X-Files Fanfic Challenge 12: Jury Duty

Author: SyndicateGirl
Archive: Yes, definitely! But please keep my headers attached and let me know where it is if you can. Thanks!
Spoilers:
Rating: PG
Classification:  Response to fanfic challenge: Someone from the X-Files serves jury duty. Between 750-2000 words.
Summary: CSM is trapped in something far worse than the Synidcate or alien colonization.  Smoky Spender is stuck in jury duty.
Disclaimer: The X-Files characters are Chris Carter's and 1013 Productions', not mine, unfortunately; no infringement is intended. Please don't sue - I'm a writer, and have no money! :D

TITLE: Chance Encounter

He shifted in the uncomfortable chair as the videocassette played on in the background.

The woman on the screen was prattling on about the wonders of jury duty.

Telling a room of disinterested potential jurors to be proud and enthusiastic about their civic duty.

CSM snorted, and flipped to the next page of his book, “Civic duty indeed,” he thought to himself.

“If any of these people knew what really went on in their legal system, they’d be pissing themselves, and planning a long distance move.”

CSM’s eyes gazed up and scanned a nearby portion of the room.

Always the curious mind of a writer, he wondered how may of these people actually wanted to be here.

How may of them had committed crimes themselves.

How many of them had been victims of crimes.What the hell was he doing here anyway?After all of the political and legal strings he had pulled over the years, he couldn’t believe that he had been summoned for jury duty.

Even more unbelievable was the fact that he hadn’t been able to get out of it.

By some random chance, his name (well, his current pseudonym, anyway) had popped up on the master list for jury service.

After hours back and forth on the phone, and a few in person arguments, he finally gave up, telling himself that it would be good to mingle with the common man.

The people he was fighting to save from the alien invasion.

Now he was having second thoughts about his decision all these years.

CSM reminded himself to talk to someone about removing all of his names from the jury duty list permanently.

His focus returned to his book as the video cassette clicked off, and the large haired room attendant announced that there would be a wait before any groups were called.

He settled back in his mediocre chair and awaited his fate.

He was about a third of the way through Anna Karenina when he caught the faint scent of a familiar perfume.

It was a perfume that took him back in history.

A scent that lingered in his mind, even after all these years.

It was the scent she was wearing that night in 1973 at El Rico.

CSM shook his head, “No, it couldn’t be…” he thought to himself, but he couldn’t help but look behind him.

His eyes shifted to the side, and he leaned back as casually as he could, trying to steal a glance at the woman who sat in the row of chairs behind him.

When he finally saw her, his breath caught in his nicotine ravaged throat.

Could that really be Cassandra?CSM shook his head again.

It had been nearly a decade since the night of their fight.

The night she tearfully begged him to leave.

The night their marriage had come crashing down around both of them.For a few years after that, CSM had made it a habit to covertly check in on his estranged family from time to time.

Making sure the bank account was healthy, and that Jeffrey hadn’t gotten into any trouble. He had also made it a habit to check in on Cassandra whenever she was in the labs.

CSM didn’t know why he did it - she had no idea that he was there with her, covering her up, making sure that she was comfortable and safe.

Making sure that the tests were done as gently as possible.

But it put his mind at ease.

It was the only thing that he could still do for her.

The woman he had promised to love and care for, through sickness and in health, and that was all he could do.

He did that for nearly 3 years.

Then one day during a visit she had grasped his hand as he covered her with a thin blanket.

While she slept, she called out, asking for him - asking for her husband.

She was scared, and it broke his heart.

He never visited after that night.

Openshaw had promised to take good care of Cassandra Spender, and CSM had no reason not to trust him on the matter.

He had to trust him.

He couldn’t bring himself to see her like that again.

“Cassandra?” he said quietly, not wanting to draw attention to himself.

She looked up, scanning the aisles for the voice that called her name.

After all these years, her eyes were just as cerulean blue, and the delicate waves of her blonde hair still framed her face beautifully.

When her eyes finally found him, a polite smile appeared on her face.

She looked as surprised as he felt. He stood, walking over to where she sat, and Cassandra put down the book that she had been reading.

It was a dreadfully boring book, and she welcomed the intrusion.He sat beside her, and a few awkward moments passed as they stuttered about the weather, and other safe haven topics.

They had been apart for so long, and their marriage had ended so abruptly, that CSM started questioning his sanity for even approaching his ex-wife.

He should have slipped out to the juror’s lounge or something.

Anything to avoid the awkward silence and halting sentences with this woman he used to know so well.

“You look well, Cassie.”

She smiled a little, “Thank you.

You do as well, Edward.”He shook his head, “Not today.”

She looked confused.

“Today, I’m Raul.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, “I told you that one of these days your nom de plume would get you into trouble, Mr. Bloodworth.”

He was oddly touched that he remembered his pen name after all these years apart.

A few minutes passed as they talked about his writing, and (more quietly) about the circumstances that trapped him here despite his government influence.

In any other setting they may be less pleasant to one another.

But here, in this shared torture space, they were forced into civility.

Equals on equal footing.

“How is our son?”

“Jeffrey’s doing very well. He graduated top of his class!”

He noticed that she was beaming, the picture of a proud mother, and CSM was surprised that he found it endearing.

Sometimes, despite her habits, the ones that had driven him crazy, he realized why they sometimes worked so well.

Her happiness, like the hybrid blood that coursed through her veins, was infectious.

He cringed, unhappy with his own analogy.

He never claimed to be poetic, that wasn’t his genre.

She went on for a few more minutes, telling him all about Jeffrey, his school, and his career plans.When she worriedly mentioned the FBI, CSM’s ears perked up; he made a mental note to look into that later.

The hours ticked by, and CSM found himself growing more and more anxious about the day’s end.

He wanted to stay.

After all of his complaining about jury duty over the past fe weeks, he wanted to stay.

The irony was not lost on him.

Nearly a decade ago his family was crumbling, he wondered if he still loved his then wife, and his son’s natural tendency to act like his mother had annoyed him constantly.

So why now, in this horribly gauche, polyester chair, was he having such a good time?

Why did he feel what could only be described as the elusive feeling of happiness that he hadn’t felt in years?His thoughts drifted back for a few moments - a collage of the better days of his life.

Parties from the 1960s.

Whiskey Sours and Champagne flowing, jazz bands playing bossa nova.

He and Bill with their beautiful wives on their arms.

They thought the had the whole world by the balls then.

Memories of nights of passion with Teena, and nights of tender abandon with Cassie.

She had, at one point, been his whole world.

The light that brightened his days.

If someone had told him in the late 1960s that he had to give up his bride, he would have called them crazy, and likely had them killed.

He never was one for subtlety.

What the hell had happened to him? To them? To his family?

Was all this worth it?He missed her.

As much as he hated to admit it, he did.

He wondered if she missed him, too.

A loud voice came over the speakers, interrupting his thoughts, “Group number 5, the case has been settled out of court, you are dismissed.

We’d like to thank you all for your jury service…”

CSM looked at his ex-wife, “Well, it looks like we’ve been sprung.”

She let out a small laugh, and began gathering her things, “It looks that way. It was nice to see you again,” she added with a pause and a wink, ”Raul. Take care of yourself.”Cassandra stood, and CSM was standing beside her in an instant.

He realized that she was truly one of the only people that he had let into his life.

It sure as hell wasn’t anyone at the orphanage.

She had been one of the last things that was his, and he hated himself for throwing it away so easily.

“Cass, wait,” he fidgeted with his watch, “It’s, nearly 2 in the afternoon, and neither of has eaten. The least I can do is take you to lunch.”What the hell was he doing? Was this his own lame attempt at a reconciliation?

Teena and Bill had tried something a few years back, and it had failed miserably.

Cassandra tilted her head slightly to the side, considering the offer, before nodding, “I’d like that. I’m starving.”

He gathered up his book and coat, “Well, then, let’s go. There’s a wonderful restaurant a few blocks from here.”

They walked out together, CSM secretly hoping that this would be the beginning of something new.

And even if that only meant a night without loneliness for the two of them, that would have to be good enough.

 

CSM: Nothing vanishes without a trace...burn it!