Summary: "I am leaving this letter with you partly as a need to vent, and partly in hopes that you'll gain some understanding of what you've gotten yourself into." Written for the Lyric Wheel Red Shirt Challenge. Multiple pairings.

I think this is on topic, I wrote part of it for Kristen. (A
way of saying sorry that I've been so creatively constipated
lately, and haven't finished the Kim fic I'm working on.)

Title: Cupid's Letter
Author: E. Watson
Feedback: All is welcome, including criticism at
lachesistales@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, don't sue.
Rating: PG
Category: Humor
Pairings: M/S M/K K/Sk K/Ma Sk/Kim
Spoilers: Everything before "The Truth"
Summary: I am leaving this letter with you partly as a need to
vent, and partly in hopes that you'll gain some understanding of
what you've gotten yourself into.
Written for the Lyric Wheel Red Shirt Challenge.

----------------------------


To the unfortunate cupid who takes my place:

I quit my job this morning, and I imagine right now you're on
your way to relieve me. I am leaving this letter with you
partly as a need to vent, and partly in hopes that you'll gain
some understanding of what you've gotten yourself into.

Nine years ago, I was given this sector. It was my first
assignment - and my last. At the time, I had great hopes for
the work I was going to do. I saw myself as a doctor of the
heart. I'd look at all the lonely people and think I could cure
them. Looking back it's hard to believe how foolish I was.

My first arrow as a cupid was directed at two young FBI agents.
The woman wasn't that lonely, but the man was another story.
Night after night, I'd watch him alone in his apartment. Even
at work, he had no friends, and the tension with his family
prevented him from getting any nourishment there.

I figured his new partner would be ideal. Work was so important
to him, it was unlikely he'd notice anyone outside the office,
and I knew from his past he'd found some happiness with a
co-worker before, so I shot my first two arrows.

Nothing happened. A year later, the guy was still sitting on
his couch, alone in his apartment. Worse, the woman, who had
some social life before, was now also alone.

In my defense when I took this job, I was under the impression
that I would be spreading love. I have since learned that the
arrows only bring lust and a potential for love, not love
itself. Had that been made clear to me in the beginning I
wouldn't have felt so devastated by the lack of response. I
also would've had more patience, something you'd be wise to
learn, but seeing no response after a year, I began to think
that maybe a woman wasn't what this guy needed.

The second of year of my job presented me the perfect
opportunity to test that theory.

The man was given a new male partner. A beautiful, young, green
eyed agent. I thought maybe he'd get the other FBI agent off the
couch.

However, when it came time to shoot the arrows, things went a
little wrong. I shot the arrows while the two were waiting to
see their boss, a muscular bald man, quite attractive, and quite
unhappily married. The arrow for the green eyed man hit fine,
however when I shot the second arrow, I missed. It hit the door
to their boss's office. Thinking I didn't hit anything, I shot
another. Only to my dismay, when their boss opened the door, I
saw the arrow had gone through the door and hit him.

The result was an array of sexual tension, worsened by the fact
that the lovely new partner turned out to be a traitor. Instead
of love, they all got anger and bitterness, mixed up with lust.
At the end, my original target was still on his couch, with
bigger trust issues than he had before. Something I didn't
think possible.

Initially, I was very upset with the green-eyed man, but I
watched him afterwards, and my anger didn't last too long. He
paid the price for his betrayal several times over. After he
had his arm brutally severed, I couldn't help but feel for him.
So I set him up with a beautiful blonde woman I'd been keeping
my eye on.

I'm still not sure I how to rate that pairing. In hindsight, it
may have been a mistake to pair two people who were use to
nothing but betrayal all their lives. I watched, at first with
glee at the quickness these two coupled, and then horror as they
proceeded to stab each other in the back over and over again.

The sad thing is, they are my most successful pairing. They are
still technically together, but I don't see love there. Lust
yes, but other than sex, there is a gut wrenching silence
between these two. Even lying beside each other in bed, they
are both still alone.

After my fourth year, I essentially gave up. All my attempts at
curing the loneliness of these people had failed. No one was
saved. I had tried to reunite the bald man with his wife. It
didn't work. Now instead of being unhappily married, he was
unhappily alone. The blonde and the green eyed man were
separated by continents, perhaps for the best. The red haired
woman was dying, and having alienated almost everyone in her
life, she was dying alone. Instead of being with her, the FBI
man was still on his fucking couch. Only this time he had a
loaded gun beside him.

I had enough. I was a rookie when I was placed with these
people. The higher ups should've had enough sense to see that
these people were so screwed up and emotionally damaged, even a
seasoned pro would have problems. So I sat back, collected my
paycheck, and watched the freak show.

I watched for the next 4 years as the two FBI agents refused to
admit they loved each other, yet prevented anyone else from
being a part of their lives. I watched as the green-eyed man
wove his way in and out of the other men's lives, always leaving
them hurt and confused when he left, just like the blonde did
with him, until she was taken as some freakish test subject.

Others came and others went in that time. I didn't bother with
them. What was the point? Nothing I did seemed to work anyway.

Then finally some hope. My first two targets allowed themselves
to get closer. There was kissing, and there was talk of a child.
I began to perk up at the idea of having at least one success.
It didn't last long. He ended up being taken away, leaving her
pregnant and alone. When he finally came back, they were
together one night. Eight years working on these two and he
stays with her one night before leaving again. Right now, he's
alone in some hotel room, likely lying on the damn couch.

Which brings me to the present. Last week I received a letter
from the higher ups, reminding me that my review is coming up
next year, and that I should start thinking of preparing my
report on the progress I've made. Of course, I've made none.
Nine years ago, I looked at all these lonely people and thought
I'd help. Today all of them are just as alone, if not more so
than when I started.

As a last ditch effort I made two more attempts. The first was
with a security guard at the building and a new agent named
Arlene. The last was with my final attempt at bringing the bald
man some happiness with his secretary. However, not having shot
an arrow in five years, I was rusty, and forgot to clean the bow
properly between targets. The result was the bald man called
his secretary the wrong name and she has been furious at him
since.

So with that final failure I sent off my resignation. Hopefully
you will have more success. There is definitely potential with
the two new agents who have taken over for my first two targets.
I'd wanted to try something with them for a while but have been
too afraid I'd mess it up.

Best of luck to you.

You're going to need it.

Cupid #1013

-------------------------------------

Notes: Thanks Marcia for the lyrics. I really wanted to use
more of the people in the song, but the only way I could get
anything written was by concentrating on the meaning instead.


ELEANOR RIGBY
Ah, look at all the lonely people!
Ah, look at all the lonely people!

Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice in the church
Where a wedding has been,
Lives in a dream,
Waits at the window, wearing a face
That she keeps in a jar by the door,
Who is it for?

All the lonely people, where do they all come from?
All the lonely people, where do they all belong?

Father McKenzie, writing the words of a sermon
That no one will hear.
No one comes near.
Look at him working, darning his socks in the night
When there's nobody there, what does he care?

All the lonely people, where do they all come from?
All the lonely people, where do they all belong?
Ah, look at all the lonely people!
Ah, look at all the lonely people!

Eleanor Rigby died in the church and was buried
Along with her name.
Nobody came.
Father McKenzie wiping the dirt from his hands
As he walks from the grave
No one was saved.

All the lonely people, where do they all come from?
All the lonely people, where do they all belong



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- kill your darlings, kill your darlings, even when it breaks your egocentric little scribbler's heart, kill your darlings. - Stephen King, On Writing


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