Title: Remembering
Author: drovar
Rating: G
Warnings: A bit sad

Summary: Post XF; suppose Jeffrey had remained at the FBI following the end 
of the series.

I try to tell myself not to look at the clock on the wall again, even as I 
do so. 11:49, fifteen minutes still, give or take, twenty if he's slow, half 
an hour if he doesn't care if my lunch is cold. Trying not to stare at the 
clock on my laptop I close down Solitaire and bring up my email, slowly. I 
try to remember his name as I wait; the laptop churns and groans. It's an 
old ThinkPad, with shiny spots where countless hands have rested on it and 
half worn away some of the letters. Checking my empty email account sounds 
more like a harrier ramping up for take off than anything else. My third 
requisition for a new system came back last week with a terse refusal that 
claimed insufficient departmental funds for "non-essential" uses.

Was it Bill, or Ben or maybe Bruce? Why can't I remember? I used to be able 
to remember everything. Mulder was like that, I was like him, a walking 
gestalt of everything he had ever experienced. Now I make notes and lists, 
and leave a trail of post-its wherever I go. The X-Files office is littered 
with them, full of names and numbers, facts and references that seemed 
important at the time, but now just escape me.

He's here most days; sometimes it's someone else. I like Al, or maybe it's 
Frank, the best. He at least tries not to stare.

I have to admit there's plenty to stare at. The doctors have done their best 
and the FBI's medical benefits, even in these days of constrained budgets, 
are pretty good. Countless trips to every sort of specialist in every field 
from immunology to oncology even out to homeopathic aroma therapy, and more 
dermatologists than you can shake a stump at, have left me cancer free, and 
with at least the semblance of a face. I'll never be good looking, hell even 
going for ugly is reaching, but the hole in the middle of my face is gone 
and I've got all the right bits and pieces in all the right places, more or 
less.

I found Mulder and Scully's nameplates in a drawer last week. I asked 
Skinner about them. He sighed and claimed not to know anything, but it's 
been years, he must know something.

I close my email and pull up the word processor and check my list of 
documents. Yes, there it is, my proposal to join a field expedition to find 
them. It's third on my list of fifteen. Skinner always says, "When you're 
ready."

It's 12:05 when Ted, (or is it John?) shows up. There's a quick exchange of 
mumbled thanks and money for food, and he's gone as quickly as he arrived. I've 
already finished lunch and am one my third game of Solitaire when I realize 
I'd forgotten to ask his name. Maybe tomorrow, I'll remember. I should make 
a note.