#so lost in what people might say or misinterpret and misconstrue my words or every worst case scenario | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gaycrouton · 6 years

Text

Partner

Words of Love 15/27 [Scully is beyond furious after Mulder abandons her yet again.]

Partner: (noun) the person with whom one cohabits in a romantic or platonic relationship.

Scully frequently got irritated with Mulder, frustrated might be a better word. He understood where she was coming from. He dragged her around the U.S. on various, eccentric assignments, he asked so much of her, and she’s invested about just as much as he had in the X Files. However, this was the first time he had ever seen her absolutely furious with him.

She had mentioned to him in the past that she didn’t appreciate being left behind. It wasn’t all that common, but sometimes he didn’t want to bring her because it was too dangerous. He knew she misinterpreted the abandonment as a sign that he didn’t trust her, but he just wouldn’t be able to take it if anything happened to her because of him. He trusted her more than anyone else in the entire world, his trust was in her implicitly, but he would never purposefully ask her to risk her life for him.

Earlier today, they were working a case in southern Oregon. It involved a man who was bludgeoning people to death, however, there were never external injuries on any of the victims, but all the autopsies showed intense battering on all the internal organs. On the third night there, Mulder got a tip that someone wanted to meet him outside their motel, by the laundry room. Since the message was specifically requesting him only, he didn’t want to bring Scully and have her get hurt out of anger. He also knew that if he even mentioned it that she would be adamant that she had to go with him. So he didn’t tell her. Instead, he left his motel room at midnight and stood outside of the laundry room. That’s all he remembered.

Now he was laying in a hospital room feeling like he had been hit by a car with a concerned Scully standing over him. “Hey, I’m glad you’re awake.” As soon as he opened his eyes, she was by his side, running her hand through his hair.

He smiled weakly, “Where am I?”

She pursed her lips in concern, pulling up a chair next to his bed. “I went outside to get a snack from the vending machine by the laundry room and I saw you moving on the ground. When I got close, you looked like you were getting kicked and thrown around, but nothing was there. I ran to your side and it stopped, so I called 911 and you were brought to the hospital with really bad internal injuries.”

He nodded to himself, figuring out what had happened pretty quickly. Scully must have realized he knew more than he was letting on because she removed her hand from his bed and leaned back in her chair. “You don’t seem surprised.”

He could tell she was irritated, and he didn’t want to hide the truth anymore. “I got a tip from someone asking me to meet them outside the laundry room last night at midnight.” She let out a big exhale and a sardonic chuckle before he continued, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to get hurt.” This statement made her eyes whip to meet his, fury within there depths.

“Do you think I’m a liability to you? As a partner.” The question rolled cooly off her tongue, thanking him aback.

“No, Scully-I think you’re more than capable as my partner. I’ve never thought of you as a liability. I just-” He started, trying to reassure her, but ended up getting cut off.

“You just ‘didn't want me to get hurt’. I’ve heard it all before, Mulder!” He knew she wouldn’t be pleased with this revelation, but this was new. She sat upright in her chair, making sure he was paying attention to her.

“Did you ever care to consider the fact that I don’t want you to get hurt either? That it would kill me if something happened to you and I had no idea what was going on? You go to all these lengths to ‘protect’ me, but you’ve never even asked me what I want.”

He was honestly in shock. Scully had reached her breaking point. Capitalizing on his silence, she continued, “Let’s look at tonight. So this guy contacts you, you don’t want him to attack me since I was invited, so you go by yourself. You’re an intelligent man Mulder, but my god, you can be dense sometimes. Do you know how simple it would have been to tell me about it, I act as back up, and I could have intervened before it got thisbad?” She gestured to his body with an agitated hand, “Why would that have been such a horrible idea?”

He was silent for a moment until he realized she was actually asking him. Clearing his throat he responded, “If anything happened to me, then I would have trusted you would have figured it out and found the guy.” He wasn’t confident in his answer, but he knew saying he was afraid to see her get hurt would have set her off again. Apparently this wasn’t good enough either.

“Well guess what Mulder, you would have been killed tonight had I not been hungry, and I would have no idea where to even start looking. You would have left me all alone, permanently this time.” She stood up from her chair and started pacing a small line on the linoleum floor. “Do you know how scared I was? When I came out and saw you thrashing on the ground, but I had no idea what was going on?”

“It appears to be very,” he said, not knowing if this was another question for him. Evidently he wasn’t good at reading the signs of an irate Scully.

She turned to him, nostrils lightly flared, “No shit, Mulder! I was terrified. I’m your partner. I would have had to live with the idea that you would rather face the danger of going off by yourself than asking for my help!”

“Scully, that’s not it and you know it. You’ve lost so much already because of my irrational ambition, if you lost your life because I insisted we do something risky, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.” He hated hearing her think that he didn’t trust her, but she kept misconstruing his words.

“Mulder, can you get out of your own head for one second? This ‘hypothetical’ fear you have of me being in danger is what I have to face all the time . You leave for hours, hell, sometimes days, and I have no idea where you are! I imagine you’re in a ditch dead, or captured by an enemy, or lost and alone. I have to live with that the entire time you’re gone. Do you think I don’t care about you? After all this time?” Scully was intermittently shouting at him and the guilt with every new development was burning a hole in his chest. He knew she worried, but he never imagined what it must have been like. The one time she did that with the Jerse incident it drove him crazy, but he at least knew vaguely where she was.

“Scully, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to seem like I didn’t care.” Scully turned around from her spot and he was genuinely worried she was going to finally leave, that she had finally had enough of him, but instead she just stood stationary in her spot near the edge of the bed. He sat there for a moment in silence until he heard a sharp intake of breath.

Shit. I made her cry.

He could could on one hand how many times Scully had cried in front of him; her father’s death, after being held captive, fearing death from cancer, it took a lot for her to cry. And here she was, in the middle of his hospital room, crumpling in on herself because he had made her worry yet again. Mulder felt like guilt was making a home in his chest.

“Scully?” He asked, leaning forward in his bed to try and get closer to her.

He almost jumped when she whirled around, fury in her tear-flooded eyes. “Mulder, everything that’s happened to me while being a part of the X Files has been of my own accord, because I am just as invested as you are! This isn’t just your mission anymore, it’s mine too, and I understand the risks,” a broken sob interrupted her speech and broke Mulder’s heart. “I would rather die by your side, fighting for what we believe in, knowing I did my all, because I would see it to the end with you. I never, listen to my words, never want to find your dead body alone. Do you understand me?” It seemed she had exhausted herself because she tentatively sat down on the edge of his bed and allowed her face to crumple, covering her face in her hands.

Mulder’s heart warmed at her unabashed honesty, but shame still engulfed him like a blanket. This beautiful, wonderful, intelligent woman, so dedicated to the pursuit of the truth, had been through so much and he never noticed. He adored her so much, but yet his attempts at keeping her safe had done more damage than good.

He scooted a bit further down on the bed so that he was at her side. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her petite body to his own. He was glad that she accepted the affection, taking her hands away from her face and wrapping them around his sides. He was in a little bit of pain, but the important of this moment was all he cared about.

He kissed her hair a few times before whispering, “I’m so sorry Scully. I didn’t understand. It would kill me if the situation was reversed. I promise I’ll never keep you in the dark, I respect you too much for that. You mean too much to me.”

She snuggled in closer to him, and they just sat like that for what felt like hours, just embracing each other. After a while, she pulled back from his arms and placed a gentle, but loving, kiss on his jaw, then his cheek, before chastely pressing her lips to his own. It was short, she pulled back a moment after she did it, but it meant the world to him.

Chuckling with embarrassment, she started wiping away the tear tracks from her flushed face. Meeting his gaze once more, she muttered, “I accept your apology, but if it happens again, I will shoot you.” She placed her finger where the wound was from the last time she shot him for emphasis, making him laugh.

He couldn’t help but be captivated by the intimacy of the moment, she had just told him how much he meant to her, she had just been in crying in his arms, she had just kissed him, and now he was transfixed on how blue her eyes looked and how beautiful her puffy face looked. “If it makes you feel any better, you look beautiful when you cry.”

She laughed with an amused smirk on her face, mumbling “asshole” jokingly under her breath. He stared in awe at her. The woman who would go hand in hand with him into the depths of the unknown. His partner in life.

#msr #msr angst #the x files fanfic #x files fanfiction #dana scully #fox mulder #gaycrouton #onlytheinevitable #words of love #my fanfiction

60 notes · View notes

davidchill · 5 years

Text

This Is My Truth - The Final Blog (For Now)

After over ten years of writing a personal blog I feel that now would be a good time to wrap things up. I’m sure I’ll still write blogs from time-to-time, but they’ll be a completely different animal to this curious beast.

Social media has changed an awful lot over the years. As I scroll through my timeline this morning all I see are snappy memes, gifs, people arguing with strangers about the perils of Brexit, and sponsored posts based on my browsing habits.

Another thing that’s changed is how people engage and interact with others. Over the years I’ve seen friends who appeared to be warm and affable suddenly go stone cold and aloof, virtually overnight. Typed communication can often be misinterpreted or misconstrued, and I have, on a few occasions, tried to strike up friendships with people who I’ve genuinely liked, only for their shields to go up - and I watch them vanish at warp speed.

The truth has always been important to me - so when people lie in order to make their lives easier I find myself distancing myself from them so they don’t need to lie anymore. But I can’t judge anyone. Lying is easy. Anyone can lie. How many lies have got people out of awkward social situations without damaging the friendship? Thousands, I would imagine. The truth is much harder to swallow at times. So if you’ve found this blog to be a difficult read then that’s certainly not a bad thing.

Of course, a few “friends” haven’t stayed the course, and opted to “unfriend” or “unfollow” me on social media for posting “too many dog photos” or “too many blogs on mental health”. Well… all I can offer here is my “sperm” analogy…

“Out of the approximately 1,000 sperm that enter the fallopian tube, only about 200 reach the egg. The rest get attached to the lining of the oviduct, or just give out and die. Out of the approximately 200 sperm that reach the egg, only one fertilizes the egg.”

If you’ve stuck by me on Facebook during the most turbulent period of my life (between 2014 and the present day) then consider yourself a healthy sperm. The others might resurface in a few years when everything in my life is hunky-dory and say “Is it safe to be your friend again?” but they have no chance of reaching the egg.

In this case the “egg” is a metaphor for my “circle of trust”.

Friends don’t fall off the radar when you struggle with your mental health, and nor do they sit back and watch you struggle financially when they *could* throw you a bone. Oh, and they certainly don’t walk away when you share anecdotes about your dog.

So if you are still with me - thank you. And if you’re sitting comfortably then let’s begin...

Keeping the Faith

For much of my adult life I never had a huge amount of faith in myself. Too many crushing doubts played on my mind as to what role I had in this world - or even if I had a part to play. My creative abilities were certainly brought into question, as I lie awake at night wondering when people would wake up and give me the same amount of judgement and scrutiny that I subjected myself to on a daily basis.

Despite a very happy home life I was a prime target for the school bullies - thanks to a winning combination of ginger hair and small, round head - so it’s hardly surprising that I entered adulthood with several insecurities and a huge chip on my shoulder. Children can be cruel and wretched creatures at times. Snotty-nosed brats.

Throughout college I drew comic strips at every available opportunity and was always genuinely flabbergasted when my peers told me how talented and gifted I was - and how much they loved my sense of humour. Well, my written word - as I was practically mute in those days. “You’d be funny if you spoke!” commented one guy.

While most of the students gallivanted off to university I chose not to pursue further education and opted to get a “real” job in order to feed my comic book addiction. So for the next six or seven years I took on a variety of roles… packing plastic, kennel hand, factory worker.

I’m not sure what my parents thought of me coming home covered in dog poo and toner dust - but my duties were the perfect cover for an artistic creative soul who had zero faith in his abilities. I couldn’t fail.

Unfortunately my cover was blown in 1998 when my line manager insisted on promoting me to “champion operator” - a job that involved assembly work, but also gave me the opportunity to walk around with a bit of paper and use the new fangled “e-mail” system that was becoming popular in the workplace. “What is this wizardry?” I asked myself, as I bluffed my way through the job.

It was during this time that I was asked to give a PowerPoint presentation to an office full of co-workers and the type of senior management you’d cross the street to avoid if you saw them out shopping on a Saturday morning. When the CEO gave his feedback on the presentations he threw the spotlight on me and said; “David, I thought you were excellent.”

Swine. “I’m a fraud I tell you!” (I didn’t actually say that out loud)

Thankfully, just before my head expanded to dangerous levels of self belief I was made redundant from the position. This was no reflection on me - the whole company went under. Nothing to do with my “excellent” presentation skills or the time I spent walking around with a bit of paper.

The following year I was inflicted with a condition called spasmodic torticollis and forced to take three months off work. In English; I suffered with a severe muscle spasm in my neck. As a result, my chin was permanently touching my shoulder and only lying down made me feel “normal”. We didn’t have box sets to lift the mood in those days, so it was an extremely dark chapter in my life. I was pumped full of valium, I couldn’t drive or walk the dog, and my mother had to chop my food up for me.

Eventually, after a series of tests, the consultant told me I’d have to have injections in my neck - but this wouldn’t guarantee success. Truth be told I became very low and depressed - but, with the support of my friends and family, I got through each day. One of my church friends even picked me up, took me to church, and prayed for me. This wasn’t like my “last rites” or anything, I hasten to add.

One day, as I walked into town, all hunched up and averting eye contact - something very peculiar happened. My head wasn’t tilting to one side anymore and I found myself walking in a STRAIGHT line. “What is this hogwashery?!” I thought to myself. “I’m walking with my head in an upright position!”

The specialist who mooted the idea of injections then examined me, scratched his head, and concluded that I was some kind of weird “enigma”. Yes, it took three months of pain, frustration and fear to reach the conclusion that I was a bit odd. Blimey, I didn’t need to go through all that to work that one out.

The Slippery Slope

Several years later, and after being made redundant three times between 1998 and 2003, I was beginning to think I was cursed.

In 2006 I quit full-time employment and went down the “self-employed” route - mostly focusing on wedding websites for the subsequent eight years. On reflection that was far too long to spend on one endeavour, and a few close friends urged me to expand my portfolio. Again, I felt “safe” doing wedding websites, the money was coming in, and I didn’t want to run the risk of straying too far. However, I should have taken the advice given to Peter Davison when Patrick Troughton advised him to only play the Doctor for three years. Eight years is a very long time in the world of technological advances, and I became the Ken Barlow of wedding websites.

Looking back, it’s not surprising the work had a detrimental impact on my mental health. I poured my heart and soul into those blasted websites, and sometimes sat up until 3am to please my transatlantic Bridezillas. Sometimes Groomzillas. No, I didn’t *have* to, but when I take on a role I like to give it my all.

Unfortunately because my “office” was then based in my bedroom I could never “switch off” and those sites consumed me to a point where my anxiety and depression deepened. The line between business and pleasure just became far too blurred and it became a seven day week thing.

After all the stress of moving into my maisonette (and then buying the maisonette) I still found the websites to be an extremely negative factor in my mental health. Things got on top of me and I’d begin to procrastinate… put off tasks, until, eventually, I hit my brick wall. My dark place.

Enter Luna, the Staffordshire Bull Terrier X Akita, who took a lot of stick for being the author of my demise. No, she was merely the straw that broke the camels back.

Before I knew it, I lost my regular income after being told that my services were no longer required. Sadly, despite being told that my salary would be safe until January 2014, it was then slashed by £500 for two months on the trot. November and December, respectively.

Suddenly, I had this huge financial hole to fill… and a mortgage to pay. When you lose £1000 without sufficient forewarning then what do you do? No money from extra part-time work would have reached me in time - even if my mind had been “fit” to work. The anxiety just consumed me, and the mind starts imagining these highly unlikely scenarios… My neck condition might flare up again… I might lose the dog… I might lose my home.

Okay, that last one actually happened.

People often tell me that debt is a slippery slope that should be avoided at all costs. People who’ve never experienced debt to the extent that I did. My friends, I’ve taken to that slope. I’m the Eddie “the Eagle” Edwards of the slippery slope.

So yes, I know that debt begins very slowly... and it gradually creeps up on you… the £5 penalty charge on your emergency borrowing becomes £10, £15, £20… and then you’re late with the gas and electric bill… and then BOOM! You’ve lost your home and overzealous cleaners are pulling things off your wall as you struggle to pack everything into boxes.

I lost more that day than I can ever put into words, and I’ve hated myself for it ever since.

Yes, people made my life more difficult than it needed to be, and some people could have helped more - rather than just telling me it’d all be okay. But I lost everything because I lost faith in myself.

There’s No Guarantors

Today, eighteen months after losing my home, I’m sat here writing a business plan - and I find myself in this role reversal. Almost like a weird mirror universe from Star Trek. Suddenly, for perhaps the first time in my life, I have faith in myself - but others are doubting my judgement, or have very little faith in my abilities.

Whenever I hear that someone has been awarded a business loan I punch the air [on their behalf]. Even if it’s someone on Twitter who I don’t know very well - I always make a point of congratulating them and wishing them well in their new endeavour. Or endeavor if they’re American.

With me, I expect a few would question if I knew what I was doing.

Not that I was awarded a business loan, but I came very close. Honestly, my heart sank when Eugene (the guy from the bank) uttered the words “We just need your guarantor…”

Guarantor? Me? Find a guarantor? He might as well have asked me to find the hair of a Sasquatch, a stool sample of a dodo, and the DNA of William the Conqueror.

“Hey, dear,” says a friend, turning to his partner. “David C. Hill is looking for a guarantor for his business loan. You in?” “The same David C. Hill with the anxiety issues?” “Yep.” “The same David C. Hill who had 5,000 comic books printed without testing the market?” “Yep.” “The same David C. Hill who lost his home after falling into a horrifying amount of debt?” “Yes, dear. You in?”

Yes, I had to ask… but of course I can’t blame anyone for not rising to the challenge.

My new bank friend, Eugene, then followed up with a phone call to assure me that the £10,000 funding would be granted if I could give him a name. So I looked at Luna, and for that brief moment her eyes just said “Don’t look at me!”

The “Homer Simpson” in me thought about seeing how far I could go with this guarantor lark. “John. My guarantor’s name is John. John Smith. His address? 12… Evergreen Terrace.”

Sadly, it’s going to be almost impossible for me to come back from that defeat of losing my home. That sort of thing sticks. It’s like I have “not good with money” or “dog who returns to his vomit” scrawled on my forehead. It’s akin to someone on a dodgy register trying to acquire a job as a school caretaker.

No, to paraphrase Tiffany, the pop goddess of 1987… “I think I’m alone now.”

People will argue that if my business plan was that convincing then I wouldn’t need a guarantor. However, these days banks are far more guarded when it comes to funding businesses. I don’t have any assets therefore I need someone with assets to have my back. My 27” iMac won’t cut the mustard as an asset.

Anyway, I’m sure most people can find a guarantor with relative ease. If a guarantor was such a ridiculous concept then requiring a guarantor wouldn’t even be a thing. According to the website, 98% of businesses are successfully funded. So I guess that places me in the 2% camp.

It’s been a week of bad news, and it would be so easy for me to slip into a depression and consume my body weight in wine gums. My car payment has just bounced and I have more rent due in ten days, and now I’m telling people that without funding my business can’t move forward.

I know the rich frown upon those who have to take out loans, and in the last few years I’ve seen the rich grow considerably richer. But I don’t think some people realise how rich they are, and how, if they need something, they can just go out and buy it - or ask their rich family to chip in. Of course most people have worked very hard for their wealth - but the majority of people do work very hard. I know at least two nurses who work for the NHS and they work exceptionally gruelling shifts. So one should never judge the rich - or the poor.

Yes, some people do inherit wealth or marry into rich families, so not all the rich work hard - and not everyone who’s poor works hard either. Sometimes ill-health doesn’t permit you to work long hours - and yes, lazy work shy fops do exist.

If I have to calumniate £5,000 or £10,000 worth of debt in order to make £20k then I’ll do it. All businesses need funding and we don’t all have savings to inject into our cashflow. People who don’t have debt a get bit sniffy about it, but there’s no shame in having manageable debt - and sometimes it’s a necessary evil.

Final Words

There’s always a way forward. Sometimes its not about working harder - it’s about working smarter. And I have enough faith in myself to know that I can work smarter. I’ll find a way forward, even if I do have to accrue debt - even if I have to march into hell for a heavenly cause. People will call me batcrap crazy, and people will cast doubt on me, but that’s to be expected. Life is very short, memories are very precious, and sometimes those of us who want to achieve our goals need to take calculated risks.

My greatest fear is losing faith in myself - because that will be the day that I die. But that’s never going to happen. I mean losing faith in myself - I fully except to die one day! I’m not Connor MacLeod, Mister Immortal, or Captain Jack Harkness.

Thank you to those who have helped me over the last few years - and those who continue to support my work. Make no mistake, when I’m rich I’m not going to live in a huge castle, pull up the drawbridge and yell “Let them eat cake!”. I’m going to live in a modest dwelling and help those who have helped me in the past.

That’s my guarantee.

1 note · View note