If I Quit Now

"If you quit now, they win."

"What?" I glance up from my Entertainment Weekly to see his
shadowy figure in the doorway. Fox Mulder moves into the light,
wearing his favored gray T-shirt and the scruffy, shaggy look he's
adopted since his forced retirement.

One woman's slovenly is another woman's sexy.

I feel that old, familiar stirring in the pit of my stomach as he strolls
into the room. He pauses to nod approvingly at the X-Files calendar
on my wall (22 more days before I'll have to replace it with cats
or seashores for the first time in 8 years). Or perhaps he's simply
admiring Scully's photo.

There's no jealousy, just a small twinge of regret. I know he'll always
belong to her. I'm just grateful for the Sunday night visits.

I mean, I was. It's hard to get used to thinking of him in past tense.

"I said, 'if you quit now, they win.'" He puts his hands on his hips
and gives a pointed glance at my tape collection. "As the self-
appointed quote queen, you should know that one."

"Of course I do." I toss the EW aside with the first tingle of excitement
I've had in weeks, rising to the challenge in those intent gray-green eyes.
"My question was as to how it applies in this particular situation."

He looks over at the darkened computer monitor, then back at me.
"You've stopped writing."

"It's time to move on."

He searches my face, his psychic lie detector on full alert.
 
"You sound like him now."

"CSM?"

"No, CC. Are you going to abandon me like he did? Since when
have the closing credits on an episode meant there wasn't something
more to say? Are you trying to tell me there are no missing scenes,
no questions left unanswered for you, no curiosity after eight years?"

"You walked away. Why should *I* stay?"

As his eyes darken to slate gray and a muscle tenses
in his jaw, I wish I had someone better to write my dialogue.

"*David* walked away," he says quietly. "I wasn't given a choice."

"You're right. I'm sorry. But it hurts too much, to write these
stories knowing there's no real future. If you're not there
anymore, what's the point?"

He kneels down in front of me, those long, graceful fingers resting
on my knee. I should pull away, but I can't. His eyes have warmed to
the deep green of gulf waters now.

I should look away. But I can't.

"The point is, when you write, you can create the future. You
keep me alive." The low half-whisper feels like a caress, and it
takes all my concentration to focus on the individual words as
he continues. "But more important, you keep the spirit of the
X-Files alive....the show that you fell in love with."

"I didn't fall in love with the *show.*"

He grins. "I know."

He's so cute when he's smug.

The smile fades then. "What is it?" he asks. "There's something else."

I'd forgotten how perceptive he is. Feeling like a deer caught in
headlights, nevertheless I try to make a run for the side of the road.
"You mean other than the fact that I'm sitting here having a
conversation with a fictional character?"

He shrugs. "Since when has reality ever been a concern for you?"

Damn. When you get into a character's head, I guess they have free
range in yours, as well.

"Okay. I'm scared. Scared that when I sit down at the keyboard
nothing will happen."

"That's a very real possibility."

"Gee, thanks."

He rolls his eyes in a gesture he's picked up from Scully and probably
isn't even aware of. "What I mean is, don't let that keep you from
sitting down at the keyboard. If you've learned anything from me,
it's to keep going, no matter how scared you are."

I close my eyes and think about a submarine in Alaska. A cavernous
spaceship in Antarctica. A forest in Oregon. An eight-year journey
that isn't over yet. Not for him. And not for me.

Not as long as the truth is out there.

When I open my eyes, he is gone....

Along with my EW.

I walk over and turn the computer on, staring for a few long
minutes at the blank screen before my fingers move hesitantly,
awkwardly, over the keys.

After all, if I quit now....Chris Carter wins.

The End