2/25/99
Morals
Author- Araxdelan (krycekluvsmulder@hotmail.com)
Rating- PG
Pairing- M/K
Disclaimer- Fox can kiss my ass. Twice, cause there's a Simpsons reference in
here.
Summary- Mulder muses.
Notes-  My friend Lynne and I had a conversation on writing stories with 
morals. This story illustrates my conclusion on the matter.
Thanks to Abbie for looking this over.

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Morals
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	What can I say? Just what *is* the point to my story? Things happen, 
with aliens and conspiratorial plots and...

	And there really isn't much point to it is there? I used to think it 
was about good and evil. Black and white. But as time progressed, time and 
again, I would find patches of gray. Times when *I* strayed into dark 
territory, and times when my enemies roamed into the sectors of 
righteousness.

	I watch him now, laying beside me. I used to hate him, you know. 
*Used to*. But then, as he is fond of saying, "It all went to hell." And 
after that, it didn't seem to matter much anymore. Everything was blurred 
beyond recognition. I used to think there were two sides to the game, and 
then I found there were three. And then four. And after awhile I stopped 
counting, because I couldn't distinguish where one side ended, and another 
began.

	So I stopped caring. He didn't want the world to end, and wasn't 
trying to save his own ass at the sacrifice of everyone elses. Of course, we 
disagreed on his methods at times, but I grew weary of fighting. I had plenty
of people to fight. I needed someone to love.

	And he was there. With his dark hair and burning green eyes, and his 
total lack of skepticism. With his passion and will to fight, with his 
determination. Something I  myself lost at times. Something she lost at 
times. He was always ready for anything, no matter what battle he had to 
survive. And no one else involved in this little game could claim that. He 
was strong, and that's what I needed. What I need.

	I know it's a common metaphor to describe a sleeping adult as 
child-like, and, frankly, I'm a little sick of hearing it. But... I fail to 
find any other comparison for him as he sleeps. He looks young. Not innocent,
but young, and I wonder how this man can be the best bet for the survival of 
the world. Sometimes I get scared, worry about what is ahead, and I wake him 
and make him drown my fears away. Yes... that's exactly it. I drown in him.

	The biggest part of the battle is ahead now. Any night can be the 
last in my world. No... that's not quite it. Any night can be the last in 
*the entire* world. It's just not me I'm battling for, and I tend to forget 
that. He never does. And while it doesn't prevent him from making occasional 
mistakes, it helps him to learn from them, because he knows that the world 
could very well be resting on his shoulders at any moment. Any decision 
could be *the one*, the one that changes it all.

	And my mistakes? What have I learned, from all these years going 
after an invisible enemy, tilting at windmills that just happen to have 
sharp steel blades? Just that human morals are nothing more than an illusion.
We're here, and we do the best we can in the situation we're placed in. 
Sometimes we do things that make other people happy, sometimes we do things 
that make other people angry, and we can't change the way they see them. And 
everyone sees them differently. I think Homer Simpson put it best:

	"There's no moral. It's just a bunch of stuff that happened."

	Amen.


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The End
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