Welcome To The Harem
Absence Of Sun by Megan Reilly
Summary: Jeffrey and Marita pass the time. Post-One Son.
From: Megan eponine119@worldnet.att.net Date: 28 Feb 1999 00:53:42 GMT Subject: NEW: Absence of Sun 1/1 Disclaimer: not mine Set after Two Fathers/One Son. Comments adored. Absence of Sun by Megan Reilly eponine119@worldnet.att.net February 26, 1999 The shadow stretches long across the ground. I haven't had sex in so long I can't remember what it's like. Rita knows exactly what I'm thinking when I turn and look at her. "Yahtzee," she says, and not for the first time. I hadn't heard her. I glance at the dice on the dusty wood floor of the cabin before she scoops them back into the blue plastic cup and makes a note on the little notepad. She's beating me, as usual. She's cutthroat. She hates it when I call her Rita. But she hates it more when I call her "Mary Margarita Covarrubias," rolling my r's as I do it. I think that's part of what makes the flamboyant declaration of her name so amusing to me. She shoots me a dark look with those damaged irises of hers and I yearn to slide my palm down over her eyes and make her close them until they've healed. But they never will. We all have scars now and as I understand it, the war hasn't even begun. I shift and don't make a sound as I wince against the twinge between my ribs. Rita starts to clean up the game. There's too much time for games, hiding here, and not enough mirth or life to keep them going. It's going to be dark in another hour or so. I should go and check on the firewood before the sunlight goes. But as Rita places the lid on the box, I don't move. She looks at me again. "It wasn't easy growing up in the Puerto Rican slums of New York City to become what you see today," she informs me, raking a hand through her blond hair. It's gotten to be a darker shade of blond, more natural, since we've been here. It's a beautiful shade that looks like honey. No roots. "My grandmother was Rita. I was named for her. She had her first child at fourteen. We were so poor." I nod and wonder if anyone else knows this about her. "But you did it," I murmur encouragingly. She nods bitterly. "I spent half of college on my back." She moves my hand from her shoulder. She doesn't want me touching her. I was only trying to be friendly. Honestly. But she doesn't believe it. "And the other half?" "I had two educations to get. There was no Henry Higgins," she pronounces precisely. Her accent never surfaces, not when she's angry or sick or dreaming. "I have an MBA," she says and breaks into twisted giggles. "How did you end up involved in all this?" I've been watching her carefully this entire time, while her eyes dart from the floor to her hands to the snow drifts outside the window, looking anywhere but at me. "I wasn't going to go home. I didn't want to manage a Tylenol factory in Indiana," she informs me. "It took a lot of ambition to get where I was, Jeff, don't you understand that? With my background..." "They approached you," I finish for her. She nods. "I speak five languages fluently and know three more casually. Why would I be interested in you?" "Because I'm safe. Because I'm here," I answer. I don't really want to sleep with her. She's beautiful, but damaged. If she weren't, she'd be incredibly intimidating. Now she reminds me of my mother. And after recent events, I've finally been cured of my Oedipal complex. I don't want to find another woman exactly like her. I want a woman that's nothing like her. "Tell me something about yourself that I don't know," she prompts, as though she's changing her mind. There's a fairy tale in here somewhere, the prince wooing the haughty princess. But I'm not a prince and I'm not really wooing. In all honesty with myself, I'm probably the frog. I don't say anything. "I worked with them, Jeff. I know more about you than you do." "Then tell me." There's so many pieces to the puzzle that I don't have, that I'm not sure I want to have. My mother and my father...and some unbelievable alien project. I don't want it to be true. The stories she told me when I was a child and even as I turned from her as an adult...I don't want them to be true. "I could have been Diana Fowley," she says with a bitter smile. "And you could have been Fox Mulder." "I never could have been Fox Mulder." My face is getting hot as I look away from her for the first time, looking at the floorboards. He hit me. The man I wondered about for twenty years hit me and told me he wished another man had been his son. I would never be good enough. It's strange. I have nightmares about a man melting into a green puddle in front of me more often than I dream of being shot by my father. His face was so blank, so cold. As though he didn't feel anything as he pulled the trigger and left me there to bleed to death. Gutshot is not a pleasant thing. I think I learned a lot about myself that day as I felt the life spilling out of me and believed I was going to die. Rita leaves the game box on the floor and walks to the window. She shivers as she stands in front of it. She doesn't know or care that the weak light streaming through illuminates her thin body through the white gown she's wearing. I was never a Victoria's Secret sort of guy until they introduced their cotton line. "I wish Alex would get here." She folds her arms and continues to stare into the snow until her shoulders relax. It has a hypnotic quality to it, the acres of white as far as the eye can see. We're low on supplies and it's two weeks past when Alex said he'd get back for the next delivery. Next week we're going to be living on cans of peaches. But that isn't why she longs for him. "You and Alex had a thing," I say. She nods. "I was using him." Her voice is hollow. "He was using me." "You've changed since then." "The black oil didn't want to go quietly," she says. That's why her eyes are damaged now, from forcing the alien substance from her body. "What was it like?" "Symbiosis," she says. I wish I could see her face. I can only watch her shoulders and her back and her thighs through the gown. "I imagine it's what it's like being pregnant. But I guess I'll never know." Her shoulders sag and she wraps her arms closer around her body. It's cold there, by the window. The air seeps in around the glass. "I had a miscarriage in college. Before I even knew, it was gone. Saved me the trouble, but now I wonder sometimes..." Rita, like the other abductees, can't have children. The men in the project, the men she was helping, robbed her of that right. I can't stretch my imagination far enough to know what that's like. I could barely imagine the reality of the project. It took me a long time to learn. "I wish Alex would get here," she says again, with no impatience. I stand next to her and she turns her head. There are no tears in her eyes, and very little sadness. She doesn't let herself feel much anymore. When she did, it nearly made her insane. There's no room in this cabin for insanity. Her eyes flick over me. "Jealous?" I shake my head. "I kind of have my eye on Agent Scully," I say, joking. Almost. Lately when I think of her, I can barely breathe. In the absence of reality, fantasy always takes over, even if it's unrealistic. "She'd be good for you," Rita says, as though she has no idea that Scully's in love with Mulder. Of course, Mulder has no idea either. He didn't see her when he disappeared in Bermuda. So full of fire and life. Scully amazes me. She's stronger than the rest of us put together. "It's getting dark," I say and pick up the heavy flannel shirt to go outside. It's work to bring in the firewood and chop more, and it makes me warm quickly. I'm getting my strength back, but it's hard work. Swinging an axe is harder than running the paths at Quantico. Rita doesn't say anything and I let the door bang shut behind me. The sun's almost gone. Soon the wolves will be howling. They must be starving in this deep winter. I yearn to feel the heat of the sun on my skin. When this is over, I'm going to the tropics. I might not come back. I scream and grunt, adding power to the thrusts of the axe through the splintering wood. If Rita and Alex are to be believed, I won't have the chance for my tropical vacation. They say an invasion is coming soon. Very, very soon. I push myself harder. I need to be strong when they come. If they come. Aliens aren't going to take this planet without a fight from me. They're going to pay for what they've put me through, and no one else is going to suffer like me or Rita or Alex or my mother or Scully. And we need the heat of the burning logs to get us through the night in the absence of the sun. the end. Please, please send comments. -- eponine119@worldnet.att.net Megan "the faceless men are the rebel aliens. the black oil is their life force... so why don't they have faces again? to protect themselves from being infected by themselves?" - Jessica Zyvarek Taylor on "One Son" SAVE CUPID!: http://www.geocities.com/TelevisionCity/Studio/3774/savec.htm
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