Work Text:
Tuesday, July 1, 2003
LONE GUNMEN HEADQUARTERS
"If you should go skating
On the thin ice of modern life
Dragging behind you the silent reproach
Of a million tear-stained eyes
Don't be surprised when a crack in the ice
Appears under your feet.
You slip out of your depth and out of your mind
With your fear flowing out behind you
As you claw the thin ice. . ."--1
FOX MULDER:
"For the last time, Langly, Jean-Luc would totally kick Kirk's ass."
"You're only saying that because you dig old, bald guys."
"Jealous?"
My lanky friend snorted at that. "When I've got a date tonight? Yeah, right."
"Kim?"
His eyes grew impossibly wide. "How the hell did you know?"
"Come on. I saw the way you were following her around like a love-sick puppy at our wedding reception a couple of weeks ago."
"I did not!"
"So, which finally paid off? The stalking or the begging?" I joked.
"Fuck you, Mulder," he sulked.
"Or did you just wait by the phone and pray that she'd call?"
The flush that quickly spread across his cheeks told me I had hit it on the nose. "God, you're an asshole," he muttered, disgustedly.
"I know you are, but what am I?"
The sudden ringing of the office phone interrupted our friendly bantering. Langly turned on the tape recorder before answering it with his standard, "Lone Gunman". A pause, then he reached over and shut off the recorder. Next thing I knew, the receiver was being handed to me. "It's for you."
Only one person knew I was slumming at the Warehouse that morning. I felt the smile tug at my mouth as I exclaimed, "Snuggles! Your ears must've been burning. We were just talking about you!"
"Snuggles?!" Langly gasped from behind me. "You call the Skinman SNUGGLES?" I glared at him over my shoulder and mouthed 'Shut UP!'
If Walter heard Langly's comment, he didn't mention it. "Fox, we need to talk," he said, his tone sounding rather terse.
Probably having another bad day at work. He had been having far too many of those lately. Quite frankly, I wasn't sure why he didn't just tell the Director to shove the job where the sun doesn't shine and retire. Lord knows he's earned it. Hoping to cheer him up a bit, I teased, "You're not planning on engaging me in some kinky phone sex during company hours, are you? Because I'm not that kind of boy."
"Yes you are," Langly piped up. I flipped him the bird reflexively, my entire concentration on the phone call.
However, instead of the laugh I expected at my ribbing, Walter responded with a clipped, "I need you to come down to the Hoover as soon as possible."
"Ooh, a little Afternoon Delight, eh?" I cooed, earning a mimed barfing action from Langly. "Even better."
"Mulder." The sharp tone of his voice--and the sudden use of my last name--set off warning bells, and I instantly dropped the playful act.
"Walter, what's wrong?"
"Just, please, get down here as soon as you can."
"Is it Scully?" I asked, anxiously. "Or William? Are they okay?"
"Billy?" Langly repeated, a hint of hysteria in his voice. "What's wrong with Billy?"
"No, it's not Scully or Billy," Walter replied, his tone softer, almost tender. "They're fine."
I gave Langly a thumbs-up and mouthed 'He's fine' before turning back my attention back to the phone. "Then what's up?" I inquired.
"I'll tell you when you get here. I don't think. . .I mean, it's something I'd rather discuss with you in person, not over the phone."
"That bad, huh?" and I felt my apprehension grow.
"Just take care, Fox. I love you," then the line went dead.
Giving the phone back to Langly with one hand, and grabbing my jacket with the other, I said, "Sorry, guy. Gonna have to take a raincheck on the pizza, 'kay?"
"Sure. You okay, man?"
Fishing my keys out of my pocket, I paused before answering, "I don't know, Ringo. I'll call you later." And before he could ask anything further, I was out the door.
+ + + + + + + + + +
OFFICE OF A.D. SKINNER,
J. EDGAR HOOVER BUILDING
"Ice is forming on the tips of my wings
Unheeded warnings, I thought I thought of everything
No navigator to find my way home
Unladened, empty and turned to stone ."--2
FOX MULDER:
When I arrived at Walter's office, Kim was sitting at her desk, ever vigilant. She smiled as I approached, and greeted me with a cheery, "Hello, Mulder." Though still friendly, she didn't seem her usual bubbly self, and my apprehension ratcheted up another notch. Even so, I couldn't let the opportunity to tease her pass me by.
"Hey, Kim. Heard you finally made a move on Langly."
Her smile widened as she replied, "Well, if I had waited for him, I would've died an old maid."
"Aw, he would've come around eventually."
"I wasn't taking any chances."
I had to chuckle at that. I've always liked Kim, and couldn't wait to see how things developed between her and Langly. I had my fingers crossed for them--ol' Ringo couldn't do much better. "And you're gonna be coming to our Fourth of July barbeque, right?"
She picked up an invitation and waved it at me. "A.D. Skinner left it on my desk this morning. Thank you for thinking of me."
"You're family now, Kim. It wouldn't be the same without you." I smirked, "Besides, Langly would never speak to me again if I left you off the list."
Her girlish laughter was interrupted as the intercom buzzed, followed by Walter's gruff, "Has Fox arrived yet, Kim?"
"He just walked through the door, sir. I'm sending him in right now." Suddenly the smile was gone from her face. Sympathy filled her eyes as she gently said, "You better get in there--they're waiting for you."
"They?"
"The A.D. . .and Dana."
Shit. Scully was here, too? That confirmed it. Whatever was up, it was big. "Thanks, Kim. See you Friday." Taking a deep breath, I opened the door and entered Walter's office.
Sure enough, Scully was there, sitting in *her* chair, a pensive look on her pretty face. Walter looked up at my entrance, but his gaze slid away, back to his desk. "Have a seat, Fox," he commanded in his usual imposing tone, gesturing to the chair next to my former partner.
The queasy feeling in my stomach doubled as I walked over to *my* chair and sat down. Trying to lighten the oppressive mood, I joked, "Just like old times, eh?" When my weak jest was met with silence, I cleared my throat and asked, "Okay, so what's up?"
Walter and Scully shared a look before Walter focused on me--it had been a long time since I last saw that stern, solemn expression on his face. He took a deep breath, then started, "There's no easy way to tell you this, Fox. . ."
"Shit. It IS William, isn't it?" I fretted, halfway leaping out of my chair. "Something's wrong with my son. . ."
"No, Mulder," Scully corrected, softly. "Billy's fine."
"And Frohike?"
A shadow of a smile graced her face. "Mel's fine, too."
"Thank God," I said with feeling, reclaiming my seat. "So, what's going on then?"
"Fox. . ." Walter started, paused, exhaled wearily, then blurted out, "We found Samantha."
I stared at my husband, momentarily stunned. Of all the things I expected to hear, that wasn't anywhere near the top of the list. "What?" I whispered, sure that I had misunderstood.
"It's true, Mulder," Scully answered. "This time we've definitely found her."
My sister had been found? After all these years? After all my fruitless searching, I was finally going to see her again? It suddenly occurred to me that they hadn't supplied one vital piece of information. "Alive?" I asked, hopefully.
Walter's jaw clenched, a tactic I was familiar with when he was trying to formulate the right words. "No, not alive," he answered, sadly. I know my face fell at those words, and I barely heard him add, "Her remains are downstairs in the lab. I'm so sorry, Fox."
Remains. The word spoke of death, bones, decay. My sister's remains. My sister's bones. My sister's death. They had found my sister. What was left of my sister. What had been my sister. My sister. Dead.
"Mulder. . .?" I heard Scully's concerned voice from a long distance, felt her hands clasping mine in sympathy. "Mulder, are you okay?"
I tried to respond, but all that came out was a small, "Where?"
"Menemsha," Walter answered.
"The Vineyard?" I asked stupidly, turning to face Scully. "How'd she get from California to Martha's Vineyard?"
There was a pause before she replied, "I don't think she was ever in California, Mulder."
"How can you say that, Scully?" I challenged. "You saw where she was held. You know what we found."
Scully looked uncomfortable, and her gaze strayed towards Walter, who just looked plain befuddled by our conversation--perhaps because I had never told him what Scully and I had discovered on that air force base a few years back. After a moment, she turned back to me and said, softly, "Mulder, I think there's something you should know. . ."
"Then tell me," I cut in anxiously. "Tell me everything. How did you find her?"
She stole another glance at Walter, who gave her a short nod of permission. "A family out in Menemsha was doing some home renovations," she began explaining in that controlled, clinical tone she had mastered over the years. "They were digging up the back yard when they uncovered bones. Human bones. They were brought down here for identification. When I saw the condition, and the age of the victim, plus the location of the find, I pulled Samantha's dental records for comparison."
With a tinge of hysteria, I quipped, "You know, if this is an April Fool's joke, you're off by a few months, and it's not the least bit funny."
A large hand grasped my shoulder and gave it a loving caress. "Fox, this isn't a joke," Walter's deep voice comforted from behind me. "This time we've really found your sister."
Turning around to face him, I inquired, "How long have you known?"
He paused for a moment, and my sneaky suspicion was confirmed. "We just received a positive identification today. . ." he began.
"That's not what I asked. When did you find her?"
"Mulder. . ." Scully soothed in that damnable cool, composed voice of hers. "We didn't want to say anything until we got the test results in. There was no point upsetting you if we were wrong."
"When, dammit?!" I insisted. "It's not a hard question!" Scully and Skinner looked at each other, then looked away. "Well?"
"The. . .remains. . .were delivered here about three weeks ago," Walter reluctantly admitted.
I tried to control my anger. I lost. "Before our commitment ceremony?" I hissed.
He answered with a soft, "Yes."
"And you didn't say a fucking thing about it?" I jumped out of the chair, away from his touch. "You knew all about this as you stood up in front of all our friends and spoke those worthless vows about love, honor, and trust?!" From the stunned look on Walter's face, I might as well have slapped him across the cheek. Perhaps, in a way, I had.
"Mulder!" Scully snapped.
"Stay out of this, Scully," I warned.
"You don't understand, Mulder, " she began, but I cut her off with an angry glare. You'd think she'd remember that nothing could stop me when I'm off on a rant.
Taking a menacing step towards Walter, I got right up in his grill and let him have it. "I should know by now not to trust you. How many times have you looked me in the eye and lied to my face? How many times have you promised me one thing then stabbed me in the back?" I saw the color drain further from Walter's face at my harsh words, but I couldn't stop myself. After all, I was on a roll.
"Mulder, that's enough!" Scully shouted at me. "We were just following Bureau procedure and you know it!"
"Fuck procedure, Scully!" I shouted back. "This is ME! My sister! My life! You knew--you BOTH knew--how much this meant to me!"
"And if we were wrong?" she countered. "What if it hadn't been Samantha? What would have been the point?"
"The point is I deserved to know what was going on! Goddamn it, I'm so sick of this! Both of you, always protecting me like I'm some sort of unstable child. Well, for your information, I did fine before you two started meddling with my life and I can do it again!"
"That's not what we were trying to do, Fox," Walter replied calmly, tenderly. "We only. . ."
Cutting him off, I growled impatiently, "I want to see her."
"Mulder. . ." Scully began once more, but another cold glare stopped her short.
In a voice I didn't recognize as my own, I stated slowly and forcefully, "I've waited thirty years for this moment. Take me to my sister NOW!"
+ + + + + + + + + +
F.B.I. LABORATORY
J. EDGAR HOOVER BUILDING
"His blood has frozen and curdled with fright,
His knees have trembled and given way in the night,
His hand has weakened at the moment of truth,
His step has faltered. . ."--3
WALTER SKINNER:
Against my better judgment, I allowed Fox to accompany Dana and myself down to the lab where Samantha's remains were being kept. As we walked through the door, I once more felt my breath catch in my throat, to see that small skeleton and know it was all that was left of Fox's beloved sister.
"Which one?" Fox demanded, looking around the room at the numerous tables.
"This one," I said gently, leading him over to the first table on the left.
Fox gave the bones a quick glance and announced decisively, "That's not her."
"But Fox. . ."
I never got any further before he broke in with a more adamant, "I said, that's not her!"
"Fox," I tried again, "Dana said. . ."
"I heard what she said upstairs!" he interrupted angrily. "But she's wrong! This isn't Samantha!" Pointing at the skeleton, he spat, "This is just a child!"
"Exactly," I agreed, not understanding his point. "These bones belong to a young girl."
"That's why it can't be my sister. Samantha was fourteen when she died. She would have been much larger than this. . .this. . ." a dismissive wave of his hand, "this kid."
Now I was completely confused. "Wait a minute. I thought Samantha was eight years old when she was taken. . ."
"Taken, yes, but not when she died." Turning to Dana, he challenged, "Don't you remember what we found in California? Her diary? That hospital report? How the hell could you think this child was her?" His voice raising with each accusation, he was practically shouting when he said, "Why torture me like this?!"
While Scully and I flinched at the outburst, neither of us took exception. We both knew this was Mulder's way of handling anger and anxiety--he lashed out, to hide his fear.
"Mulder, that's what I was trying to tell you upstairs," Scully calmly told him, and I was struck yet again by her composure, even at a turbulent time like this. "I remembered what we found in California, and that's why initially I had my doubts. But I supervised the DNA test myself and there's no question in my mind. That's Samantha."
Fox just snorted contemptuously. "DNA doesn't prove anything, Scully. Not with those bastards. You should know better than that. It's probably just another one of those fucking clones."
A sound argument--in fact, I had asked Dana the same thing when she ran her tests. And with a grim look on her face, she now told Fox the same thing she told me: "Mulder, the forensic pathologist concluded the skeleton was that of a young girl, no more than nine years of age. Radiocarbon dating on the bones has put the time frame of her death in the early 70's. There wouldn't have been any clones close to the age of this body at that time. We also found that. . . "
"We don't know that!" he jumped in, cutting off her explanation. "They could have cloned her at birth. Hell, they could have gotten to her while she was still a fetus. Those fuckers were capable of anything and you know it!"
"So you're saying I'm wrong?" Scully fired back.
"I'm saying to check your test results again! Check your equipment. Because that's not her." His face suddenly crumbled, and he looked on the verge of tears. His voice breaking he whispered, "That can't be her. "
Needing to comfort my distraught husband, I slipped my arm around his shoulder and kissed him softly on the cheek. "Fox, I thought this is what you wanted. To find the truth. To find Samantha."
He pulled himself out of my embrace and glared at me angrily. "I wanted to find her ALIVE!" he cried out, tears beginning to trail down his face. "Don't you get it? I wanted my sister to come home! I wanted my family to be whole, to be a normal fucking family! I wanted. . ." He stopped abruptly, spun on his heel, and headed for the door.
"Wait, Fox," I called out, "where are you going?"
He paused, back to us, hand on the doorknob, and snarled, "I need some air."
At that moment, there was nothing I wanted more than to take him in my arms--shake him, hug him, cry, rant and rage with him. Why did this man have to go through so much shit in his life? What more did the cosmic gods have in store for him? Taking a step towards him, I reached out and clasped his shoulder. "Fox. . ."
With a jerk of his body, he shook off my hand and firmly pronounced, "Alone, Walter."
"Don't do this, Fox," I found myself begging. "Don't shut me out. Please. I love you." And don't think the irony of speaking Sharon's longtime mantra was lost on me.
Maybe it was my words, maybe the tone in which they were spoken. His shoulders suddenly slumped and with a tired, but more rational voice, he murmured, "Just. . .I need. . .to be alone right now." And with that, he was gone.
"Shit!" My fist slammed into the doorframe with such force Dana immediately ran up and grabbed my hand, checking for damage. Taking a couple of deep breaths to get myself under control, I glanced down at her, clinically flexing my fingers, and gave a wry smile. "Well, that could have gone better," I grumbled, dryly.
Satisfied that I hadn't broken anything, she dropped my hand and replied, "Actually it went better than I thought it would. I was positive *Mulder* was the one who was going to punch the wall."
I gave a shamefaced chuckle. "Sorry about that."
"Nothing I didn't feel like doing myself. Face it, Walter--there was no easy way to break that kind of news. And Mulder's always been a bit high strung where his sister is concerned."
Shaking my head in disgust, I muttered, "We shouldn't have called him."
"But he was right," she countered. "He's waited a long time for this. He deserved to know."
"Then one more day wouldn't have hurt him," I insisted. "We could have come up with a game plan, worked through what we'd tell him."
Scully sighed. "We did that and it didn't make much of a difference. Face it, Walter, this was a bitter pill to swallow and no amount of sugar would have helped it go down."
"I know you're right, but Christ, Dana--I didn't expect him to react quite like that."
"Mulder. . .is Mulder," she commented, as if that explained everything--and maybe it did.
"And Mulder has his own way of dealing with things, right?"
She nodded. "Give him some time alone. He'll come around when he's ready." Her small hand gently grasped my arm and she gave a sympathetic squeeze. "You do know he didn't mean any of those things he said, right?"
"I know, but that doesn't stop it from hurting. It's been so long since I've been on the receiving end of a Mulder tantrum. I had forgotten how blistering they were."
"And he proved he can still hit the mark when he wants to."
I snorted, derisively. "Yeah, must be a gift."
"If it's any solace, he probably already feels guilty for what he said," she consoled me.
"That's the worst part." I let out a resigned sigh. "Dammit, Dana, I only wanted to hold him. Comfort him. . ."
"Protect him."
"Yeah."
She chuckled, sadly, "Mulder does seem to have that effect on people. . .in between the times you just want to throttle him."
I gave a little chuckle of my own. "And you're the expert there."
"I could write a book."
"Speaking of books, what was all that about a diary?"
She gave me an odd look before asking, "You mean, Mulder never told you?"
"Apparently not, because I'm completely in the dark over here."
"We found it shortly before he. . ." she paused before finishing, "went missing in Oregon."
"Are you saying this diary was connected to Mulder's abduction?" I questioned.
"No, that's not what I meant to imply. Do you remember Amber Lynn LaPierre? She was kidnapped from her home a few years back?"
I grimaced. Three years later, and Amber's disappearance was still unsolved. That damn case remained one of my more galling career failures. I answered with a gruff, "Yes, I remember her."
"Well, I don't know how much Mulder has told you about his search, what he found in California," she began.
"I was there when we found the graves at the kiddie park, Dana," I reminded her, "and Amber Lynn wasn't there. What does she have to do with this diary?"
"Nothing." She gave a frustrated huff. "I'm explaining this badly."
"Why don't you try again?" I encouraged her. "And I won't interrupt you this time."
"Okay. If you recall, after the bodies were exhumed, you came back to D.C. while Mulder and I remained in California to tie up some loose ends. While we were there we met a man who said his son had disappeared the same way as Samantha and Amber Lynn. His name was Harold Pillar and he claimed to be a psychic." She fairly rolled her eyes as she said that, and I had to smile. Some things never changed.
"Anyway," she continued, "he and Mulder broke into a military complex. . ."
"Of course they did," I quipped.
Her mouth quirked in a half-grin. "You said you wouldn't interrupt."
"Sorry. I take it Mulder found something of interest?"
"Yes--the names 'Samantha' and 'Jeffrey' written in the concrete sidewalk, along with the impressions of two sets of child-size handprints."
That pulled me up short. "Jeffrey?" I repeated incredulously. "Do you mean Jeffrey Spender?"
"Apparently so, or at least that's what Mulder concluded. We also found a diary--it was hidden in the wall of a deserted house. From the information in the entries, Mulder was convinced it belonged to his sister. But, Walter, the girl who wrote the entries was fourteen years old."
Suddenly things fell into place. "That's why he's fighting the idea that his sister died shortly after her abduction," I reasoned.
She nodded. "In the days following the discovery of that diary, he came to terms with the fact that his sister was really dead. It hurt him, but he figured he had finally learned the truth of what had happened to her." Gesturing at the small skeleton lying on the examination table, she added, "However, if it turns out that THIS is the real Samantha Mulder. . ."
"Then everything he's come to believe these past few years is false," I finished.
"Precisely. From his point of view, he probably feels he's back at square one again."
Shaking my head, I muttered a disgusted, "Fuck."
"You can say that again."
Rubbing the bridge of my nose in a futile attempt to halt the headache I could already feel taking hold, I exhaled deeply and said, "I better go after him."
"You heard him, Walter. He needs some time alone."
I felt myself bristle at her words, even as my body slumped in defeat. "God, I hate feeling so helpless."
"I know it's difficult to watch someone you love hurting so much. Just remember, I've been there. And I'm here for you, if you need me."
Throwing caution to the wind, and not caring about a whit about protocol, I leaned down and gave her a big hug. "Thank you, Dana," I told her, sincerely grateful for her support and understanding.
"He'll be okay, Walter," she assured me, returning my hug. "He just needs to come to terms with this."
"And if he can't? What am I supposed to do?"
Big blue eyes regarded me seriously me as she stated simply, "Be ready to catch him when he falls."
+ + + + + + + + + +
LATER THAT NIGHT
SCULLY-FROHIKE RESIDENCE
"He's haunted by the memory of a lost paradise,
In his youth or a dream, he can't be precise,
He's chained forever to a world that's departed. . ."--3
DANA SCULLY:
I never heard Mel come up behind me until I felt his hands on my shoulders. I moaned contentedly and melted into the soft cushions of the couch as his fingers worked their magic, easing and relaxing tense, tired muscles. Warm breath touched my ear a moment before his whispered words. "Coming to bed, Angel?"
"In a few minutes." Holding up the book in my lap, I elaborated, "I just want to finish this chapter first."
"Well, don't be too long. Might have to start without you."
I shot him a flirtatious grin over my shoulder. "I guarantee it'll be more fun if you wait for me."
"How can I pass up an offer like that?" The massage came to an end as Mel's hands slipped down my arms and he hugged me. "You know, Mulder's a big boy. And it's not like he hasn't ditched you and Walter before. He'll be all right."
"I know. Guess it's just the mom in me. Can't stop worrying."
"Yeah, me, too." He leaned down and kissed me goodnight. A stroke of his fingers through my hair, and a soft, "Don't stay up too late, party-girl," and he headed up the stairs to bed. With a sigh, I fluffed up the throw pillow behind me and picked up the book I had left open. The one I had tried to read all night, but wasn't succeeding very well.
A few minutes (and one whole page) later the phone rang, scaring ten years off my life. Snatching it up quickly, I gasped excitedly, "Walter?"
"Uh, no. It's me."
My heart suddenly started beating again at just the sound of his voice. "Mulder! Where are you?"
"I'm, ah, I'm on your front stoop."
"For Pete's sake, why didn't you just knock?"
There was a pause before he said, softly, "I didn't know if I'd be welcome."
"Nitwit. Of course you're welcome. Just stay where you are." I dropped the phone and threw on my bathrobe then rushed to the door. The man I found standing on the porch looked lost, confused, and definitely ragged around the edges. He stiffened momentarily as I wrapped him in a welcoming hug, but quickly hugged me back with a relieved sigh.
"Oh, Mulder, thank God," I murmured, running comforting hands up and down his back. "We were so worried about you."
"I'm sorry," he replied as I pulled him into the house. "I know I should have called earlier, but I guess I lost track of the time."
"Walter will be relieved when he finds out. . ." but I never got to finish my thought.
"No," he told me resolutely.
"Mulder, he's been frantic," I argued. "He needs to know you're okay."
"Not yet. Please. I just can't face him right now. Not after what I said to him this afternoon."
"He doesn't care," I insisted. "He knows it was just the heat of the moment."
"Yeah, and that's the worst part. I know I hurt him, and he's just going to forgive me and say everything's okay. He'll have that sympathetic look in his eyes, and a concerned frown, and that little anxious crease thing on his brow, and he'll be all smothering and comforting. . ."
"Sort of like me."
He shrugged, a quirky little half-grin tugging at his mouth. "Yeah, but I'm used to it from you."
I just rolled my eyes and sighed heavily. "Mulder, you're going to be the death of me one day."
"If I had a dollar for every time I've heard that in my life. . ."
"Look, if you don't want Walter to know where you are, fine. But please, at least let me call him and tell him you're safe."
He shook his head, and for a minute, I thought he'd refuse me, but then he said, "If you call, he'll figure out I'm here." Before I could lodge a protest, he added, "I'll call him."
"Thank you," I told him, truly grateful. I knew how scared I had been when Frohike ran off last year. I wouldn't wish that anxiety on anyone. Taking his arm, I led him into the living room. Gesturing towards the sofa, I said, "Make yourself at home."
"Thanks," he answered as he sat down. Noticing the abandoned book on the coffee table, he picked it up and smiled. "Ahhh, Jose Chung's latest. Any good?"
"Well, there aren't any aliens, UFO's, or overzealous federal agents in this one, but it's not half-bad. Have you eaten?"
"Not really hungry."
"Nonsense. And to drink?"
"Scully. . ." he warned.
"Hey, you're the one who came here to crash, so you'll just have to deal with the mother-hen act. What about a glass of ice tea?"
That got a weak smile out of him. "You know my Achilles' Heel."
I flashed him a smile of my own. "After all these years, I should hope so." And with that, I headed off to the kitchen.
A few minutes later, I returned to the living room, tray in hand, to find he had taken my 'make yourself at home' comment seriously. He had kicked off his shoes, and his now sock-covered feet were resting on the coffee table; the TV had been switched on, and he was engrossed in an episode of 'Aqua Teen Hunger Force'. I placed the tray on the table beside his feet, and began unloading it. The plate containing a TLT (turkey, lettuce, tomato) and chips was set on his lap; his glass of tea was set on the table. I picked up my own glass, and after moving his cell phone off the cushion, sat down beside him.
I took a sip of my tea before saying, "Frohike loves this show. He thinks Carl is a scream."
"Personally, Dr. Weird is my favorite," Mulder disclosed, taking a bite of his sandwich.
"Why am I not surprised? What about Walter?"
"He's more of a 'Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law' kind of guy."
"No, I meant, did you call Walter? Like you promised?"
"Uh-huh," and he tilted his head towards the cell phone now resting on the coffee table. "While you were in the kitchen."
"And?"
"Got the answering machine."
"He's probably just out looking for you."
He shrugged his shoulders. "Or else he's finally figured out what a nutcase he's hooked up with and ran for the hills."
"Mulder, stop that. The man adores you."
He snorted. "Yeah, go figure."
It got quiet while Mulder munched absently on his meal, his entire focus on the cartoon. Only when it broke for commercial did he look down and notice his plate was clean. "Guess I was hungrier than I thought," he admitted, sheepishly.
"Are you sure it's that, or maybe you just like my cooking?"
"No, I was definitely hungry," he joshed.
I slapped his arm playfully. "Jerk. Want another one?"
He shook his head 'no'. "I'm okay. Thanks. It was delicious."
"More tea?"
Draining the glass, he handed it to me with a smile. "If you really don't mind?"
"You're my guest, right?" I went to the kitchen and fixed him another glass of tea. When I got back to the living room, 'Aqua Teen' had ended, and a re-run of 'Futurama' was playing. I sat back down on the sofa and passed the glass to Mulder. Knowing I wasn't going to be able to compete with the cartoon, I picked up the remote and shut off the television. Turning to my troubled friend, I asked, "So, are you ready to talk now?"
"No, not really."
"Mulder, you show up on my doorstep like a lost puppy in the middle of the night. You can't do that anymore. I'm married now and. . ."
"Did you ever think that maybe if you and Walter had been honest with me from the start, I wouldn't have come here and ruined your nightly aerobics session with Frohike?" he shot back snidely. Before I had a chance to retaliate, he dropped his gaze and contritely said, "I'm sorry, Scully. That was uncalled for. You didn't deserve that." He placed his glass on the table and attempted to stand up. "Maybe I should just go."
"Dammit, Mulder," I cursed, grabbing his hand and pulling him back on the couch. "You are the most infuriating person I've ever known."
He snickered softly, "Yeah, I've heard that before."
"C'mon, just talk to me," I implored.
"I don't know if I can."
"Why not?" By his defensive posture, I had a pretty good idea what the problem was. "You're still mad that we waited to tell you about Samantha," I stated confidently.
"You should have told me when you pulled her dental records," he insisted.
"Maybe I should have, but I wanted to be positive before I said anything. Especially after what we discovered in California--I didn't want to get your hopes up."
"But that should've been MY choice, Scully," he persisted. "You and Walter should have been honest with me."
"Blame me all you want, Mulder, but not Walter. It wasn't his fault."
"What wasn't?"
I knew I was walking straight to the head of the firing squad, but I couldn't let him blame Walter for my judgment call. Taking I deep breath, I confessed, "He wanted to tell you, but I convinced him to wait until the forensic pathologist confirmed my conclusions."
He just stared at me with huge hazel eyes. "My God, Scully!" he exclaimed. "Why?!"
"Because it was just a few days before your commitment ceremony," I told him, trying to defend myself. "You were so happy and excited. I didn't want to ruin that. For Christ's sake, Mulder--you deserved to be happy for one fucking day!"
"And you didn't think knowing my sister had finally been found would make me happy?" he sarcastically asked.
"Well, did it?" I countered.
"That's not the point. I had a right to know. What if our situations had been reversed? What if you had been searching for your sister for half your life? Wouldn't YOU want to know everything?"
At this rate, we were just going around in circles with no end in sight, and there were other things to discuss, so I threw in the towel. "Yes, okay?" I conceded. "You're right. We were wrong. We fucked up. I'm sorry. Is that what you want to hear?"
He put up his hands in self-defense, trying to ward off my ire. "Scully, it's okay . . ."
"No it's not," I shot back. "I need you to understand. I swear to you that we didn't do this to hurt you. Walter and I love you. We were only watching out for you. No one knows better than I how badly you wanted to find your sister. But if we were jumping the gun, and it wasn't Samantha, don't tell me that you would have been better off knowing about it."
He sat quietly for a moment, sipping his drink. Finally he grumbled, "I just hate being left out of the loop."
"I know."
"Did you tell anyone else?"
"You mean Frohike? No, I told him today when I got home from work. If it means anything, he was pissed off with me at first, too, but agreed that it was a hard call either way." I placed my hand on his arm and softly said, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Mulder. Maybe it was selfish of me, but you've been disappointed so many times. I guess I just didn't want to be one more disappointment in your life."
A tender smile as he murmured, "You could never be a disappointment, Scul."
"Friends?" I asked, hopefully.
The smile got bigger. "Always."
"Good. Now, talk to me."
He snickered at that. "You just don't give up, do you?"
"I learned from the best," I grinned, giving his arm a squeeze. "Now start talking."
"What's the point?"
"It might make you feel better."
"That's never worked for me," he told me, gulping about a third of his tea in one go.
"You can't keep this one inside," I gently pointed out. "You'll have to talk about it sometime."
He gave an exasperated huff. "What do you want me to say? That my world was turned upside down today in a matter of seconds? That everything I ever believed was wrong--again? That I wasted the past decade of my life chasing a ghost? Jesus, Scul--I'm just so sick of getting fucked over, you know?"
"I know. I do," I soothed, "but you don't have to deal with it alone this time."
"It's all I know how to do," he whispered, miserably.
"I want to help you, Mulder. We all do. We love you."
At those words, his eyes filled with tears. "Sam was the only one who ever loved me," he confessed, blinking furiously to keep the waterworks at bay. "Well, except for you," he quickly amended. "Even mom and dad. . .they just tolerated me. Barely."
It tore at my heart to know he was probably speaking the truth, even as I consoled him. "Mulder, I'm sure that's not. . ."
"How do we know this isn't just another hoax?" he suddenly blurted out. "Another Consortium mind-fuck? One last chance for Spender to screw with me?"
"I told you--the DNA was an exact match to the samples we have on file for Samantha."
"So?"
"Because whatever else the Consortium did, they couldn't alter someone's DNA."
"They altered yours," he snapped back.
"Thank you for reminding me," I replied, sardonically.
"Fuck, Scully, I'm sorry," he apologized again. "I don't want to be fighting with you." Running a shaky hand through his hair, he muttered, "God, I'm behaving like a total prick."
"Well, not a TOTAL prick," I retorted with a grin.
"Sorry. I'll try to be good."
"I'll believe that when I see it," I teased, and was gratified to see a small smile for my efforts. I took a sip of my own tea before tossing out, "Have you given any thought to the idea that the diary itself was a hoax? Perhaps that whole scene at April Air Force Base was nothing more than a. . .a staged set you were meant to find, and Harold Pillar was a Consortium plant, sent to lead you to it."
Mulder let out a short bark of laughter. "Damn, Scully--I think you worked with me too long. That sounds exactly like something I would've said."
I smirked. "Great minds think alike."
"And just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not after you," he quoted back. "You never did believe in Harold or his psychic abilities, did you?"
"What I believe isn't the point. I'm just trying to make sense of all this, just like you."
"Good luck with that." He polished off the rest of his drink and placed his glass on the table. Turning to me once more he said, "You make a good point, Scully, and what you say almost makes sense except that I saw Samantha out there. I held her in the starlight. She was there, with Amber Lynn, and the other children. They were all there. I saw them."
"Maybe you were seduced by Harold's tales," I reasoned. "Or perhaps the vision was a by-product of your untreated brain tumor."
"Typical skeptical Scully," he scoffed.
"OR. . ." I continued, "maybe you truly did see her, Mulder. Perhaps the 'walk-ins' that Harold talked about really did take her when she was abducted from your home in Chilmark. They guarded her and protected her. Just because I say she wasn't rescued by them from that hospital in California doesn't mean that she wasn't rescued by them at some point."
He looked at me then with an expression of wonder. "I didn't think you believed in all that stuff."
"I already told you--what I believe doesn't matter. I'm just throwing out different theories, playing the devil's advocate."
He thought for a moment before he stated, "Okay, for the sake of argument, let's say you're right about the military base."
"Oh, goodie, I like being right," I grinned.
"Smart ass. I only have one question--why? Why such an elaborate scheme? Why spend all those years trying to convince me she had been abducted by aliens only to throw this new curveball at me? What did they hope to accomplish?"
"That's actually three questions."
"Scully. . ." he growled menacingly.
He had me stumped and he knew it. "All right, so the base wasn't a hoax. But what if the handprints in the cement belonged to different Samantha? Some other family's Samantha?"
"And Jeffrey?"
"A brother? A cousin? A next-door neighbor? The names are not that uncommon. It may have just been a freaky coincidence. It wouldn't be the first time we encountered something like that in our work."
He shook his head and chuckled. "You just refuse to believe."
"And you're too quick to."
"Okay, so what about the diary?" he queried. "You saw it. You read it. Are you going to deny it existed, that I 'made it up'?"
"I don't know, Mulder," I sighed, becoming just as frustrated as he was. It seemed for every question we addressed, a new one cropped up. "There was no name in it, and even the reference to the author's 'brother' was nothing more than a vague description of his hair color. The book could have belonged to this unknown 'Samantha', or it could have belonged to someone else entirely. But even if medical tests WERE being performed on that military base, and this girl was part of it--that doesn't necessarily mean it was *your* Samantha."
He grew silent, and I could almost see the wheels turning in that brilliant mind. When he finally spoke, his voice was dull and flat. "Scully, if what you're saying is true, then that means I missed out on a whole year of Billy's life chasing the shadows in that diary. It means people have been fucking with my memories for years, feeding me lies so I'd play their stupid power games. It means I wasted my whole fucking life on a quest that had no point."
"Mulder, don't say that."
"Well, what would you call it? I spent thirty years trying to find my sister, traveled halfway around the world. . .and a few months off of it. And now I find out that all those years she was buried less than five miles from our house? Shit, I gave up everything for her, and it was all for nothing!"
"What I don't understand, Mulder, is why you find it better to believe that she was tortured for years as part of a government experiment instead of the truth?"
"And what truth is that? That she was taken by a sexual sadist who assaulted her then killed her after he had gotten his rocks off? That the last minutes of her life were spent alone and in pain, frightened beyond measure and experiencing a horror no one--especially an innocent child--should have to endure? What truth would *you* rather believe?"
I didn't answer at first because he was right--it wasn't much of a choice. After a moment or two, I said, quietly, "I guess--I'd want to believe she had been taken by starlight."
"Knew you'd come around to my way of thinking eventually." He barked a bitter half-laugh. "Christ, Scully. Alien abductions. UFO's. Shape shifting bounty hunters. Mind controlling black oil. Cloned sisters."
"Don't forget the buck-toothed vampires," I joked, trying to lighten the mood.
He had the decency to smile sheepishly as he confessed, "He didn't have buck teeth."
"Man, I wish I had a tape recorder going right now."
"You must've thought I was insane," he chuckled awkwardly.
"Completely and utterly off your nut," I agreed, "and yet, in the end, you were right about all of it."
"Except my sister's disappearance." He let his head drop onto the back of the couch and closed his eyes. With a deep sigh, he said, "I just don't understand it, Scully. My memories of that night are so jumbled but so clear at the same time. The bright light. The rumbling noise. Samantha floating away. The shadowy figure in the doorway. My dad's gun. Why do I see these things if they didn't happen?"
I remembered back to a consultation I had with an F.B.I. psychiatrist about that very phenomena, and his theory on how Mulder's memories might have ended up skewed over the years. I never told Mulder about that discussion, not wanting him to think I was talking about him behind his back, and I wasn't about to divulge that information now. Instead, I paraphrased the doctor's opinion. "You probably never did see them. Samantha disappeared in 1973, but you didn't undergo regression hypnosis until 1989. That was when your belief in an alien abduction came to light."
"You think it was planted in my head by that hypnotist?" he asked, skeptically.
"No, I think that over the span of those sixteen years, your subconscious had been sketching out the story, to help you cope with what happened."
"But why aliens?" he persisted.
I shrugged my shoulders. "Your love of science fiction. Your vivid imagination. To your younger self, it made sense. The reality that she had been kidnapped was too scary, too foreign, to deal with. Being taken away in a spaceship was easier to accept. You said it yourself just now--no matter what the aliens did to her, it had to be a better fate than being held by a sexual sadist. Plus it also gave you hope that she was still alive somewhere."
He pondered that for a moment before admitting, "Maybe. I mean, I can understand that. But then why all the lies? All the false leads? Why did Spender and his cronies keep feeding me all that bullshit about Sam being alive all these years?"
"I think they needed you, Mulder, or at the least they wanted you to join their alliance. Perhaps they thought that you could help them or that they could convince you to carry on your father's work. And the best way to keep you interested, to keep you believing, was if you thought you could eventually find your sister."
Another mirthless snort of laughter. "Yeah, good old Spooky. He'll believe anything, right?"
"And is that such a bad thing?" Taking his hands in mine, I told him gently, "Mulder, everything you believed made you who you are. Think about it. Without your beliefs and convictions, you probably wouldn't have gone to work for the F.B.I. Or re-opened the X-Files. I wouldn't have become your partner. You wouldn't have met Walter."
"Yeah, and I probably wouldn't have been abducted by aliens myself. Face it, Scully, I'm nothing but a fool." He pulled his hands out of mine, shaking his head in disgust. "Dammit, I can't believe how gullible I was. It seems like everyone saw Samantha, except me. There were more sightings of her than Elvis after he died. And each one was a lie. So many fucking lies. How can anyone possibly find the truth under so many lies?"
"Mulder. . ."
"No, listen to me. You're right. I played right into their hands. You tried to warn me, many, many times, but I continued to believe the words of people who dealt in nothing but lies and deception. I swore to trust no one, and yet I always trusted them, even after they deceived me. They used me and my pathetic need for 'the truth'--whatever the hell that means. They just led me around by the nose, and I cheerfully let them. I consistently took the word of a group of scheming con-men over the advice of my best friend. And even though they were always three steps ahead of me, I stupidly thought with just enough time, I'd catch up to them. I was the perfect patsy."
"I think you're not giving yourself enough credit."
"And I think you sometimes give me too much."
"Now, c'mon. . .when have I ever failed to point out your faults?" I joked, as I pulled my legs up and tucked them under me. "And it just so happens that in this case, you're wrong. Regardless of what you think of yourself, I happen to know you're a pretty terrific guy and a great friend. Not to mention a wonderful dad. The Consortium tried everything, but they couldn't break you, or change you. Don't let them win now."
He looked me right in the eye and declared, "You wouldn't have believed them. You never did."
"Mulder, I don't know what to believe. But I saw the black oil and the cornfields and those damn virus-carrying bees. I faced down those bounty hunters and the faceless rebels. The invasion threat was real. And as hard as it is to believe, even after living through it, there were plans in motion for an alien race to come and colonize this planet, enslaving us all in the process."
He smiled weakly. "You honestly believe all that?"
I nodded and grudgingly admitted, "It took me a little while, but yes, I believe now there was something going on, something otherworldly--something that through your drive and determination, you exposed. But I'm also convinced that whatever deal the Consortium made with these aliens, your sister wasn't part of it."
"No, you're wrong. She was part of it. Samantha was chosen, as collateral, a sign of good faith to the aliens. Dad picked her to be experimented on, genetically altered, so she would survive the invasion. But he balked at the last minute, and refused to give her up, forcing the aliens to come and get her."
"That's the story Spender told you," I reminded him. "And we both know he was a world-class liar."
"So you think he lied all along? That there never were any aliens? That he and my parents knew all along that she had been kidnapped and did nothing about it?" His eyes took on a haunted expression as he deduced, "That would mean even my own parents lied to me. They knew what really happened to Sam and yet let me live all these years with my delusions."
"Not necessarily," I consoled him. "We know that the impending alien invasion was true, so it's possible Spender was telling the truth about Samantha, too. Maybe she really was supposed to be delivered along with the others and your father refused. But through a horrible twist of fate, she was kidnapped before the aliens could claim her. And when Samantha was discovered to be missing. . . maybe your parents truly did believe she had been taken."
"That's quite a story, Scully. Makes some of my reports to Skinner sound downright sane."
"Well, aren't you the one who's always telling me to open my mind to extreme possibilities? That once all the impossibilities are stripped away, whatever is left must be the truth, however improbable?"
Mulder tipped his head back, looking up at the ceiling, and sighed. "Damn it all. It's times like this I wish Krycek was still alive."
"Come on, Mulder--do you really think HE'D tell you the answers, even if he had them?" I scoffed.
"No, but at least I'd have the satisfaction of trying to beat the truth out of him." He regarded me for a moment before saying, "Okay, that leaves only the clones. If they never had my sister. . ."
"How did they create the clones?" I finished for him. At his nod, I speculated, "Well, we did find all those DNA samples in that storage facility. They may have indeed managed to clone your sister somehow. Or the genetic material belonged to someone completely different, and they only said it was your sister to keep the lie going. After all, we only have Spender's claim that it was her."
"That fits the grown women I met, but not those little girls on that farm in Canada. They looked exactly like Sam did when she. . . disappeared."
"I don't know, Mulder. I wish that I did, but I can't give you the answers you want or need. I doubt we'll ever know the extent of Spender's abilities and trickery."
"And yet, knowing the scale of his deceit, his lies within lies, you're still sure that those remains at the Hoover are Samantha's?"
"Yes. Without a doubt."
"What makes you so sure?"
The moment I had been dreading. The one fact, above all others, that had convinced me we had finally found Samantha Mulder. Knowing how much it was going to hurt him, but knowing no other way to get him to see the truth, I stated, simply, "Her left collarbone had been broken."
The shock of my revelation crossed his face. "Why didn't you tell me before?" he demanded angrily.
"I tried, but you ran out of the lab before I had a chance."
"But the remains--they were damaged when they were excavated, weren't they?" he inquired haltingly.
"Some, yes. They didn't know they had a burial site until it was too late."
"So that. . .damage. . .could have occurred during the excavation?"
I shook my head, "No. It was an old injury that had healed."
"And what are the chances the Consortium would have been so meticulous to have wounded one of the clones in such a way to produce a similar injury?" he asked, desperately.
"As you said, who knows how far they would go. But while possible, I'd say highly improbable."
He closed his eyes, and ducked his head away. I barely heard him as, in a choked whisper, he stammered, "It's really her, isn't it?"
If I could have lied to him to save him the heartache, I would have done so. But he had spent too many years agonizing over his sister, feeling guilty for what had happened. In this case, the truth, as painful as it was, would actually be kinder. "Yes, Mulder, it's really her."
He looked up at me then, his eyes reflecting a depthless agony that took my breath away. I had never seen anyone look so lost, so full of despair, and my only desire was to wrap him up and protect him, to hold him and shelter him, to give him the comfort and security he had lacked for so much of his life.
So I did the only thing I could--I opened my arms wide in invitation, and with a half-sob, he fell into them. "I'm so sorry," I crooned, holding him close.
"She was just a little girl, Scully. My little sister. I was supposed to protect her." He hugged me tightly to him, crying on my shoulder. To see him so vulnerable was heartbreaking. Not weak. Never weak. Fox Mulder was perhaps the strongest individual I had ever met. To have survived all the tragedy in his life without cracking, or eating his own gun, spoke of an inner strength and determination that few could match. Mulder wore his heart on his sleeve, his emotions on display for all to see, and many have used that shortcoming against him throughout his life. But no, he wasn't weak. Not by a longshot.
"It's just not fair," he choked out between sobs.
"I know," I said, realizing platitudes were pointless, but fitting the moment.
Brushing angrily at his tears, he cursed, "Dammit, I thought I was over all this. I was positive I had put it all in the past. And now, it's all coming back. Again. And again. It just always keeps coming back. How can I put it behind me when it won't go away?"
"Maybe now you can, now that you know."
He shook his head against my neck. "I was so sure that I had finally come to grips with her death. I told Walter I was ready to move on."
"In your mind, perhaps, but not your heart. The questions still remained, waiting to be answered."
"And now?"
"And now you can finally grieve for her, and let her rest in peace."
He reached for a tissue from the box on the end table and blew his nose. "All these years, Scully. All the searching. . .I wasn't really ready for it to end this way. I mean, deep down I knew, logically, if I found her body--I guess, that was the thing. Even in our line of work, knowing the nature of things, some small part of me thought I'd find HER, as she was, you know? Not some tray full of bones. It's too much reality, to know that's all my sister is now."
"That's not all she is, Mulder. She's still here," and I touched his chest, right above his heart. "She'll always be there."
He gave me a wan smile. "You know, I keep thinking back to what Mr. Sparks said. When we told him that we had found his daughter's remains, I didn't really understand why he wasn't relieved to know what had finally happened to her. Now I understand what he meant. Not knowing is hard, but knowing the truth is worse. To be confronted by the stark realness of her death, the certainty that she's never coming back--it's so painful. I almost wish you hadn't found her, Scully," he murmured, his thoughts becoming jumbled as sleep tried to claim him. "That way I could be left with the dream that she was taken by starlight. You know, you have a really nice touch. Very comforting. I've never told you that. Frohike is a lucky guy. It's just not fair, I miss her so much," his words slurring as he finally drifted off, his head coming to rest against my chest.
Careful not to wake him--although I knew there was little chance of that--I wriggled against the arm of the couch, seeking a comfortable position. I was tenderly stroking his hair when I unexpectedly heard a throat clearing behind me. I turned my head to see Mel standing there, arms crossed, surveying the two of us.
"I can say from personal experience that is a very pleasant position," he commented, dryly. "I'm envious." Settling himself on a hassock beside me, he tipped his head towards Mulder and asked, more seriously, "How's he doing?"
"As well as can be expected," I answered, my fingers carding through the silky, raven strands. "I know when he calms down, when he's had a chance to process everything, he'll be able to deal with it. But right now--I just wish I could help him more."
"Maybe Skinner will know what to do when he gets here."
I shook my head in the negative. "Mulder wouldn't let me call him."
"I know. That's why *I* did it when I heard you guys down talking. Walter should be here any minute."
Well, that explains why Mulder got the answering machine--Walter was probably out the door as soon as Mel said, 'Hello'. Giving my thoughtful, wonderful husband a big smile, I cooed, "Have I told you today that I love you?"
He grinned. "Yeah, but don't let that stop you."
"I guess our plans for tonight are cancelled."
"That's okay," he replied with a leer. "There's always tomorrow."
"It's a date," I promised.
Mel gazed at the sleeping man in my arms and sighed, "Poor guy. He doesn't deserve this."
"At least it's finally over."
"Is it? He still doesn't know who did it. Or why."
"No, but at least now he knows the truth. And he has a place to start looking for the answers to his questions."
He reached out and gently caressed Mulder's cheek, an action at odds with his angry words. "I hope he finds the bastard responsible for this."
"The bastard better hope he doesn't," I fired back, acidly.
A rapid knocking at the front door suddenly interrupted our three-way tender moment. "Ah, the cavalry has arrived," Mel announced, jumping up to answer it.
"Thanks for calling me, Frohike," I heard Walter saying as he entered the room, accompanied by my husband. Turning to me, he added, "And thank you, Dana, for watching out for him."
"It's what I do," I replied, humbly, "or at least, I used to." Looking down at the sleeping man in my arms I smiled. "It's a hard habit to break."
"I can see that," he rumbled. "Thank God he's safe."
"I told you he'd come back." Glancing up, I caught my first glimpse of the T-shirt Walter was wearing, and forced myself to suppress the giggles that so desperately wanted to break free. In white lettering, against a camouflage background, it said, 'The Few. The Proud. The Bald.' "Let me guess--gift from Mulder?"
Walter looked down at the shirt and grinned ruefully. "When I got Frohike's call, I threw on the first thing I grabbed." Shaking his head he sighed, " I have no idea where he finds them."
"Your guess is as good as mine. I have a whole drawer full of Mulder 'treasures' myself."
His large hand reached out and joined mine, gently stroking Mulder's hair. "Yeah, treasure," he repeated distractedly, as he gazed lovingly at his slumbering spouse. Almost instantly, he caught what he was doing, and shook himself out of his daydreaming. Pulling his hand away, he stammered, "Look, ah, I'll just take him on home now and. . .you know. . .we'll both be out of your way."
"No, stay here tonight," I insisted. "The guest room is just down the hall, and it's all made up."
"Are you sure?"
"Of course," Mel piped up. "Won't hear another word about it."
Walter smiled in gratitude. "Again, thank you--both of you." And with that, he reached down and carefully scooped Mulder up in his strong arms. As he carried him off, I heard Mulder murmur, "Walter. . ."
"I'm here, love," Walter answered with an affectionate nuzzle against Mulder's neck.
"Sorry."
"I'm sorry, too. We'll talk in the morning."
They disappeared into the guest room for a few minutes; I could only assume Walter was getting Mulder ready for bed. While he did that, I gathered up the dishes in the living room and Mel went around, checking the doors and locking down for the night.
Approaching the guest room, I popped my head in to ask if Walter needed anything. I noticed he had turned on the air conditioner, and was currently pulling the sheet up around Mulder. "Love you, Walla," Mulder mumbled as Walter tucked him in.
"I love you, too, Fox," Walter whispered, kissing him on the forehead. Once again I marveled at how well matched the two men were. Mulder, who needed someone to watch after him, and Skinner--a born protector--needed someone to watch over. A perfect fit.
Walter straightened up, wincing as his back cracked. Only then, it seems, he noticed me standing in the doorway. He walked over to where I stood, pulling the door closed behind him. Thinking I should explain my presence, I said, "I was just checking if you needed anything."
"I think we're fine, although I couldn't help but notice Fox seemed a bit out of it. I thought he might be drunk, but I didn't smell any alcohol on his breath."
"No, he's not drunk. I just gave him a little something to help him sleep."
"I'm surprised he took it."
"He'll be surprised to find out he did, too."
An eyebrow quirked over his wirerims. "Isn't that unethical, Dana?"
"Probably, but it's not going to hurt him for one night. He really needed some rest. He's very confused right now, and angry. He feels like he's been used."
"Used? How? By whom?" A hurt expression crossed his face. "Me?"
I smiled reassuringly. "No, not you. He was talking about powers beyond our understanding. More specifically, Spender and his cronies."
He grimaced at the name. "I'll never forgive Krycek for killing that cigarette-smoking bastard before I had the chance to do it myself," he growled.
"Just as long as he's dead," I replied, surprising myself with that rather un-Christian-like sentiment. "I don't really care who did it. The only thing that matters is that he can't hurt us anymore."
"Amen to that," Mel tossed in as he sidled up to me and slipped his arm casually around my waist.
"Everything all locked up?" I asked him.
"Like my prom date's legs," he answered with a grin.
I groaned in pain while Walter burst into laughter. "God, Frohike, thanks," he chuckled. "I really needed a good laugh today."
"Just one of the many services I provide," Mel replied. He gave me a wink. "Isn't that right, sweetness?"
As I refrained from rolling my eyes, Walter stated, "And I think that's my cue." Leaning down to give me a kiss on the cheek, he repeated, "Thanks again for everything, Dana."
"Anytime, bossman. Just get some sleep."
With a nod to the bedroom door, Mel said, "And take care of him, Walt."
"Of course." Giving me a knowing grin, he added, "It's what I do."
+++++++++++
NEXT MORNING:
Wednesday, July 2, 2003
"When I was a child, I caught a fleeting glimpse,
Out of the corner of my eye,
I turned to look but it was gone,
I cannot put my finger on it now,
The child is grown,
The dream is gone. . ."--4
FOX MULDER:
I awoke to bright sunshine streaming through the window, birds welcoming the morning, and a large, comforting body pressed to my back. Naked legs twined with mine. Warm, even breaths tickling my ear. Walter. I sighed happily at the thought, and snuggled into the embrace, my eyes closing once more to catch a few more z's.
Suddenly my eyes flew open again. Wait a minute. Birds? Singing? Birds don't visit us on the 17th floor of Viva Tower. And since when is our bedroom decorated with pale rose walls and flowered curtains?
In that moment, everything from the last 24 hours came flooding back. I was at Scully's house, having arrived some time after midnight. Earlier in the day, they had told me they found Samantha, and she was dead. Not a clone this time. The real Samantha Mulder. My search had finally, officially come to an end.
I felt the pain and loss squeezing my heart, making it difficult to breath. All hope was now gone. Samantha was dead. Not alive and trapped on an alien spacecraft. Not lost forever in the starlight. Just dead. I had failed.
The sudden need for air, for some space, grew too intense to ignore, and I carefully extracted myself from the strong arms holding me. My actions, however, still managed to wake the man beside me, his sleepy eyes blinking open.
"Fox?" he whispered, his voice early-morning raspy.
I gave him a smile I didn't mean and lied, "Bathroom." He nodded in understanding, closed his eyes, and fell back to sleep. Grabbing my jeans from a nearby chair, I opened the bedroom door and quietly slipped out.
Once in the hallway, I realized that I hadn't actually lied to Walter. I made a quick trip to the bathroom before following my nose into the kitchen, where Scully was busy frying bacon. She was wearing a flowered tank-top and shorts pajama set, with little white ankle socks in place of slippers, her hair tied back in a short ponytail. She looked utterly adorable. Not that I would ever tell her that--she'd kick my ass six ways from Sunday without batting an eyelash.
Either I was transmitting my thoughts somehow, or else she heard me enter the room, because she turned away from the stove, and gave me a smile. "Good morning, Mulder. Did you sleep well?"
"You know I did," I shot back. "You spiked my drink."
"Mulder!" she gasped, "how can you accuse. . .?"
I cut her off in mid-sentence. "I've been drugged enough times to know, Red. You put something in my tea, didn't you?"
She shrugged her shoulders, "Maybe. I'm sorry," but her tone was far from apologetic.
"What was it?"
"A crushed Vicodin, that's all." When I didn't say anything, she explained, "It was left over from when I had my wisdom tooth pulled last year." At my continued silence, she added a defensive, "You needed to relax and get some sleep."
"And your solution to that was to abuse your Hippocratic oath and tranquilize me against my will?"
"Oh, for Pete's sake, Mulder, you make it sound like I slipped you a roofie or something!"
"Then you called Walter after I told you not to."
"Don't blame me for that. Frohike did it."
"Should have known. I'll just have to take care of Melvin later."
The scraping of claws against the tile floor brought us out of our showdown. A glance down saw Blue scampering around her food bowl, looking for her own meal, before skipping over to beg at her mistress's feet.
"You can wait," Scully chided playfully, scratching the mutt behind the ears. Even a couple of sharp yips weren't enough to change her mind, as she went back to her frying pan.
"That's okay. I'll take care of her." I took the dog food container off the counter and squatted down near Blue's bowl. "Come on, girl," I called, shaking the container, and instantly drawing her attention. "Look what Mulder's got for you!"
She practically skidded into me as she raced across the floor. I filled up her food dish, then grabbed her water bowl and took it to the sink. While I was waiting for the tap water to get cool, I turned to Scully and said a simple, "Thank you."
"For what?"
"Last night. For being there for me, when I needed you."
She gave me one of those gentle smiles of hers that touch her eyes and make them sparkle. "Mulder, I'll always be there for you."
I tested the water, found it nice and cold, and filled up the bowl. Setting it down beside Blue, I gave her a quick scratch behind the ears, before turning back to Scully. "Yeah, I know."
She placed the last of the bacon on some paper towels and removed the pan from the burner. "Walter will always be there for you, too," she said, softly.
"Will he? You know it's just a matter of time before he gets sick of my shit and kicks me out on my ass. And I'll deserve it, too, because all I ever do is push and push, and eventually I'll push him too far."
"Mulder!" she scolded. "Where the hell did you get that idea?"
"It's my standard M.O, isn't it?" I asked, flopping into a nearby chair. "Drive everyone away before they realize what a fucked-up mess I am?"
"You have to stop being so tough on yourself. You have a great group of friends, and we all love you very much, especially Walter. No matter what you throw at him, he's not going anywhere. And neither are the rest of us, for that matter."
"Then maybe you should all have your heads examined."
She chuckled. "Perhaps. But that doesn't change the fact that we love you."
"Why?"
"What?"
"Why does Walter love me?" I asked, curiously.
"Don't you know?" she responded, an incredulous look on her face.
"No, I don't. I've been trying to figure it out, but I really don't understand why he bothers with me sometimes."
She came over to the table and took a seat beside me. "Then you'll have to ask him, but I doubt he'll have an answer. There are no conditions to his love, and that's the way it should be. Why can't you accept that?"
I shook my head sadly. "You don't understand, Scul. You grew up in a house full of love, with parents who supported you and cared about you. But when you've never had it before--never felt that kind of tenderness, never felt like you really mattered to someone--it's hard to have any faith in love."
"You matter to me," she said tenderly. "You always have."
I gave her a weak smile. "I know, but it's not the same thing." Suddenly angry at myself, I cursed, "Goddamn it. You know, I thought I had worked through all this--not just my feelings for my sister, but this stupid insecurity, this irrational fear of being abandoned. I'm a grown man, for fuck's sake. When am I going to grow up and deal with it? What is wrong with me?"
"You're the profiler, you tell me." I just gave her a jaundiced look; she just gave me a sympathetic smile and a pat on the arm. "There's nothing wrong with you. This is just new to you, that's all. Give it some time. But no matter what--don't ever doubt Walter. And don't ever doubt his love for you. There aren't many certainties in this world, but he's one of them. That man is crazy about you."
"Crazy being the key word."
"God, Mulder, no one can do self-pity like you can."
"Well, I've had a lot of practice."
"Too much." Leaning back in her chair, she stated confidently, "Look, I don't know all the answers. All I know for sure is that Walter's the best thing that ever happened to you."
"I know he is," I quickly agreed.
"And I'm not trying to make you feel guilty about yesterday but. . .he was only trying to help. He wants to hold you and hug you and take care of you and make everything better. And I know that he can't--and I'm sure he knows that, too, but at least let him try. Don't push him away. I know you're scared, and I know feeling this vulnerable is hard for you, but just . . .let him be there for you. Trust me on this."
"You know I trust you, Scully. You were there from the start of my quest. You knew what I went through. Hell, you went through it with me, most of the time. You know things about my search I haven't even told Walter. You were the only one who understood what it meant to me, how much it defined me and became my life."
She smiled a sad little smile. "I may have understood, Mulder, but I could have never really known just what you had gone through. I only knew you were hurting and I wanted to help."
"And you did. I'll always be grateful for all your help."
"That's what friends are for," she said as she stood up and headed towards the fridge.
"I swear, Scully--if you start singing, I'm going to call Amnesty International."
"I'll have you know William likes my singing," she retorted, digging out a carton of eggs.
"That's only because he's too polite to say anything." I waited until she placed the eggs on the counter before saying, "Can I ask you something, Dana?"
I knew the sound of her first name would get her attention, and it did. She looked at me, suddenly serious, and replied, "Of course, Mulder. What is it?"
"I didn't get a chance to ask last night. . .was any clothing found?"
She nodded. "She was still clothed in her nightgown, yes. It had disintegrated badly, but. . ."
"And?" I anxiously broke in.
I didn't need to elaborate; Scully understood. "There wasn't a heart-shaped piece cut out of it. Unless John Lee Roche changed his M.O., he didn't kill Samantha."
A short, humorless chuckle. "Of course not. That would have been too easy."
"But I sent it down to the forensics lab for fiber analysis anyway, along with some other pieces of evidence."
"Like what?" I asked, with interest. I knew the burial site had been badly contaminated due to the construction equipment. And with the age of the crime, usable forensic evidence was little more than a desperate wish.
"A section of rope." She paused, before adding, softly, "Found near her hands." The implication was quite clear--Sam's wrists had been tied.
I tried not to let it show how that affected me. I'm not sure I succeeded, although Scully was kind enough not to say anything. After a moment, I muttered, "Not very promising."
"Well, the F.B.I. did solve a murder recently with DNA pulled from some fibrous twine," she pointed out.
"Maybe, but you know any DNA on that rope, or the shreds of nightgown, will be seriously degraded by now. Defense lawyers will have a field day."
"You never know. The testing techniques are improving daily."
"Besides, even if we do get any kind of genetic profile, we still need to find a match. If he's not listed in CODIS, we're screwed."
Crossing her arms over her chest, she stated resolutely, "You're going to catch the person who did this, Mulder."
"I will?"
"Yes, you will. And I plan on being there when you do."
I just shook my head and sighed. "I wish I had your faith."
"You don't need it. I have enough faith for the both of us."
"Was there anything else?"
"Yes. We found a necklace--or rather, a locket--in the grave." She went over to a stack of files on the kitchen counter, and pulled out a Polaroid, which she handed to me. As I held the photo in my hand, it felt as if I had been punched in the gut. Scully was talking, "It looks like the clasp broke, possibly due to age, or during a struggle," but I barely heard her--I just kept staring at the photo.
"We're pretty sure it belonged to Samantha," she went on, sympathetically. "We found a picture inside of a young boy. I thought it might be you, but I couldn't be positive. I've only seen a couple of pictures of you as a child."
"Yeah, I. . ." I felt myself choke up at the memory. "I, ah, gave it to her for her birthday, about a week before she. . ." The sentence trailed off; clearing my throat, I tried again. "I was going to start attending a private school in January, so I gave her the locket with our pictures in it. Told her that way, we'd never be apart. She never took it off."
I could see Scully processing this information. "Her picture wasn't inside."
"Then he took it as a trophy."
"Do you think he'd still have it?"
"Definitely," I told her confidently. "It will be very special to him. If we find him, and we can find that picture. . ."
"It will really help our case," she finished.
"Yeah." Taking a deep breath to tamp down my emotions, I asked, "Where's the locket now?"
"We sent it to the lab to scan for fingerprints. Maybe we'll get lucky."
"Maybe." I handed the photo back to her, so she could keep it with her files. "Well, I guess this proves Spender had nothing to do with her disappearance after all."
"How so?"
"He would've given the necklace to one of the clones, or had a copy of it made to convince me she was the real Sam. But obviously he never knew about it." I let out a bitter laugh. "You just eliminated my two best suspects, Scul."
"Then we have two less suspects to investigate." She squatted down in front of my chair and with a determined expression on her face, she announced, "We'll find him, Mulder, and he'll pay for what he did."
I had to smile at that. My beautiful, deadly little spitfire. Wrapping my arms around her slight form, I hugged her close. "I love you, Dana Katherine."
"Love you too, Fox."
"Is there something I should know about?" a drowsy voice asked from the doorway, as Walter walked into the kitchen.
The sight of my husband--bare-chested, rumpled, and bleary-eyed--made my heart clench, but this time in a good way. Pulling away from Scully, I gave him a smile. "Hey."
"Hey," he echoed, with an answering smile. "This doesn't look like the bathroom."
I shrugged. "Made a wrong turn at Albuquerque."
He gave an exaggerated sigh. "Isn't it a bit early in the day for Bugs Bunny?"
"It's always the right time for Bugs." Knowing I couldn't delay the inevitable any longer, I took a deep breath and started with my over-due apology. "Look, Walter, I'm sorry about running off like that. I just. . ."
He stepped forward, a soft expression on his face. "Babe, don't. I understand. I'm just glad you're okay."
"Yeah, I'm okay." I glanced at Scully and she gave me an imperceptible nod. Turning back to Walter, I hinted, "I. . .uh. . .I could use a hug, though."
"Why didn't you say so?" I could almost see the stress and tension drain away from Walter's face as his smile brightened and he opened his arms to me. I stood up on shaky legs and fell into them gratefully. Instantly I found myself cradled in his powerful embrace, his familiar lips kissing my brow. Damn, Scully had been right. Walter needed to comfort me as much as I needed comforting--maybe more.
"Um, I better go check on my boys," Scully said, clearing out of the room as fast as her little legs could run.
"This is nice," I purred happily, cuddling close.
"It certainly is," he readily agreed.
"Walter?"
"Hmmmm?"
"Tell me you were the one who undressed me and put me to bed last night, and not Frohike."
"Well, he offered, but I didn't want to impose on his generous nature," he deadpanned.
"Probably ruined his whole night." I brushed my hand possessively over Walter's left pec and sighed, "I love this chest. Needs a nipple ring, though."
"No it doesn't."
"You're no fun, Snuggles."
"I never promised you a rose garden, Fox."
I looked up into those big brown eyes, eyes full of sympathy and compassion, and, fuck, LOVE, and felt my throat tighten. What the hell had I been thinking yesterday? Was I really so dumb that I almost threw this man away? "Oh God, I'm an asshole," I blubbered. "I've said some stupid things in my life, but yesterday. . .I really thought I had lost you."
"You idiot," he scolded affectionately. "You're going to have to do a lot better than that to get rid of me, hon."
"I'm sorry. . ."
A finger across my lips cut off my words. "You said that last night. No more apologies, okay? Besides, I was just as much at fault."
"No, don't say that. I was wrong. . ."
"So was I. If anyone should be apologizing, it's me." My cheek was the lucky recipient of another loving kiss as he hugged me tighter. Softly he murmured, "I never meant for it to turn out like this. I'm so sorry, Fox."
"Don't apologize, Walter. I'm the one who messed things up. I shouldn't have run out on you like that. And those things I said. . ."
"Shhhh. . .don't worry," he smiled kindly. "I've already forgotten."
"But you shouldn't," I argued. "I was awful to you. I don't deserve to get off the hook that easily."
"You had your reasons."
"No reason is good enough for those things I said about not trusting you," I insisted. "And questioning your sincerity of our commitment vows was just wrong."
"That one did sting a bit," he admitted.
"I didn't mean it."
"I know."
"I was angry."
Grasping my shoulders, he forced me to look up into his warm brown eyes. "Fox, listen to me. You were right. I should have told you what was going on. But believe me when I say that I wasn't trying to hide it from you. Honest. I thought I was doing a good thing."
"You were," I assured him. "You made the right call in waiting to break the news to me. Besides, Scully told me she was the one who convinced you to remain quiet."
"That still doesn't make it right."
"Walter, stop it. If I had been thinking straight, I would have seen what you both had done. But I was too busy acting like a total shithead."
"You had every right to want to be alone. You needed time to think. I was wrong to push."
"Jesus, Walt, listen to us," I chuckled. "I've heard of pissing contests, but this is ridiculous. Just accept my damn apology already!"
"Only if you accept mine."
"Agreed," I told him with a grin.
"Agreed," he replied with a grin of his own.
"And next time. . ."
"There's going to be a next time?" he asked in mock-horror.
I glared at him. "IF there's a next time," I corrected, "I promise I'll try to stay calm, and not fly off the handle. I know now I should have told you what was going on in my head. Talked to you instead of yelling at you. I've just. . .I've been on my own so long, you know? My feelings about Samantha--I've always had to deal with them alone. And when all this came up, I fell back on old habits."
A gentle hand lovingly ran down my face, cupping my cheek. "You're not alone anymore, love," he vowed.
"I know," I said, nuzzling the large palm.
"And that scares you."
I shrugged diffidently. "Sometimes."
It grew quiet between us for a moment before Walter softly admitted, "Dana told me about the diary. Why didn't you ever mention it before?"
"I guess I didn't see the point. After my search failed last year, it didn't seem all that important. It was just part of my past and I wanted to put it behind me, wanted like hell to move on with my life. With you. I should've known I couldn't do that. Nothing is ever that easy." I released a deep, pensive sigh. "I'm sorry you have to deal with all my shit."
Gentle fingers stroked over my lips. "Stop apologizing, Fox," he crooned tenderly. "Good times and bad, remember? That's what I promised you. And up 'til now, they've been very good times. I think we can weather a few bad ones."
"We've already had plenty of those over the years. You shouldn't have to go through any more."
"And neither should you," he insisted, rather forcefully. "Lord knows you've had your share of them."
"Sometimes I think my whole life was a series of bad times--until I met you." I grimaced as soon as the words were spoken. "Fuck, that sounded like a Hallmark card."
"When you care enough to send the best." Clutching me tighter he said, "I've been thinking--maybe we should cancel the barbeque Friday."
I shook my head. "No. Don't do that. I'll pull it together by then."
"Are you sure? I know our friends will understand if you're not up to it."
"We can't stop living, right?"
He kissed me on the forehead and whispered, "We're going to get through this, Fox. Together. I promise you that."
His tender words. His gentle touch. His softly spoken vows. It was all too much for me. All my life, I had to deal with the pain and sorrow of my sister's memories alone, and now, now, I had someone who wanted to share the burden with me. Someone I could lean on when things got too bad. Someone who loved me. With a choked sob, I fell back into his arms, crushing myself to his broad, comforting chest.
"Shhhh, it's okay," he crooned, holding me tight. "I'm here for you, Fox. Let it out. I love you."
And I did. I cried out all my fear and anger and frustration. When I had finally cried myself dry, I took a deep, cleansing breath and asked, "Why?"
"Hmmmm?"
"Why do you love me?" I sniffled.
"Because you're you," he answered, a smile in his voice.
"But you could find someone who's less trouble."
He let loose with one of his full belly laughs. "And tell me where's the fun in that? Fox, I knew what I was getting into when I invited you into my house and into my heart. I knew you and I loved you and I wanted you." I felt a kiss pressed against my forehead. "Still do."
"I swear I don't know why you put up with me, Walter," I muttered, nuzzling his thick neck, basking in his love and affection.
"You're cute. You make me laugh. You keep me warm at night. You've memorized the phone numbers of every pizza parlor in the tri-state area. You make my life brighter just by being in it." He paused, then with a chuckle added, "Oh, and did I mention this damn tattoo on my finger? Since it seems very unlikely I'm ever going to find someone else named 'Fox', I guess I'm stuck with you."
His words had their intended effect as I chuckled weakly. "Poetic sentiment, Walter."
"From the heart, babe," he murmured, a soft peck gracing my cheek. "I love you so much."
"Love you too, Snuggles."
"I really hate that nickname," he growled, the surliness ruined by the dimpled grin.
I couldn't help smiling. "I know. And the fact you let me use it tells me how much you love me."
"How about if I show you as well?" And with that, I found myself on the receiving end of a passionate, devastating kiss. I felt my legs go weak as familiar lips claimed mine, reminding me I was loved and cherished, and so very fucking lucky.
"Don't mind me," a flirty, female voice rang out, as Scully re-entered the room. "Not looking."
"Impeccable timing, Mrs. Frohike," I gasped, breathless from Walter's attentions.
"Where are Mel and Billy?" Walter asked.
"They'll be down in a minute," she replied. "Mel's with Billy in the bathroom."
"Ah yes, the joys of potty training," Walter chuckled. "How's it going?"
She smiled. "Slow, but steady. He's still not ready to fly solo, so one of us has to be there to watch him."
"That's fine for Frohike, but how's WILLIAM'S potty training coming along?" I joked.
"Mulder, you clown," she laughed, pulling a carton of milk out of the fridge.
"Dana, can I do anything to help?" Walter offered.
"Nothing I can think of. Besides, you look rather peaked."
"Yeah, I didn't get much sleep," he confessed.
I just glowered at Scully and muttered, "Gee, *I* did." She at least had the decency to blush at that.
"Are you sure there's nothing I can do?" Walter insisted.
Scully thought for a moment then said, "Well, if you're up to it, you could make the coffee." Looking over at me, she winked. "I hear you have a secret technique."
He grinned knowingly. "Indeed I do. Learned it from my mom." As he made his way over to the coffee machine, he added, "It's the first thing I taught Fox when he moved in."
"My coffee wasn't THAT bad," I grumbled, reclaiming my seat at the table.
"As an industrial solvent, maybe," he said with a smile, turning his attention to coffee grinder.
While he was busy measuring out the beans, Scully reached around him and pulled an egg-beater from a nearby drawer. Brandishing it in the air, she asked, "Is scrambled okay with everyone?"
"I don't mean to be a party-pooper," I piped up, "but don't you two have to get ready for work?"
"I called in sick," Scully replied evenly, grabbing a large bowl from the cupboard. "So did you, Walter."
"You know, I thought I felt a sniffle coming on," he quipped.
Just then, a small bundle of energy wearing Spiderman jammies came charging into the kitchen. "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!" he shrieked, running headlong into Walter's legs.
"Ooof!" Walter grunted at the impact. He bent over and scooped up the small boy before he could do any more damage.
Noticing it wasn't his petite mommy but a huge, hulking Uncle Walter, Billy quickly changed his tune. "Walla!" he cried out happily, throwing his arms around Walter's neck.
"Hey there, you little rug rat," Walter grinned, walking across the room and plopping the child into my lap. "You just sit there and stay out of trouble." Leaning down and planting a kiss on the top of my head, he added, "That goes double for you, Fox."
Instantly, the child's face lit up. "Spook-ee!!" he squealed.
"No, Uncle Fox, remember?" I gently reminded him.
"SPOOK-EE!" he shrieked again, bouncing around in my lap.
Walter was no help. "Ahhh, from the mouths of babes," he laughed, returning to his coffee-brewing duties.
"He's just too smart for his own good sometimes," Scully said with pride as she approached us. Placing a sippy cup on the table, she leaned over and kissed Billy on the cheek. "Morning, sweetie," she cooed, "Where's daddy?"
"Daddy's coming," Frohike grumbled as he wandered into the kitchen decked out in a red-velvet Hugh Hefner-type bathrobe. Seeing me sitting at the kitchen table, his mouth split into a big smile. He rushed over and suddenly I found myself engulfed in a big bear hug. "Hey, Mulder. Good to see you up, guy. How ya' feeling?"
"Okay," I told him, honestly. "I'm doing okay."
"You and Walter are joining us for breakfast, I see," he observed.
"Of course," Scully butted in. "When have you ever known Mulder to walk away from a free meal?"
"Never," he chuckled. "So things are back to normal with you guys?"
"As normal as we can hope for," Walter told him as he sat down at the table and placed a mug of coffee in front of me.
Frohike regarded Walter for a moment before he snarked, "Misplace your shirt there, Skinman?"
"Now, now--be nice to our guest, Mel," Scully soothed with a playful grin. "Besides, I always said this kitchen could use a little sprucing up."
With a roll of his eyes, Frohike stated, "You know, I'd have pecs like that, too, if the guys hadn't pawned my barbells."
"Infra-red scanner?" I guessed.
"Bail money," he answered distractedly, his hand digging around in his robe pocket. At the sudden silence, he looked up and noticed the matching stunned expressions Walter and I both wore. "Not for me," he quickly added.
"For a change," Scully injected with an eye roll.
Walter just shook his head and laughed. "He's still keeping you on your toes, eh, Dana?"
"You know the saying--fools rush in where angels fear to tread," she quipped, jerking her head in my direction.
I was about to fire off a patented Mulder-ism, when Frohike reached into his other pocket and cried out, "Ah-ha! I knew I had brought it down with me."
My mouth hung open at the sight of the toy he now held in his hand. "Wow, I haven't seen one of those in years. Where'd you get it?"
"Langly's landfill," he explained, handing the Rubik's Cube to Billy. "The boy took a shine to it, so Ringo said he could keep it."
"That was really nice of Rapunzel," I joked.
"You know, those hair put-downs never get old," Frohike smirked.
"But Daddy broke it," Billy pouted, futilely twisting the rows of jumbled blocks.
"I didn't break it," Frohike insisted, heading towards the fridge and pulling out a carton of orange juice. "It was like that when we found it."
"Well, let's see if we can fix it, hmmm?" And with that, I placed my hands over Billy's tiny ones, and together we began working at it, trying to align the rows of colored plastic squares.
Walter took a sip of his coffee and grinned at the two of us. "I should've known you'd be good with one of those things."
"Speed record holder of my dorm," I announced proudly.
"Isn't that what your girlfriend used to say?" Frohike deadpanned.
"Melvin. . .not in front of the K-Y-D*," I admonished as we cranked the last green piece into place. I showed it to Billy, who laughed with glee. "Lookit that, Billy," I exclaimed, enthusiastically. "You got one whole side!"
"Daddy! Look!" Billy cried out, waving the cube in the air. "Spook-ee fixed it!"
I thought Frohike was going to choke on his juice. "Ah, Billy--that's not a nice thing to call Uncle Fox."
"But YOU do it!" Billy responded, causing Walter to duck his head away so the boy wouldn't see him laughing. Still, the silent shaking of his shoulders gave him away.
"He's got you there, Mel," Dana sing-songed, as she broke eggs into the large mixing bowl.
"Yeah, well. .. it's a joke between him and Daddy," Frohike explained. "You just keep calling him Uncle Fox, okay?"
"Why?"
"Because you should respect your elders."
"Why?"
"Because it's the polite thing to do."
"Why?"
"Because I said so," Frohike shot back. He paused, closed his eyes, shook his head and groaned. "No, I did NOT just say that."
"Don't worry about it, Mel," Scully commented. "We all turn into our parents eventually."
"Oh, God, I hope not!" I exclaimed, causing everyone in the room to laugh except Billy, who just looked around at us with a puzzled look on his face.
"What so funny?" he demanded, his brow furrowed in the most adorable manner.
"You are, my silly Billy boy!" I proclaimed in a high-pitched voice, nuzzling his face and giving him a noisy wet kiss on the cheek.
"No!" he giggled, squirming in my lap. My only answer was another loud smooch pressed to his other cheek and a tickle to his ribs. "Stop!" he squealed in between giggles. "Help! Daddy!"
"Daddy's busy making your breakfast," Scully chirped, whisking some milk into the eggs.
In my best Saturday-morning cartoon villain voice, I growled, "See, little boy, no one can save you now!" Pulling up his pajama top, I blew a loud raspberry against his tummy, delighting in his childish laughter. "You're completely at my mercy! Bwa-ha-ha-ha!"
"Spooky, pick on someone your own size," Frohike scolded jokingly as he opened the dishwasher and pulled out a plastic Thomas the Tank bowl. Turning to Billy, he asked, "What do you want to eat this morning, kiddo?"
"Cakes," Billy squealed in between giggles.
"No pancakes today, honey," Scully answered. The ease of her response suggested this was a familiar conversation in the house.
Throwing in my two cents, I whined in jest, "Awww, why not?" and had to jerk away from the playful swat Walter aimed at my shoulder.
"Rice Crispies or oatmeal?" Frohike asked again.
Billy thought for a moment before calling out, "Cakes."
This time Walter couldn't hide his laughter. "The kid knows what he wants."
"Don't encourage him," Scully rebuked.
"Try again, Billy," Frohike requested patiently.
With a distinct pout that looked scarily like my own, the child reluctantly answered, "Oatmeal."
"And do you want raisins or banana slices?" Frohike continued, pulling a box of oatmeal packets from the overhead cupboard.
Billy's demeanor instantly changed, and he called out an enthusiastic, "Na-nas!"
Walter leaned forward against the table and drew the boy's attention. "Billy, you know better than that," he said softly but firmly. "Now, what's the right word?" Billy just shrugged his little shoulders. "C'mon, you know it. Say it with me: buh. . ."
"Buh. . ." Billy echoed.
"Nan," he coaxed.
"Nan."
"Na," Walter finished.
"Na," Billy copied.
"Now, all together: Buh-nan-na."
"Buh-nan-na," Billy repeated.
"Yea!" I cheered him on.
Walter gave him a big smile and a pat on the shoulder. "That's a good boy!" he announced proudly.
Beaming with the pride of Walter's words, Billy crowed, "Buh-nan-na, daddy!"
"You've got it, Billy-boy," Frohike replied with a grin, snapping a banana from the bunch.
I took it all in, a smile on my face, as Scully and Frohike moved about the kitchen preparing our breakfast. Scully was busy scrambling up the eggs while Frohike made toast and fixed up Master William's oatmeal. It looked like a well-choreographed dance, one they had seemingly perfected over time. Each time Frohike would pass the stove on the way to the fridge, he'd 'accidentally' bump into her and they'd share a look or a softly-spoken word I couldn't hear, followed by matching grins. They were so obviously in love and very happy, and I realized that in a way, I had had a hand in it. After all, I was the one who brought Scully to the Gunmen's warehouse that first time all those years ago and introduced her to the Three Stooges. And if I hadn't decided to take that year off to go looking for Samantha, they might not have gotten together.
Samantha. It always came back to Samantha.
If she hadn't disappeared, would I have thrown myself into my studies, trying to win my parents love and approval? Would I have ended up working for the F.B.I?
If not, then I never would have discovered The X-Files. If not, then I wouldn't have been assigned to A.D. Skinner. If not, then I would have never met Scully. And if I hadn't met her. . .
I looked down at my son, now happily chowing down on his oatmeal and sliced na-nas, and suddenly my life seemed to click into place. Everything I had become was a result of that one night, thirty years ago, when my kid sister had been taken away from me. And through all the pain and suffering, torment and sorrow, I had come to this point in my life. Good friends. A beautiful, happy child. And a wonderful, loving, amazing life-partner.
As if sensing my thoughts, Walter flashed me a contented warm smile across the table, and I felt my breath catch at the love I could see his eyes.
Scully had been right last night. My life wasn't a complete waste after all.
I suddenly heard a small, concerned voice say, "Uncle Fox? Why do you cry?"
Only then did I notice the tears leaking from my eyes and wetting my face. Tears of joy and sadness. Tears for my lost sister, and for my incredible friends and family. Tears that my old life was over, but my new one was just beginning.
Knowing my child would never understand, I wiped my eyes and smiled. "I'm just happy, Billy," I explained, hugging him close. "Uncle Fox is very happy."
+ + + + + + + + + +
Monday, November 3, 2003
Dukes Superior Court,
Edgartown, MA
"You were caught in the crossfire of childhood and stardom,
Blown on the steel breeze,
Come on you boy child, you winner and loser,
Come on you miner for truth and delusion and shine!" --5
FOX MULDER:
It's finally over. After a thirty-year search for the truth of what happened to my sister on that cold, clear November night, the end was actually quite quick and rather anticlimactic, although the journey to get there was anything but.
Turns out, Scully lied to me. Or rather, she wasn't entirely truthful. I discovered that fact when I broke into Walter's briefcase one night and dug out Scully's preliminary report. What can I say? Old habits are hard to break. I was rocked once more to discover that the rope Scully told me about was not just found around Samantha's wrists--it was also looped around her neck. My little sister had been choked to death. Understanding Scully was just trying to save me yet more grief and guilt, I quickly forgave her for not coming forward with that nugget of information.
Not that I could have stayed mad at her if I had tried. She was as determined as I had ever been to find the rotten bastard who had killed Samantha. The handpicked team she recruited was relentless, going above and beyond in their pursuit to solve the case--although I'm sure they didn't have much of a choice. Scully can be a very persuasive taskmaster when she wants to be. She had them go over every millimeter of that rope, every thread of the cloth scraps they had found, looking for any stray skin flake or saliva drop to use for their DNA mark-up. The boys in the lab, meanwhile, were going blind trying to pick up a print--any usable print--on the locket. Every spare minute stolen between cases on their overloaded work dockets was spent looking for the key to solving Samantha's murder.
Walter called in the last favors he had left to get every spare agent combing through old files, looking for similar cases; Doggett and Reyes, of course, were doing the same with the X-Files. The Gunmen practically shut down the paper to help me track down any lead that cropped up. If I had ever had any doubts about what great friends I have, they quickly vanished in those crazy, hectic, tension-filled weeks.
At first, it seemed Lady Luck was against us. Our first step, naturally, was to find out who had owned the property in 1973 where Samantha was found. Records revealed the man, Ronald Stewart, had died in 1998. The fear that Sam's killer was already dead hit us hard until we tracked down his widow and discovered that the property on the Vineyard was nothing more than a summer house, and they lived most of the year in Arizona. They had frequently rented the unused house in Menemsha to friends and vacationers back in the 70's. However, since she and her late husband had destroyed their old rental documents years ago when they sold the property, Mrs. Stewart told us she no way of knowing who might have been living there in late 1973. A dead end.
We had more bad news when a spot of bodily fluids--semen, saliva, it was impossible to tell--from a section of Sam's flannel nightgown yielded only a partial genetic profile. It could be used as circumstantial evidence if we ever closed in on a suspect, but it wasn't detailed enough to provide a definite match with CODIS.
Even more disappointing, no DNA sample was recovered from the rope, although the rope itself held its own secrets. Thanks to research done by the Gunmen, we discovered it was a kind favored by lobstermen, who used it to build and repair their traps. Soon, the guys were trolling the internet and police records, looking for crimes where similar rope had been used. Meanwhile, I got busy working on a profile of the UNSUB.
Then again, I guess 'profile' is really the wrong word. With only one crime site--and a badly contaminated one at that--any insight into the perpetrator would be little more than guesswork. But I did the best I could with the information I had, and passed on any theories to the investigating teams. It was a good assumption we were looking for a current or former fisherman. Fishing took strength, evident in the way Sam was killed. That her body was found in the commercial fishing village of Menemsha, and the type of rope discovered, led credence to the notion he had a link to the fishing community. A loner, with a solitary, unpredictable profession, he could have easily picked up and moved without too many associates questioning his motives for doing so.
I also concluded he was inexperienced, in both violence and sex. Samantha may not have been his first sexual assault, but she was his first kill--his careful disposal of the body in a residential area spoke of someone who was trying to hide his crime but had no real idea how to do so. That seemed to indicate he was probably young at the time of the crime, early to mid 20's. From what Mrs. Stewart had told us, he was most likely living at her house at the time of the murder--or knew the person who was renting it out--and the backyard was the handiest dumping site. Knowing the body was there, the killer probably didn't stick around long after that. It truly was just luck on his part that the yard hadn't been dug up sooner than it was. And while Samantha was one of his first victims, she had probably not been his last. Sexual predators rarely stopped on their own.
We were close now, and I could taste blood--which may explain why the nightmares started up again. I had done pretty well the last couple of years, especially since moving in with Walter. His presence seemed to keep the demons, and their nocturnal visits, at bay. But now they had free-reign once more, and they were letting me know they didn't like being ignored for so long.
Their favorite one seemed to be my sister, buried alive, crying out for help as I clawed helplessly through the dirt with my bare hands, unable to reach her while a faceless stranger stood to the side, laughing at me and my impotence.
Walter, God bless him. He didn't run screaming the first time this nightmare gripped me. Nor did he freak out the first time one of my night-terrors caused me to hit him--but he did learn rather quickly to restrain my arms before trying to wake me. Those were bad nights but strangely enough, good nights, too. He'd hold me in those strong, bear-like arms, rocking me, soothing me. Sometimes he'd go downstairs and make me a cup of warm milk. Sometimes he'd stay up with me the rest of the night, sitting on the couch and watching bad movies on the SCI-FI channel until dawn. Sometimes he'd make love to me--tender, sweet, life-affirming.
And sometimes he just let me have my space when I asked for it. I know those were the hardest times for him, but he respected my wishes, and I couldn't have loved him more for it.
I swear the guy must've been trying out for sainthood. Whatever I needed, he gave me, without hesitation, without complaint, always with love. He was my rock, my anchor, my savior. When things started falling apart, he was the concrete that held me together. I truly don't know how I would have made it through that trying time without him.
He drew the line at the nipple ring, but I'll keep working on that.
I was like a man possessed. Now that I had some answers, I wanted them all. I was determined to finally solve this mystery, the one that had dominated my entire life. I was going to catch this man if it was the last thing I ever did. I simply refused to accept that I had gotten this far and couldn't close the deal. It wasn't even an option anymore.
And then, finally, Lady Luck smiled on us.
Ironically, against all odds, the best piece of evidence turned out to be the locket I had given Sam for her eighth birthday, as our lab pulled a useable print from the picture protected inside. They quickly eliminated me by checking it against my employee records, and though there was a very good chance it belonged to Sam, they still ran it through the criminal database. I have been told the technician gave a whoop of joy when it recorded a positive hit-- the thumb print of one James Ray Wilcox, a convicted pedophile, serving out the last months of a ten-year sentence for the rape of a little girl in Maine. The partial DNA profile was then run against his, which also yielded a match. A background check through old tax records revealed Wilcox had lived on Martha's Vineyard from May, 1971 until November, 1973. He was 24 years old when Samantha disappeared. His occupation was listed as 'self-employed, lobsterman'.
Once we had our man, it didn't take much to make him crack. Walter flew up to Bangor, Maine to personally preside over the interrogation. It was perhaps the only time I wished I were still with the Bureau--I would have given anything to have been part of that meeting. Presented with the forensic evidence, and subjected to an intense grilling from a motivated (and exceptionally surly) assistant director of the F.B. fucking I, Wilcox didn't stand a chance. A thorough search of his cell produced the missing picture of Samantha that he had stolen from her locket, hidden inside the binding of his leather-bound Bible. Case closed.
But in the end, there was no trial. The bastard confessed and took a plea bargain.
The day of the hearing, I sat in the courtroom--Walter on my right, Scully on my left-- as Wilcox got on the stand and pled guilty to raping and killing my little sister. He calmly explained how he had seen Sam when our family went shopping at the local fish market, and felt an instant attraction to her. He had followed us home that day to see where we lived, then cased our house for weeks, waiting for his chance. He was staked outside our house the night of November 27, 1973; when he saw my parents leave, he knew the time was right.
He then told how he had walked up to our front door and rang the bell. When I answered, he said his car had broken down and asked to use the phone. Before I could do anything, he pushed me aside and grabbed Samantha. When I tried to reach for my father's gun, he slammed me into the wall. I banged my head and fell, semi-conscious to the floor. The bright lights I remembered seeing from my flashbacks were nothing more than his headlights as he backed out of our driveway and drove away from the house.
I sat there on that hard bench, unmoving, as he described tying the rope around Samantha's neck and between her wrists--something he had seen in a magazine--before he raped her. But he had tied the rope too tight, and Sam had struggled too hard. When he realized she was dead, he had buried her in the backyard of the Stewarts' house. A friend of his had been renting it out, but was away visiting relatives for Thanksgiving, so he knew he wouldn't be interrupted. The next day, he told his fellow fishermen he was leaving to find better hunting grounds, and never turned back.
At that moment, I was so furious, not just with him but with my parents as well. If only they had reported Samantha's disappearance to the authorities back in 1973--not taken Spender at his word, not have been afraid to reveal their own duplicity, not put their reputations ahead of their own children--they probably could have caught Wilcox right away. His other victims would have been safe. And maybe I wouldn't have ended up as screwed-up as I did.
Maybe.
Confession finished and on the books, the judge asked if I wanted to make a statement. I had discussed it with Walter, and at first I agreed with him that it might be better not to say anything, that it would only empower Wilcox to know what he had done to me. But in the end, I decided this was something I had to do. I had waited too long not to take the opportunity to confront the person who had shattered my family, and took away my beloved Samantha. A Victim's Impact Statement wasn't quite as good as having a half-hour or so alone with the prick so I could kick the shit out of him, but it was better than nothing.
I was shaking as I crossed the courtroom and stood before the man who had destroyed my sister, my family, my life. My voice, however, was strong and steady as I began: "It's been thirty years this month that my sister was taken from me. I have spent the last twenty years of my life searching for her, dedicating my life to following any scrap of information I discovered in hopes of finding her. My parents--our parents--are both gone now. They died never knowing what happened to their only daughter. I am alone now, and I stand here today as the only voice my sister has."
My nerves were threatening to overtake me, but still I directed my next comments directly to Wilcox. "In one night, with one selfish, heinous act, you took everything from me. You came into my home and stole the most precious person in my life and changed my world forever. There is a hole in my heart, and in my life, that will never be filled. My sister had done nothing to you, none of us did. You simply wanted to possess her, dominate her, violate her, you vile, despicable, evil . . ."
My voice trailed off and I found I had to take a moment to regroup. Once I had collected myself, I continued. "Every day for thirty years I have missed her. Every day I have wondered what happened to her. Every day I never stopped hoping she'd come home, safe and alive. I know there are people out there who would say I should forgive you, that it's the Christian thing to do, that to live with the hate I feel for you will only hurt me in the end. But I'm not a religious man, and I've earned this hatred." I risked a quick glance at Scully as I spoke, could see concern etched in every line in her face, knew she was worried about what this encounter was costing me. It wasn't enough to stop me from speaking my mind, though. I was going to say my peace.
"I'm glad you're going to rot in jail, Wilcox, even though it's still too good for you. My biggest regret is that this state doesn't have the death penalty, so I could plunge the damn needle in your arm myself, you son of a bitch."
The motherfucker never once looked up at me or acknowledged my existence.
By the time I reached the end of my speech, I was squeezing my hands into fists to prevent them from trembling, or from leaping over the defense's table and smashing them in Wilcox's ugly face. With a final glare at the monster who had killed my beautiful sister, I got down from the stand and began to make my way back to the bench where Scully and Walter sat. As I passed his table, I couldn't stop myself from muttering under my breath, "Fucking coward." At that, he finally looked up and met my icy glower.
"I'm sorry, Fox," he whispered, even though I knew he wasn't. None of them ever were. He was only sorry that he had been caught.
"Go to hell," I shot back. "And don't ever call me 'Fox'." Then gathering up the last of my composure, I pointedly ignored him as I returned to my seat.
Silence reigned for a moment or two, my last words seemingly echoing throughout the courtroom. Finally the judge asked Wilcox to stand, then sentenced him to thirty additional years behind bars at Cedar Junction, the maximum security prison in South Walpole, to run consecutively with the time he had remaining in Maine.
Thirty years. I almost laughed at the irony. He'd lose one year for every year I had lost. . .only that's not quite true. I'd always mourn the loss of Samantha, every year for the rest of my life. Wilcox, meanwhile, would earn time for good behavior and could realistically serve only half his sentence. So it was a hollow victory at best. At 54 years of age, it was a good bet that even fifteen more years behind bars would be a life sentence for Wilcox, but it wasn't enough--wasn't close to being enough.
Not for what Samantha went through.
Not for what my mom and dad went through.
Not for what I had gone through. What I was still going through.
It would never be enough, but I knew, it was all we could do. At the very least we had assured that he wouldn't get the chance to hurt another child. It was cold comfort, but comfort nonetheless.
So while Samantha Ann Mulder never got her day in court, she did finally receive a modicum of justice, I suppose. And my mission, my quest, my life-long pursuit had reached its conclusion. It was over.
Closure.
After they led Wilcox away in handcuffs, Scully, Walter and I made our way out of the courtroom. I was quite proud of myself--I made it as far as the men's room before I lost it completely. I ran to the toilet, heaving up my meager breakfast of coffee and toast, before stumbling to the sink. I was rinsing my mouth out when the tears broke free.
Through my sobs, I heard the door open, then close behind me, the snick of the deadbolt being set. Without a word, I was pulled backwards against a familiar broad chest. I turned around in Walter's arms, my head on his shoulder, my tears soaking his shirt. I don't know how long we stood there together, me holding on for dear life, Walter hugging me tight, as I cried out a lifetime of sorrow and anguish.
In his embrace, I found refuge.
In his strength, I found peace.
In his tears, I found love.
And in his kiss, I found a reason to carry on.
+ + + + + + + + + +
Saturday, November 16, 2003
CHILMARK, MARTHA'S VINEYARD
"A soul in tension that's learning to fly,
Condition grounded but determined to try,
Can't keep my mind from the circling sky,
Tongue-tied and twisted just an earth-bound misfit, I. . ."--2
On a chilly, overcast day in mid-November, a group of people gathered on the deserted dunes of Lucy Vincent Beach. They were dressed in their best Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes, there to honor a young girl they had never met, except through the words and memories of her older brother.
Fox Mulder stood stoically, holding a small antique urn containing the cremated remains of his sister. After much soul-searching, he had decided against burying her in the family plot in North Carolina. It was what his parents would have wanted, but somehow, he doubted it's what Samantha would have wanted. Something about this place had called him back, knowing instinctively this is where Samantha belonged.
He looked out across the small crowd of familiar faces--friends who were more family than his own family had ever been. Dana Scully and Frohike were there, of course, little Billy standing between them, each clasping one of his small hands to keep him from scampering away. Margaret Scully was there, too, wearing an understated Jackie O. inspired jacket and skirt set which made her fit in perfectly with Martha Vineyard's elite image. Next to her were Byers and Monica--Byers in his usual suit, Monica in a wispy black duster dress, decorated with tiny tear-drop crystals. Mulder couldn't help thinking she looked like a contestant in a Stevie Nicks look-a-like contest.
On Frohike's other side stood Langly, looking vaguely goth-like dressed all in black, off-set only by his long blond hair and pale, pale skin. Kim Cooke was with him, his constant companion these last few months. An unlikely couple to be sure, but a happy one. A friendly betting pool had already started up to guess when the last bachelor Gunman would be taken off the market.
Rounding out the radical journalism contingent were Jimmy Bond and Yves. Mulder hadn't seen much of them in the past year or so--they had branched out on their own, and their activities often took them out of the country. He had invited them to his and Walter's commitment ceremony back in June, but they were busy with some mysterious foreign intrigue that Frohike groused had netted them a 'chunky payday'. Still, they had come running when asked to help with Samantha's case, and they had made the trip all the way to Martha's Vineyard to support Mulder however they could.
John and Barbara Doggett had also made the journey north, and stood off to the side behind Monica and Byers, watching the events with sad, sympathetic eyes. It wasn't too long ago that they had been in Mulder's place, experiencing the emotions he was feeling this day. As painful as it was for them to revisit their own sorrow, they wanted to be there for their grieving friend.
Finally, there was Walter Skinner. Mulder had once jokingly called him a 'beacon in the night', but that's what he had come to be for Fox. That, and so much more. He stood behind his life-partner, watching over him and the proceedings, a silent wall of love and support that Mulder had come to appreciate and rely on.
The steady, rhythmic lapping of waves upon the beach echoed in the background as Mulder took a calming breath then said, "I want to thank all of you for being here today. I know it was is quite a distance to travel and, ah. . ." He paused and looked down at the urn before glancing up at his friends once more. With a sheepish shrug of his shoulders, he chuckled nervously, "I, um. . .I can't think of anything to say."
"That's a first," was heard from somewhere in the crowd. Everyone immediately turned and glared at Langly. "What?" he shot back defensively. "Don't pretend you all weren't thinking the same thing."
Scattered embarrassed giggles sounded throughout the group, as Mulder deadpanned, "Thanks for having my back, Ringo."
A large hand landed on Mulder's shoulder and gave it an encouraging squeeze "Just take your time, babe," Walter told him. "Say whatever you want."
Mulder glanced over his shoulder and gave Walter a warm smile, then turned his attention back to the group. With another deep breath, he began again. "Samantha was a beautiful girl. I know that's a cliché, but it's true. Everyone said so. And she was sweet, very friendly, cheerful, loving--and lovable. I didn't appreciate it at the time. Didn't realize how much joy and light she brought to my life until she was gone."
Without a word, Doggett slipped his arm around his wife's waist; she looked up at him and gave him a wan smile, as she slid her arm around his waist as well.
"She loved this beach," Mulder continued. "Every weekend, she wanted to come down here. Mom would pack us bag lunches--bologna for me, crunchy peanut butter for Sam--and we'd ride our bikes down here and spend the whole day. We'd collect shells. Make sand castles. Go swimming. She was a great swimmer, although she'd always shriek when she first ran into the cold water. . .or was helped along by her obnoxious older brother." Aiming a saucy grin at Scully, he joked, "You know what that's like, don't you, Scully?"
She rolled her eyes and replied with feeling, "Ohhhhh, yeah."
"Been there, done that, have the emotional scars to prove it," Frohike chimed in.
"Ahhh, the stories I could tell," Monica piped up.
"I'll swap some with you," Kim added.
"I hope we're talking about older brothers in general, and not Bill in particular," Maggie admonished jokingly.
"We are, Maggie," Frohike reassured her as everyone started laughing. "Although to be fair Bill is definitely a special case."
Scully, coming to the defense of her absent brother, gave Frohike a small punch in the arm. "Shhhhh," she shushed. "Let Mulder finish."
Looking up and down the shore, Mulder sighed wistfully. "We had some great times playing on this beach. She was happy here. . .WE were happy here. I remember there was this one time we came down here, but I wasn't in the mood to play. I had brought along a book. . .what was it?" He paused, trying to recall the title of the book. A snap of his fingers as he announced triumphantly, " 'The Guns of Avalon' by Roger Zelazny. I had waited all summer for it to come out and I just couldn't put it down. She kept nagging at me and I kept telling her 'one more page'. So I was sitting there, totally engrossed in my book, and suddenly, she dumped a bucket of cold water all over me." He began chuckling at the memory, and the others joined in, enjoying his tale. It took a couple of moments before he could collect himself and finish the story. "I jumped up and took off after her. I must've chased her half way home, and by the time I caught up with her, we were both laughing so hard, I couldn't remember why I was mad at her."
He glanced down at the urn once more, an affectionate smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "My sister was an amazing girl. So energetic and fun and full of life, and she could be the biggest pain in my ass when she wanted to be. But I would give anything for her to be here today, dumping a bucket of water over my head and calling me 'butt-munch' one more time."
A lonely gull flew overhead, its desolate cry echoing the somber mood of the small gathering of mourners. With tears blurring his vision and emotion choking his voice, Mulder concluded his eulogy. "I love you, Samantha Ann, and I miss you every single day. But I promise, someday we'll meet again and play in the starlight. Until then. . .."
His sentence trailed off as he toed off his loafers and started walking barefoot towards the shoreline. Wading into the ocean until the icy-cold water came up to his knees, the urn clutched protectively to his chest, he whispered, "You've been underground too long, Samantha. Be at peace." And with that, he slipped the cover off the urn and scattered her ashes into the wind.
He stood and watched until the last of the ashes had been blown away, only then turning and heading back to the beach. The mourners he left behind were gathered at the shore, waiting patiently for his return. As he stepped from the water, one broke from the pack and walked over to him. Mulder smiled up into a familiar pair of chocolate brown eyes; Skinner returned the smile as he wrapped his oversized wool topcoat around Mulder's slim shoulders.
"Thanks," Mulder said, passing over the urn so he could slide his arms into the sleeves.
"We should head back to the Inn," Skinner replied softly. "Get you out of those wet slacks before you catch a cold."
"You'll find any excuse to get me out of my pants, eh, Snuggles?" Mulder teased.
"Brat," Skinner teased back.
"Mulder?"
They both turned towards the woman who had quietly approached them. Ignoring the cold wet fabric clinging to his legs, Mulder threw his arms around her and sighed, "Scully."
"That was beautiful," she sniffled as she hugged him back.
"I'm so glad you're here today."
"Nothing would have kept me away," she assured him
"You mean *US*, right, Angel?" Frohike pointed out as he and Billy walked up to the pair.
Mulder instantly dropped to his knees, mindless of the sand now adhering to his wet slacks, and opened his arms wide. "C'mere, little man," he called out to the boy. With a huge grin, Billy ran to Mulder to get his hug.
"You were such a good boy today," Mulder murmured, squeezing the child tight. "So well behaved. I was very proud of you."
"We all were," Scully elaborated with a smile.
Billy basked in their praise then asked earnestly, "Can we play now?"
The adults chuckled at the innocence of the question. "In a few minutes," Mulder promised, giving his son a kiss on the cheek before letting him go.
"Why don't you go stand with Auntie Kim?" Frohike suggested, steering him towards Walter's assistant.
"Mommy and daddy will be with you in a moment," Scully added, patting him on his bum and sending him on his way.
"Cute kid," Mulder commented, as he rose from his crouch. "Wonder who he belongs to?"
"Don't have a clue," Frohike laughed. "Found him on the doorstep one day--figured we'd keep him."
"Lucky you." With that, Mulder reached out to his long-time friend, and pulled Frohike into a strong embrace. "Thanks for being here, guy."
"As Dana said, wouldn't have missed it for anything," Frohike responded. "I'm not even gonna complain that your hands are on my ass again."
" 'Cause you're enjoying it too much," Mulder chuckled.
"Can I cut in?" a new voice joined the conversation.
"Of course," Frohike magnanimously responded. With a final friendly back thump, he moved out of the way so Monica could take her turn.
Boldly she walked up to Mulder and pressed a tender, friendly kiss on his lips before enveloping him in her warm, comforting arms. For long moments they stood silent, Mulder soaking in her serenity, leaving him feeling calm and at peace. "You're going to meet her again someday," she whispered softly in his ear. "I'm sure of it."
"How do you know?"
She flashed him an inscrutable smile. "I've got a feeling."
That got him to laugh. "Good enough for me." She gave him another kiss, this one on his cheek, then drifted away, the tendrils of her dress wafting in the wind.
As she stepped back, Mulder suddenly found himself in the middle of a group hug, Byers approaching from the left, Langly from the right. After a moment's hesitation, Mulder clasped his two dear friends close, and eagerly returned their embrace.
When they parted, Byers moved to the side where Monica was waiting for him while Langly rejoined Kim and Billy. Langly took the boy's hand from the pretty redhead, and giving her a tender smile, he led the restless child away to play on the beach.
Now that she was free to offer her condolences, Kim walked up to Mulder and gave him a hug. She had always liked Agent Mulder, and was thrilled when he and Skinner had become a couple. Over the past year and a half, she had gotten to know Mulder very well, and keenly felt his sorrow that day. And, of course, through him, she had met Ringo, something for which she would always be thankful.
Much to her embarrassment, she soon found that Mulder was comforting her more than she was comforting him, as the tears she promised herself she wouldn't cry began to flow. Mulder, who was just as fond of Kim, held her close, rocking her gently. As she pulled away, he tenderly brushed the fresh tears from her face. Standing on her toes, she pressed an affectionate kiss over his cheek, then turned and ran down the beach after Billy and Langly.
"I've got January 10th in the pool, but only if Kim does the actual proposing," Yves quipped as she advanced on Mulder.
"February 14th," Mulder countered with a smile. "Figure it'll be the only way Langly will remember their anniversary."
"I must say, it really was a lovely service."
"Well, I'm just touched that both you and Jimmy came all this way to be here."
"It was the least we could do."
By that point, Jimmy had made his way over. "Just wish we could have helped you out more with your investigation."
"You both helped a lot," Mulder insisted. "I appreciate everything you did, and I'll never forget it."
"Such nice manners," Yves cooed. With a glance over at Frohike, she added, "Too bad not everyone can be so generous with their accolades."
"I heard that, Lois," Frohike piped up.
Turning back to Mulder she purred sarcastically, "Oh, I have missed that paranoid little twerp."
Jimmy shot her a look. "Yves, you promised to be nice," he warned.
She shook her head ruefully. "He just doesn't know what he's asking." Grasping Mulder by the shoulders, she leaned forward and kissed him on both cheeks. "Take care of yourself, Fox," she commanded, then, gesturing to Skinner, she added, "and that man of yours, too."
"I will," Mulder vowed.
Jimmy stepped forward and gave Mulder a big, friendly bear hug. "All the best to you, Mulder," he said sincerely.
"You too, Jimmy," Mulder replied, giving the younger man a couple of hardy back slaps. Jimmy flashed him a huge grin, then reached out for Yves. Hand-in-hand, they walked away, heading back up towards the Blue Gull Inn, where the party was staying for the weekend. Mulder watched them leave, wondering if wedding bells were in their future as well. . .and if they were, would Jimmy survive the honeymoon?
"Fox."
The sound of his name pulled him out of his thoughts and he turned to the woman who had addressed him. Maggie Scully gave him a sad smile as she approached, arms open. Mulder willingly accepted the invitation and fell into her loving embrace. "Mom," he sighed contentedly.
Mrs. Scully held him for long moments, sharing in his sorrow. Though she had never met Samantha, she knew the pain of loss. Her mind drifted to William, her beloved husband, and Melissa, her beautiful daughter, and tears came to her eyes. Even after all these years, no day went by where she didn't miss them, and she knew the void their absence had left would always be with her. As she and Mulder parted, both tried to covertly brush at the wetness that stained their faces, and chuckled at their mutual actions.
Lastly, Barbara and John came forward to pay their respects. Barbara approached him first. With a kind smile, she embraced Mulder, whispering soothing words of comfort that others had once spoken to her after Luke's death. Then it was Doggett's turn. They regarded each other for a moment, two men who had known the pain of having a loved one taken away from them too soon. Adversaries who had grudgingly become friends, with more respect for each other than either of them would ever say. Mulder held out his right hand, fully expecting Doggett to take it with a manly shake; instead, he was surprised as Doggett grasped his hand and pulled him into a strong, empathetic hug. When they parted, there seemed to be a deeper connection between them, and they both smiled at the new knowledge.
As the last of the group dispersed, Scully and Frohike returned to Mulder's side. "We're all heading back to the inn for brunch," she told them. "Take your time, okay?" And with a final smile, she grasped her husband's hand, and they headed down the beach to catch up with Billy, Kim and Langly. The boy had broken away from his minders and was now running along the shore, chasing after annoyed seagulls, his carefree childish laughter floating on the breeze.
Mulder stood and watched his son, his thoughts returning to a time when he and Samantha had done the same thing, and smiled. He'd have to bring Billy back here in the summer, teach him how to make sand castles, perhaps get some ice cream at The Pirate's Cove down the road if it still was in business.
He was so preoccupied with his plans he never heard Skinner sidle up behind him until loving arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him backwards against a strong, broad chest. "You know those pants are completely ruined, right?" Skinner's voice rumbled in his ear.
"Yeah, I know. We'll have to stop off at the Armani Outlet store on the way home and replace them."
"Armani has outlet stores?"
"A man can dream."
Mulder smiled at Walter's deep chuckle. "You're going to put me in the poor house."
"Expensive but well worth it."
A kiss to the back of his neck was his reward. "Most definitely. I've got to tell you, Fox, for someone whose life motto is 'Trust no one', you seem to have made quite a few friends,"
"Some amazing friends," Mulder agreed. Glancing over his shoulder, he grinned, "Got an amazing husband, too."
Skinner returned the grin. "Right back atcha, babe."
"You know I couldn't have gotten through these last few months without you."
Skinner was touched by Mulder's words, though he knew the younger man would have been just fine even if Skinner hadn't been in the picture. He might have been challenged, but Mulder's own strength of character would have carried him, although Skinner doubted Mulder would believe him if he said so. Instead, he replied gently, "I'm sorry you had to go through them at all."
"I'm not. I know the truth now, all of it."
"Can you live with it?" Skinner asked, concerned.
Mulder thought about that for a moment before confessing, "All I ever wanted was to know what happened to my sister. It's not the ending I wanted, but it's an ending." Looking out over the crashing waves, he sighed, "I hope I did the right thing."
"We've been over this many times. This is what Samantha would have wanted, right?"
"I think so."
"No, Fox--you were sure of it."
"I know, I just. . .maybe I should have interned her back in Raleigh. Given her back to mom and dad."
"You are NOT going to feel guilty for this, Fox," Skinner commanded.
"That's easy for you to say. I've got the distinct feeling Mom's probably going to haunt me for the rest of my life."
"Babe, for the last time. This place made Samantha happy, so this is where she should be. She was your only responsibility, and you did right by her."
Mulder shook his head ruefully. "Don't think mom will feel that way. I always had a way of disappointing her."
"Well, she would have been proud of you today."
"Yeah?" Mulder asked, skeptically, hopefully.
"I know *I* am," Skinner replied with a smile. "And I bet that wherever Samantha and your mother are right now, they have found each other."
"You really think we all meet up again on the other side?"
"I'd like to believe so."
Mulder chuckled at that. "Is that usually my line?" he quipped, good-naturedly.
"Well, it's a good philosophy. And if I'm right, when the time comes, you'll join them and be a family again."
"Not unless you're there, too. I refuse to go through eternity without you," Mulder stated emphatically.
Skinner tightened his arms momentarily for a quick hug. "I was hoping you'd say that."
"I still say mom's gonna kick my ass next time she sees me."
"Well, she'll have to get through me first."
Mulder smirked. "You'd take on Teena for me?"
"Anything for you, love," Skinner promised, sealing the deal with a kiss to the side of Mulder's throat.
"Will you warm up my feet when we get back to our room?"
Skinner snickered. "I'll warm any part of you that you want."
"I'm going to hold you to that later on." As the waves lapped at the shore, Mulder sighed again and said, "You know, I forgot how beautiful this beach was. . .or rather, I refused to remember. In fact, today was the first time I remembered something good about Samantha . . . allowed myself to remember. Happy memories, not just the grief of her disappearance."
"It was a fun story. I'm glad you shared it with us."
"She could have told it better. She was a great story teller--she was always getting me in trouble with the tales she'd tell mom and dad."
"And I'm sure most of them were true."
"Yeah," Mulder admitted with a laugh.
"I'd love to hear them someday--if you want to share them with me."
"I do. I will."
"I look forward to it."
It grew quiet between them as they listened to the waves, Mulder luxuriating in Skinner's loving embrace. After a few moments, Mulder whispered a simple, "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For being you. For being here with me."
"And where else would I have been?" he said gently, kissing Mulder's temple tenderly.
"You're too good for me, Walter."
"I know," he teased, "but I'm a sucker for a pretty face."
"Asshole," Mulder laughed affectionately. He turned in Skinner arms until he was facing his lover, then slipped his arms around the older man's waist, and molded himself against Skinner's broad chest. With a contented sigh, Mulder murmured, "I wish Samantha could have had a chance to meet you. She would have liked you."
Lifting one hand to tenderly stroke Mulder's hair, Skinner answered, "I wish I had had a chance to meet her. If she was anything like her brother, she must've been a remarkable person."
Tears stung Mulder's eyes as he nestled against Skinner. "She really was." Mulder grew quiet for a moment, listening to the fading sounds of Billy's laughter as he and his parents made their way towards the Blue Gull Inn. It reminded him of his earlier musings, of his desire to introduce his son to the magic of this beach. "Walter?"
"Hmmmm?"
"I was thinking I'd like to bring Billy here next summer for a few days. Just you and me and the kid, hitting the town. Do you think Scully and Frohike would go for that?"
"Sounds like a great idea," Skinner agreed. "I'm sure he'd love it, and it would give Dana and Mel a couple of days to themselves."
"Yeah, they'd probably enjoy that. I'll have to talk to them about it."
"Speaking of which, wanna start heading back?"
"You getting cold?"
"With you around? Never. Although it IS a bit chilly out here," Skinner hinted.
After everything Skinner had done for him, Mulder hated to ask for more, but he found himself asking anyway. "Can we stay just a couple more minutes?" he requested timidly. "I'm really enjoying it out here."
Pressing a loving kiss to Mulder's lips, Skinner replied tenderly, "You've got it, sweetheart." Happily, Mulder snuggled closer, laying his head upon Skinner's shoulder. And high above them, the gray storm clouds parted to reveal a shy sun, its rays warming the two men caught in its light.
"Long you live and high you fly,
And smiles you'll give and tears you'll cry,
And all you touch and all you see,
Is all your life will ever be. . ."--6
THE END