WORDS ON A PAGE
by Blackwood
entreamis@yahoo.com

RATING: G
CATEGORY: Vignette, Angst, Character Death
SPOILERS: Negligible for Demons.
ARCHIVE: Yes, with this header; just let me know so I can visit
SUMMARY: A love letter  
DISCLAIMER:  No infringement intended, Mr. Carter.  You own them; I
just let them live.

~*~*~*~

It is a gloomy day of shadows and drizzle.  I conceal myself behind a
gnarly oak and watch as she approaches the grave with measured steps.
 She is dressed in black, as she so often is, now.  Grief marks her
like a brand.  Once she smiled so prettily.  She doesn't smile any
more.  Standing before the headstone of her gunned down partner, she
meditates on the string of beads used by those of her faith.  She
doesn't cry.  It is not her way.

From the pocket of her raincoat, she pulls an envelope, small and
white.  Slow fingers slip open the sheath and remove a single sheet
of paper.  She begins to read while the drizzle becomes a soft,
steady rain.  She doesn't take cover.  She merely stands, so still,
so composed.  As she contemplates the words on the page, head bowed,
her free hand moves with grace to her brow.  A sigh causes her
shoulders to rise, then fall--melancholy revealed.

She finishes her reading and the hand clutching the paper drops. 
Fingers open and the scrap of vellum flutters to wet earth.  Reaching
into the pocket of her coat once more, she pulls out something I
can't identify and scatters it on the grave.  Ah, rose petals.  So,
she is sentimental, after all.  She turns and, for a moment, I think
she can see me.  I fall back in silence.  When next I glance her way,
I see only her receding back; her step weary, although her shoulders
are still proud.

I wait until she is gone before leaving my spying post.  The earth is
spongy beneath my feet as I cross to the place where she stood. 
Reaching down, I retrieve the paper she so desolately tossed aside. 
The rain has begun to smudge the ink, but not enough that I can't
read the erratic hand that composed the words just read.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My love, 

If you are reading this, then I am gone.  I dare not hope that you
could understand.  I know I forfeited my right to your tears long
ago.  You came to me, young and innocent.  I was the cynic; yet
somehow, you convinced me that there are some people worth trusting. 
Not many, I'll grant you, but some.  I trusted you.  Only you.  To
the rest, I paid lip service.  Did you know that?  I told you, but I
wonder if you knew just exactly how much I trusted you.  You were
always the levelheaded one, the one who knew exactly what to do.  I
was always going off, half-cocked, following one crazy scheme after
the other.  

I always admired your mind, you know.  Oh, you were beautiful, but
your true beauty was your inner strength.  I don't know how you kept
me whole in those dark days.  I know there were times when you didn't
understand why I said and did the things I did.  I know there were
times when you doubted my sanity.  I saw it in your eyes, those
soulful eyes that told me everything I needed to know.  You never
could say the words, 'I love you'; still, I felt it.  I knew it.  And
when the troubled times came, I knew you still cared, even though it
seemed like we stood miles apart.  I made the best decisions I could
with the information I had.  Can any one claim to do better than
that?

When you lost her, your daughter, I felt your grief.  I wanted to
console you, but you were inconsolable.  I knew you held the nameless
men responsible, and me, although you never said so.  I knew the
depth of your rage, but I was powerless to stop it from happening. 
If I could have given my life for hers, I would have, in a heartbeat,
my love.  I would have died for her, as I would for you.

You deserved so much more than I could give you.  But there was
always the quest, always the work, always the million and one things
that demanded my time, my attention, my energy.  I dreamed of just
leading a "normal" life, far from the madness that infected our lives
and transformed our dreams to nightmares.  How I wished I could give
to you a happy life, a normal home, a place where we could watch our
children grow and be prosperous.

Now I fear it is too late to make amends.  I'm afraid we've come too
long and too far to pretend things could ever be quite right between
us again.  We shared a common bond, but no longer love.  We shared a
mutual goal, but no longer friendship.  Believe me when I say if I
could give you back those innocent days before you met me, I would. 
I would send you away from me with your curious mind, lovely face and
generous heart.

As for Spender?  He always was a threat to us, wasn't he?  From the
outset, he was between us, manipulating and conniving.  He watched
our every move and played us like the fools we were, thinking we
could outrun, outsmart, outmanuever him and his minions.  It is only
in hindsight that I realize what we were up against.  Perhaps it was
best we didn't know at the time.  'There are times when ignorance is
bliss, indeed,' said a wise man.  All I can do now is tell you how
much I needed you, how much I wanted you, how much I feared for you.

I will always love you, Teena.

Bill
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I read the last sentence again.  And again.  And again, while the
rain falls and the ink smears and the red petals at my feet mark the
sodden ground like words on a page.  The letter is relegated to the
right pocket of my woolen coat as my left hand reaches within to
retrieve a pack of Morleys.  I light one in the pouring rain and
stare at the tombstone marked 'Mulder'.  It is gray: like the sky,
like the Reticulans, like my life.  I take a long drag, savoring the
soothing effect of nicotine in the blood.  The unfinished cigarette
is thrown atop the grave where it will decay, along with the roses
and the bones of the only man she truly loved.

END
October 1999