Welcome To The Harem
A Thousand Kisses Deep by David Hearne
Summary: Post-col. Part of the Leonard Cohen collection of stories.
Deslea's rec: "David has this very understated way of putting things. He doesn't belabour the point. Yet somehow it seeps through just the same. This small moment in the post-col life of an adult Gibson and the rest of the XF scoobies is downright subdued, and all the more poignant for it. Lovely, moving work." TITLE: A THOUSAND KISSES DEEP (1 of 1) AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE CLASSIFICATION: Post-col RATING: PG-13 SPOILERS: Mythology in general. Send feedback to ottercrk@sover.net AUTHOR'S NOTE: Leonard Cohen seems to be the inner voice of "The X-Files." When I heard "In My Secret Life," I thought, "What a perfect MSR song." I knew that I would write a fic based on the song, even though it ended up being about William. "In My Secret Life" comes off Cohen's latest album. I've been listening to the other songs and feeling inspired by them as well. I decided to write a series of stories based on this album. Each fic can be read independently as well as in the order in which they were written. All of them are set in the post-colonization world. Cohen's lyrics are quoted at the end. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Gibson Praise had never fantasized about older women when he was a teenager. In fact, he had refrained from any kind of erotic dream. He had been too busy with pushing away the sexual thoughts he spied in other minds. By the time he reached ten years old, the sad and desperate feelings held by so many people had wearied him of pleasures he had never experienced. He found the logic of chess more appealing. He had kept his own sexual desires in check for a long time. However, he would eventually succumb to those needs. He was human, after all. Partly, anyway. He would lose his virginity to a woman he met on the American-Mexican border. Sex came with no illusions. She did feel affection for Gibson, but thoughts of another person filled her mind as she took his penis inside her. Gibson looked behind her sweaty face and saw a stump where an arm used to exist. He discovered a man who could be sad and ruthless at the same time; a romance where betrayal and love co-existed; a passion which Gibson could not equal. He didn't mind. This twenty-four-year-old man knew that the older woman wasn't looking for passion in him. She was looking for safety. Everybody who lived in the fort with them also needed safety. This motivation had brought white people out of Beverly Hills and into sheds with dark-skinned migrants. This was why chunks of metal had been buried around the fort. Security also required a young man who could rummage through unspoken words. Then there was the need for leadership. As Gibson looked through a slit in the fort's scrap-metal walls, he thought about his own leaders. "Evening," his lover said as she walked up to his back and tucked her arms over his chest. "Another day over," he replied, indicating the low red sun visible through the slit. Marita Covarrubias pressed her chin against his shoulder. "They're fighting," she whispered. Gibson nodded. "She really believes that her son is out there." "Any reason why she shouldn't?" "We have rumors instead of information. And those stories sound like wishful thinking." "So people are just making up things to comfort themselves?" "If others want to believe in The Wandering Child, let them. We need a more realistic leader." Gibson stayed quiet for a few seconds, then said, "Imagine how the people here would have responded if you had told them ten years ago that this was where they would be living." "I see your point," Marita admitted. "But even in a world of extreme possibilities, it's better to expect the worst than hope for a savior." "If The Wandering Child is William, then I'm not sure if he *is* a savior." "That's what I mean. Expect the worst. Right now we should be anticipating Scully's departure. If that happens, then Mulder won't be able to continue his duties." "Still planning coups, I see." Marita clenched her hands and scratched Gibson's chest. "Sorry." "Someone has to think these things," Marita sighed. "And someone may have to take charge." "Then go ahead." "Read my mind, Gibson. On second thought, you don't have to. You know who I'm talking about." Gibson laughed and shook his head. "Be serious." "People trust you. They look up to you." "I'm a guard dog. Nothing more." "You're a man who spent his childhood witnessing the dawn of colonization. You have been touched by the gods about to walk the earth. That makes you important in the eyes of this community." Gibson lowered his head. The crimson sunlight bounced off his glasses and formed two small circles on the ground. He raised his head when he heard a baby cry. The sound came from one of the sheds gathered in the fort's ramshackle perimeter. "The future speaks," he commented. "That remains to be seen. A baby born of a Caucasian and a Waicha may not have the genetic resistance against..." "Luis and Betty are in love. That's why they had a baby." "I'm not talking about love, Gibson..." "No, you're talking about selected breeding. Waichas with Waichas only. Your idea, remember?" Marita tightened her embrace for a moment, then lowered her hands to a light touch on Gibson's hips. "I merely stated a fact. Luis and Betty can brood a whole kindergarten for all I care. They just shouldn't expect their children to be alive next month." She turned and began to walk away from Gibson. He took ahold of her wrist -- hard enough to stop her, but light enough not to be threatening. "I know what you're saying," he told her. "But you should know what you sound like." "Like a blonde bitch, you mean," she responded, not looking at Gibson. "Well, a graying bitch, maybe." Marita turned her face toward Gibson. Wrinkles had crept into spots around her eyes and mouth, but she was still beautiful. Gibson felt relief as she smiled. "What's the date?" she asked. "December 14, 2012." "Then why are we arguing about anything? Let's go to bed." Gibson smiled back at her. They held hands and walked toward a shed near the fort's center. Other people were cleaning guns, tending to the gardens, submitting to the weekly blood test. When Gibson heard his name called out in greeting, he would reply with a few friendly words. After this happened five times, he whispered to Marita -- "I'll think about what you said. But let's see what Mulder and Scully do first. We owe that to them." Marita nodded. She would say nothing more about the subject or anything else for the night. The baby stopped crying. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX "I made it to the forward deck "I blessed our remnant fleet -- "And then consented to be wrecked, "A Thousand Kisses Deep." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
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