(no subject)
Title: Maybe there's hope
Fandom: The X Files
Characters: Scully, Mulder
Rating: PG
Word Count: 310
Summary: AU. Scully searches for Mulder. Centre's on the vital concept of hope.
Maybe there’s hope. It was all she could utter, the smallest of phrases, yet, with the largest of repercussions. A small hint in the darkness, a tiny flicker of light to wash away the fears and the frets: hope was such a concept, such a vital emotion that one could not survive without it. It was written on the walls and in the hearts of the men and women who fought and died on that day; and all the days to come. Wars waged not with swords or armour but with guns and ammo; with knowledge and information.
The sign lit up through the darkness and the musty street before her ushered her closer to her goal. He was there, and that was her hope. Bombed out buildings and signs of life once lived but now extinguished followed her and she walked with purpose as if trying to outrun them; to outrun everything they stood for. Such cataclysmic loss of life could not be ignored for long. The street was dark, and the fog was thick; but in the darkness that one sign lit up like that small beacon of hope she knew was inside her, and that must be inside him, too.
Her shoes clicked and clacked along the upturned sidewalk as she passed countless homes, lost to the war, the war of information. When she arrived at the door she found herself conflicted, and the small glimmer of hope she held onto so dearly wavered inside her; threatening to extinguish. A hand reached up to hold the cross that sat at her neck and a sigh could be heard from her lips. She raised a hand and knocked, hard and with purpose as the flame of hope grew once more. It was hope that drove her forward, and it was hope that would find him, dead or alive.
Fandom: The X Files
Characters: Scully, Mulder
Rating: PG
Word Count: 310
Summary: AU. Scully searches for Mulder. Centre's on the vital concept of hope.
Maybe there’s hope. It was all she could utter, the smallest of phrases, yet, with the largest of repercussions. A small hint in the darkness, a tiny flicker of light to wash away the fears and the frets: hope was such a concept, such a vital emotion that one could not survive without it. It was written on the walls and in the hearts of the men and women who fought and died on that day; and all the days to come. Wars waged not with swords or armour but with guns and ammo; with knowledge and information.
The sign lit up through the darkness and the musty street before her ushered her closer to her goal. He was there, and that was her hope. Bombed out buildings and signs of life once lived but now extinguished followed her and she walked with purpose as if trying to outrun them; to outrun everything they stood for. Such cataclysmic loss of life could not be ignored for long. The street was dark, and the fog was thick; but in the darkness that one sign lit up like that small beacon of hope she knew was inside her, and that must be inside him, too.
Her shoes clicked and clacked along the upturned sidewalk as she passed countless homes, lost to the war, the war of information. When she arrived at the door she found herself conflicted, and the small glimmer of hope she held onto so dearly wavered inside her; threatening to extinguish. A hand reached up to hold the cross that sat at her neck and a sigh could be heard from her lips. She raised a hand and knocked, hard and with purpose as the flame of hope grew once more. It was hope that drove her forward, and it was hope that would find him, dead or alive.