
      
   Once inside my room, I kicked off my shoes and   
   collapsed on the bed, my jacket still on, my gun   
   still in its holster.   
      
   It was the last thing I remembered doing.   
      
   ~~~~   
      
   Flashing lights.   
      
   Bright.  Yellow.  White.  Sometimes orange, but   
   always flashing.  Always stinging my eyes.   
      
   Samantha. Mom. A man.   
      
   Cigarette smoke floating to the ceiling.   
      
   Flashing lights.   
      
   Lights so bright I can't see anything.  I can't   
   see...I can't see...I can't see...   
      
   And then she's gone.   
      
   Samantha is gone, and with her, the answers I so   
   desperately want.   
      
   Flashing lights shining in my eyes, pounding   
   against my brain.   
      
   Flashing lights pushing down on my heart, and I   
   can't breathe. I can't breathe...I can't breathe...   
   I can't...   
      
   My body suddenly jerking upright, I opened my eyes   
   and mouth wide, gulping for air, still trying to   
   breathe, but it wasn't a dream anymore.   
      
   It was real.   
      
   Sweat covered my face, chest, and arms, and my   
   back hurt. My eyes darted around the room, looking   
   at the drab green curtains by the window, the metal   
   clothes rack by the sink, the familiar TV bolted   
   down to the table in front of me.   
      
   I was alone in a strange motel room.   
      
   Again.   
      
   There was no blood on my shirt this time, although   
   there were sunflower seed crumbs in my pocket.   
      
   And there were no rounds missing from my gun,   
   though there was a red indentation on my hip in   
   the shape of the handle.   
      
   Peeling off my damp clothes as quickly as I could,   
   I threw them on the floor and hurried into the   
   bathroom.   
      
   I don't know how long I stayed in the shower, but   
   when I was done, all the hot water was gone.   
      
   Later that morning when I checked out, I slipped   
   the clerk an extra $20 to cover the cost of the   
   water I used and the two towels I took.   
      
   ~~~~   
      
   The next hundred miles were a blur.   
      
   Then again, that's pretty much what my life's been   
   the past few years.  A big blur of disappointments,   
   failures, and deceptions.   
      
   Except for Scully.   
      
   She's the one good thing in my life, the one person   
   I can trust without question.   
      
   But what does she think of me now?   
      
   Two nights ago I pointed a gun at her and told her   
   it was worth it to shoot her in exchange for the   
   truth.   
      
   What the hell was I thinking?   
      
   The truth was, I wasn't thinking. I was hallucinating,   
   and I was willing to do anything to keep the images   
   coming, even kill my partner if I had to.   
      
   How can I ever trust myself with her again after   
   that?   
      
   ~~~~   
      
   Another fifty miles and a quick stop at a gas   
   station to fill up and the little boy's room to   
   empty out.   
      
   I also picked up another bag of sunflower seeds,   
   a bottle of Coke, and one of those pre-made deli   
   sandwiches wrapped in plastic.   
      
   If Scully were here with me right now, she would've   
   told me not to buy it and get something healthier   
   like one of those pre-made salads.   
      
   But she wasn't here.   
      
   She was hundreds of miles away, and she was safe   
   from me.   
      
   And right now, that was the only thing that mattered.   
      
   Tearing open the bag of seeds, I popped a couple of   
   them into my mouth, turned up the radio, then pulled   
   out of the parking lot and headed east on Highway 88.   
      
   Where I was going, I didn't know.   
      
   I just knew I had to keep driving.   
      
   ~~~~   
      
   I spent the next several hours driving through   
   New York. I've never come here as a tourist before,   
   but I've been here a few times working on cases,   
   and I remember coming here with my family one time   
   when I was about fifteen.   
      
   My parents wanted to expose me to the opera back   
   then, give me some culture, I suppose, and much   
   to my surprise, I liked it. Of course, I never   
   told them that though.   
      
   Then again, there was a hell of a lot they never   
   told me either.   
      
   I'm certain mom knows that cigarette-smoking   
   bastard, and I'm sure dad knew him too, but what   
   was their connection?   
      
   Was it possible that the man I thought was my   
   father really wasn't my father at all?  And what   
   about the other man?  Was he responsible for   
   Samantha's disappearance, and if so, how?   
      
   All I saw in my flashbacks were snippets of events   
   that may or may not have happened.   
      
   So, what was real and what wasn't?   
      
   When I confronted mom before about what happened,   
   she slapped my face and ran away from me.   
      
   Does this mean that my suspicions were right, or   
   was she so shocked and appalled by my accusations   
   that she simply lashed out the only way she could?   
      
   Either way, I still don't know the truth.   
      
   ~~~~   
      
   Lunch consisted of a quick stop at the drive-thru   
   at McDonald's where I bought a Big Mac and a large   
   iced tea, then ate them while I drove.   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
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    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)