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Title: Anabelle: Introspection Summary: Anabelle's thoughts on life, love, and house hunting. This is otherwise known as my cure for writer's block.
I'm trying something different here, a first person from Thanks again Lucy for beta'ing!
My name is Anabelle Mulder, and I'm a...well I don't know what I am. I know I am the daughter of Fox Mulder, which is probably enough to scare some people. I wonder if it'll give Skinner a heart attack. Yes, I know who Assistant Director Skinner is, (but he doesn't know me, which is to my advantage) I've heard plenty out of my dad's mouth about him, usually in the form of a string of four letter words not suitable for repeating. I wonder what Skinner would think, the infamous Spooky Mulder has a progeny, who, by all accounts is just as strange as he is. Well, I'm strange in my own way. Mulder's (hey, I'm still getting used to calling him Dad, so pardon me if I slip. Hell, he's getting used to being called it too, so we're both adapting) had a major influence on me, even more than my own 'father,' who was dead by the time I was eight so I really don't remember being affected all that much by him. But with Mulder, I don't know, I guess I always thought of him as a father subconsciously, even if the actual words were never spoken. My whole life is too damn strange, plain and simple. I think it started when I was born-on April Fools Day. Every year someone always pulls the same old 'Sorry, Anabelle, no gifts for you this year'. I'd rather have been born on Christmas. I think the weirdness is inherited though. Look at my parents. My father is...well, he's Fox William Mulder, enough said. My mother...well, she's a real sore subject. Cassie, my therapist, said that it was better though to get my thoughts out of my system, if not to someone then at least on paper. Jennifer Fairchild was my birth mother's name. But that's all I can think of her as, as a vessel, as someone who carried me for those nine months that a baby stays inside the mother's body. I know somehow that she had no intention of ever being a mother, don't ask me how, I just do. She would have gotten rid of me for sure, but for some reason I can't puzzle out she didn't, she actually let me even associate with the man, or boy at the time who was my real father. I wonder if she regretted that decision though. When she attacked me that time in Trewissick I think she was aiming to kill. I know it's horrible to be that blunt, but I have to say it, I can't pretend it never happened. I've got the angel wings scars on my back to prove it. I remember hearing at the hospital in my drugged up haze, luckily feeling no pain, Mulder talking to the town inspector saying that they were going to charge her with attempted murder. But they never got to charge her. When the village cops got to her place they found her 'passed out' on the floor. They tried to wake her, but it didn't work. She was dead, and by her own hand too. The three vodka bottles on the counter attested to that, along with the suicide note. Mulder went down to identify the body. Like I said before, I can't think of her as a mother, just a vessel. Sometimes I like to pretend that I've got a different birth mother, one who was there for me from the beginning, who really loves me. I'd never tell anyone this, but sometimes I even like to pretend that Dana Scully is my birth mother. If she was my birth mother I know she'd care for me, love me, hell, even admit I exist. I really admire Dana. (I don't call her Scully, I leave that to Mulder. When they use their last names, it's almost like a special little term of endearment. And Mulder insists they're just friends. Yeah, right.) She's been through hell and back, both of them have, but she's strong, overcoming the obstacles life or government conspirators have tossed at her. I don't kid myself in saying that Dana's perfect, that she can just let these things slide off her back. Hell, no one could let the things they've been through slide off easily. Most would be tossed in the funny farm like that. But she's strong. I think she'd make a damn great mother. I plan to adopt her. Or at least get Mulder to admit to those feelings he doesn't quite acknowledge. The feelings I know Dana shares. My name is Anabelle Mulder, and I have seen evil! I have seen horror! I have seen...wait, wasn't this from the Addams family? But I have seen something truly scary-Fox Mulder, the consummate bachelor (that little marriage stint to that foul one doesn't count at all. My guess is that it was just for the sex, but I'm not going to say that to him) going house hunting. I'm living in his Alexandria Apartment, that one bedroom hell-hole (there was a rat in here the other day, I'm damn serious there was! Mulder called it Krycek. Now my almost one year of high school Russian has taught me that krysa does in fact mean rat in Russian, but I still don't get it) and we're having a tough time trying to make do. Hey, I need a bigger closet than the one he has, I'm living out of boxes here! Mulder and Dana are sitting on that black leather couch of his looking over the newspaper want ads and a few of those free real estate books you get in Waldbaums. Do they even have Waldbaums down here in D.C.? I'm not sure. There's something in those looks they're giving each other, something hidden and exciting. Wait...didn't Mulder say that this was the day Dana first started working on the X-Files with him? So...we got an anniversary on our hands. Time to plan the party. And then the wedding. Boy, have I got my work cut out for me. Anabelle Maeve Mulder End
Well? How was it? Just a question-can anyone spot the foreshadowing in here? Let me know if you do. You get a virtual cookie. d:) And thanks to Maeve for (unknowingly) letting me borrow her name for Anabelle's middle one. ~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~* Miracle Max Lightbringer
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