From: silverthorned@juno.com
Date: Thu, 2 Aug 2001 20:54:42 -0500
Subject: Left Alone (1/1) by SilverThorned
Source: direct

Title: Left Alone (1/1) 

Author: SilverThorned

Rating: PG-13

Category: Crossover, Angst

Keywords: X-Files/Red Shoe Diaries

Disclaimer: 'The X-Files' belong to Chris Carter, who reads them avidly
before he goes to sleep each night.  'Red Shoe Diaries' belongs to 
Zalman King and Patricia Louisianna Knopp.

Summary: A conversation that might have prevented a mistake.

***********************************************************************

I left him in California, alone with Stella, who barked uncontrollably 
when I started to walk away.  He pulled her back and knelt to caress 
her.  He looked up and said, "Bring me back a piece of cake."

I gave him a strained smile, but he'd hidden his face in Stella's fur.  
When he looked up again he said, "I love you."

I was about to cry so I just waved goodbye.  

The plane ride was long and the wedding was depressing so here I am.

In Alexandria, Virginia.

In a bar, nursing a red wine.

Why am I here?  I thought I'd convinced myself not to do this.  I turn 
around, about to leave.  That's when I see him.

He strides in the door, wearing a black turtleneck, sleeves pushed up, 
well-worn black jeans, and work boots.

I left him in California.  What is he doing here?  I suddenly feel hot 
with guilt and I quickly turn back to the counter.  My beating heart 
pulses in my ears, until something tugs at the edges of my thought.

He didn't know me.  Swiveling back around, I see he's seated himself 
and ordered a beer.  The low hanging lamp's soft light traces the 
intricate lines of his face--his deep-set hazel eyes, his full lips, 
and his Jewish nose.

No, this isn't Jake.  There is something dark about this man, something 
completely and compellingly mysterious.

I have to know who he is.

*

Even though I don't want to repeat my father's sins, I drink, mostly to 
escape the horrors I've seen.  When I do that though, I do it alone, at 
home.  So even though I ordered a beer, I'll only drink a few sips.  
Tonight is not a night to escape through alcohol.

The people are why I came.  You would think working as a behavioral 
profiler for the FBI would prevent me from profiling on my off time.  It 
doesn't.  As a boy, I read Doyle's Holmes for the way he could deduce a 
man's employment from external clues.  I do more than that.  I divine 
internal motives.  I predict future actions.

I come to this bar to play this game--why is that person here, what will 
he do next?

The women all try to pick me up, but to tell the truth, I have no
interest 
in any since Diana left me.  Bloody brunette.

Yes, I am bitter.

I look up from my drink to see a woman--brunette, no less--coming toward 
me.  My mouth twists in disgust and I look down again, hoping to 
discourage her, but when the chair scrapes on the floor, I look up 
to see she has seated herself.

We look at each other.  She is pretty, with a baby face, and curly hair. 

The tendrils that have escaped whatever's holding them back brush against

her flushed cheeks.

She speaks in a husky voice, "I'm going to marry someone who looks just 
like you, except his name is Jake."

Curious.

"If that's a hook, I'm not biting."

"No, it's a ploy to get you to tell me your name."

All right, we'll play this her way. 

"Fox Mulder."

"Alex Woodbridge."

"Nice to meet you.  Now that you have my name, what else do you want?"

Her face scrunches up and for a moment I think she's going to cry.  But
her 
face clears and she says, "Can I ask you a question?"

I don't answer, but merely raise my eyebrows.

She looks down at her hands, very slender well-manicured hands.

"Have you ever contemplated cheating on your girlfriend?"

What kind of a question is that?  

"No."

"Why not?"

"She cheated on me."

She looks startled at the vehement way I said that.  She examines my
hands 
and finally settles on the tan line on my left ring finger.  

"You were married."

"Yes, I was."

She sighs and looks down again at her hands.  She flattens them and 
pushes to stand up.  I reach out and cover one with my own.

She gasps.  I quickly pull my hand away.  "You asked me a question, now I

want to ask you one."

She looks at me cautiously but sits down.

"Why did you want to know?"

She looks as if she's about to bolt, so I say, "One personal question 
deserves another."

"I," she sighs, "I don't know if I can marry Jake."

"Why not?"  And the psychologist comes out to play.

She stands up.  "I shouldn't be doing this."

"Sit!"  My barked order has its effect.  Her eyes get wide and she sits 
back down.

"I repeat, why not?"

"For one, he hasn't asked yet."

"That's not the real reason."

"That's right, you jerk!"  The venom is quite acidic.  "It's not."  She 
settles into a vicious whisper.  "It's because he knows everything about 
me there is to know.  Because he knows things I've never told anyone
else.  
I'm an open book to him."

"Does he know you came here tonight with the intention of sleeping with 
someone else?"

She shakes her head.

"If you cheated on him, you'd get your mystery back, but at what cost?
You 
would hate yourself and if you ever told him he wouldn't understand and 
he'd hate you for it.  Don't do that to yourself.  Go home, Alex.  Trust 
him enough to tell him what you told me.  If he has one ounce of honor in

him, he'll forgive you.  Go home.  Keep yourself clean."

I stand and she stares up at me in disbelief.  I drop a few bills on the 
table for the beer and tip.

"Goodbye, Miss Woodbridge."

I hope she does what's right.

End.

***********************************************************************

Mi unicornio azul,
se me ha perdido ayer,
se fue.

"Mi Unicornio" Silvio Rodriguez Dominguez