|
Title: Rest in Peace Summary: Mulder's remaining parent dies and he must return to his past to claim his future...with some help from his best friend. The seasons were changing again. The trees were brilliant mixtures of brown, orange and yellow, shedding their leaves as they did every year. They blew into piles here and there, lending the ground their color. He brushed them away from the windshield with his hand, picking up a few and inhaling. Autumn leaves had a special fragrance all their own, earthy and musky. It was a strong smell memory for him. Fall in Martha's Vineyard. What happened to summer, he asked himself. He made plans to go to the Vineyard, as he did every year. But a case came up he couldn't pass by, and the visit with his mother never worked out. He always went home to Chilmark hoping to catch a glimmer of the feeling he'd had as a child growing up on the island of Martha's Vineyard. Carefree summer days of riding his bike to the beach and taking out the little boat and sailing the coast with his sister. He remembered picking up shells with her and taking them home. They would clean them then look them up in her big book about shells and add them to her collection. She loved shells. On a small piece of paper she would write the name of each shell in her measured hand, then carefully place it and her sea-treasures on a shelf in her room. He remembered her as a bright eyed 8-year-old, freckles scattered randomly over her nose, brilliant blue eyes looking out through dark lashes, dark like her hair. Her eyes were like Scully's eyes, bright liquid blue, sometimes gray, and she always had some injury or other covered in a Band-Aid. Superman Band-Aids, as he recalled. He missed his sister, missed growing up with her, seeing her date and go to college. Her disappearance left a gaping hole in his life and destroyed his family. He might have been somebody's uncle by now, or somebody's dad. His family might be relatively normal, whatever that was. Any chance they had at normalcy disappeared November 27, 1973. Time had not erased her memory from his heart or mind. But things on the Vineyard were not the same as they were when he was 12. His mother and father divorced, moved to different houses. His father was dead, murdered. The last time he had seen him was the night he died. He was trying to tell him something, obviously struggling. He never quite got it out, and what he had said was cryptic. He warned his son that there were things he would find out, things that had been done. Things that he knew his son wouldn't like or understand. No kidding, Dad. His relationship with his father was always strained. In fact, his relationship with everyone was strained. He realized now that was the reason he'd gone on to study psychology was to figure out his own family life, he needed to understand it. Traffic wasn't too bad, he made the parking garage of the FBI building in good time. He'd just started to open up their office when the phone rang. It was the Assistant Director, his boss, Walter Skinner, requesting his immediate presence. Judging from the tone of his voice he suspected he was about to receive another one of Skinner's well worded dressing downs. He wondered what he had done wrong now and why he hadn't asked to see Scully as well. He wished Scully was there to reassure him, but he left the office and headed upstairs. "Have a seat, Agent Mulder." Mulder took his customary seat in front of the AD's desk. Skinner didn't speak right away. He's composing his thoughts, looking for just the right words to nail your ass Mulder. He was actually fidgeting, rearranging papers on his desk and removing invisible lint from his suit. "Have I done something Sir? Something wrong?" he asked, hoping not to sound impatient or annoyed. "No, Agent Mulder. I...I'm not sure how to tell you this. I just had a call from the hospital on Martha's Vineyard. It's your Mother. She had another stroke and....I'm sorry, Mulder. She didn't make it." He spoke slowly, hoping to somehow soften the blow, anticipating the reaction of the man to whom he spoke. A man he respected, for all his unorthodox methods. Mulder saw things through, chased down answers, showed a determination he admired. Sometimes, he wished he would give up. Sometimes the answers were hard realities. The truth wasn't always easy. That's where Scully came in. She was the perfect foil for him. Originally she was sent to shut him down by discrediting his methods. But Scully fooled them all. Together they balanced each other out. Scully made his work better, she made him stick to scientific method making the conclusions they arrived at rational if not believable. Sometimes the truth eluded them, defying logical explanation. But Mulder doggedly pursued each one to it's end. Mulder wasn't sure he'd heard properly. "When?" he asked quietly. "I received the call about fifteen minutes ago. There was no answer at your apartment." "I was on my way," he said, making no move to leave. "I'm sorry, Mulder. Take some time--take care of things. All the time you need." Mulder looked at Skinner. Usually his conversations with the boss ended in a reprimand. Not so now. He saw genuine sympathy on his face and in his eyes. Unusual. He was never really sure if AD Skinner liked him at all. "Thank you, sir," he said, standing. "I'll let Agent Scully know what my plans are." Scully still wasn't in when he returned to the office. It was just as well, he needed some time to collect himself. If that were possible. "Mulder, did that report come in from the lab yet?" she asked, breezing in to their office and removing her coat. "I don't know." She immediately made her way to the coffee pot. No coffee, but that wasn't unusual. Mulder frequently forgot. He didn't need caffeine to get going. But all the stuff was out, the filter was in place, the water was in the pot. But no coffee. "Mulder, what happened here?" she asked, turning to look in his direction. "Scully...I need to take some time off. Skinner just called, before you got here. My mother...she's dead." Scully was momentarily stunned, then went to her partner. Kneeling in front of him, she placed one hand over his. "What happened?" He inhaled slowly, then explained what Skinner had told him. "I need to go...take care of things. I told Skinner I would tell you what my plans were." She reached up and put her hand on his shoulder. Grief and loss was something they had in common. In the years of their partnership she had lost her father and sister, he his father and now his mother. My god, Mulder has no one now, she thought. There is no one on this earth who really cares about what happens to Fox Mulder. No, that can't be right, there has to be someone. Someone beside me; but she knew that all he had was her, if you excluded the Lone Gunmen. "Are you okay, partner?" They traded glances for a moment, and she was not surprised by the grief and hurt in his eyes. He almost appeared to be in shock. "I'm going to fly up there this afternoon. I suppose there are things..." he stopped, his voice having deserted him. Another word and he would embarrass himself in front of her. "I could go with you," she said quietly. He was torn. To have her there would be great, but he knew how much she hated emotional scenes. He didn't; she had often accused him of wearing his heart on his sleeve. Usually everything he was thinking and feeling was written all over his face. Everything but his feelings for his partner. Those very "unpartnerly" things he worked hard to conceal from her and everyone else. "I don't think so, Scully. Stay here, finish up this case. I know that your mom has that big Halloween bash planned for the grandkids. Tell her I'm sorry I'll be missing it this year." He stood up and straightened his tie. He made it to the door and was almost gone before she called his name before she called out to him. "Mulder..." she said, rising to go to him and opening her arms to him. "I'm so sorry about your mom. If there is anything at all I can do for you, call me." He fit into her arms so easily. She allowed him to hold her for a long time, letting him pull away first. And when he did, she saw tears welled in his eyes. Her heart ached for him, and she watched him walk away before giving in to the tears she had held in check for his sake. He sat in his car thinking about the things that would be required of him in the next few days, wondering if he'd made the right decision about Scully. Her talent for handling details would have been useful, but this was his screwed up family, not her big, loud, affectionate one. It wouldn't be fair or nice to subject her to this mess, but he found himself wishing she was in her customary seat beside him now. Back in his apartment he packed a bag, including his black suit and a tie that his mom had given him. He took more than he usually did. There was a lot to be done in Chilmark and there was no one else to do it. Margaret Scully called him to let him know she was thinking about him. He apologized for missing her party. She told him it wouldn't be the same without him. Funny, he thought. Scully's mom has been more of a mother to me than my own. "Take care of yourself, Fox. I'll be thinking about you." "Thanks, Mrs. Scully. It means a lot to me." Her concern for him was genuine. He felt a special closeness to Margaret Scully. They had shared some hard times after Scully's disappearance. Mrs. Scully included him in many things that her family did. In truth, the Scully clan was more of a family to him now than his own ever was. He called Scully from the airport to ask her to feed the fish, then got on the plane and headed home. Home. If you could call it that. It was the only home he'd ever known. After his sister's disappearance home lost it's meaning. It was a place to sleep, but he didn't feel safe there, or even loved. He had often wondered as a child if his parents loved him or did they wish it had been him that was taken. As an adult he realized that those feelings of guilt, of not being able to protect Samantha, were completely normal. He had been the one in the house alone with her, he was the big brother. In the end he supposed his mother loved him, but he was never sure about his father. Not until the day he died. He stood in front of his mother's house, staring up the walkway hoping the door would open and she would come out to greet him as she always did. Maybe it was all a big mistake, maybe they got the names wrong at the hospital and he'd have one more opportunity to talk with her. The longer he stared at the door, the more he knew it wasn't a hoax. No conspiracy to drive Agent Mulder further around the bend. His mother was truly dead. Fox Mulder the psychologist knew that he'd have to find a way to live with the regret for all the things he'd never said to his mother. But the little boy in him still resented her for not giving him a childhood like other kids had. That little boy who'd never known any kind of unconditional love from anyone. Except maybe Scully. It seemed to him that she was as close as he'd ever gotten. No matter what he did, how many times he'd left her out or left her behind, she always kept coming back for more. She seemed to accept him and appreciate him; well, not appreciate exactly. She'd just tolerated him longer. Come on, Mulder. Your mother's dead. Quit thinking about your partner. He took out his key and opened the door. His mother didn't come down the stairs to greet him, and he noticed the house felt dark and cold. He took his bag to his room, the room he always used when he came, then went into the kitchen for a cup of tea to get to the business that he knew would need his attention. Just how does one go about arranging a burial. He'd never done it before. When his father died, he was near death himself being cared for by Native Americans in New Mexico. His mother had been left to handle her ex-husband's arrangements alone. He hadn't gone to the funeral. Until now he hadn't realized how difficult it must have been for her to do, dealing with that and the probable death of her only son. But Scully had been there, and it was Scully that assured his Mother that he was not dead. Funny thing about that. There was no evidence to support her theory, only a feeling based on a dream. Imagine Scully basing her hope on a dream. Weird. The funeral home requested that he bring some clothes for his mother. Oh, god. He just couldn't do this. Now he wished Scully had come. She would have helped him through this. No, this was his mother and this was the last thing he could do for her. He chose what he felt his mother would have liked, thinking that he would have to be emptying the house sooner or later. So many things, some of them from his childhood. The pictures of him and Samantha on the mantle and the piano. The shells that lined the window sill of the kitchen and the bathrooms. She'd always kept those shells as a reminder of her daughter. Perhaps they represented her hope that someday she would return. He left his mothers room with the garment bag and closed the door slowly. She wondered if she should call him. No, he said he'd call. Screw it. I'm calling. "Mulder..." his voice sounded flat on the other end. "Hi, Mulder. It's me." "Scully?" He was so relieved to hear her voice. After a painful silence, she asked "Mulder, are you okay?" What did she want to hear? No, I'm on the verge of suicide and would you please come and stop me. Or, yeah I'm fine. My last link to any sort of family is lying dead in a mortuary, but I'm great, really. Don't make a fuss. "The funeral is on Friday. Says something about my family, don't you think? I'm burying my mother on Halloween." I should have gone with him. I should have gone even though he said no. "I'm coming up there Mulder," she said, anticipating his denial that he needed anyone with him. "No. Really, it's gonna be all right. I'm not having any memorial service or anything. Just graveside with a minister." "Don't argue with me because you won't win this one. My best friend is hurting and I need to be there." His eyes quickly filled with tears and he ached to feel her near him. "Best friend, huh? All right, I could use one about now." He was glad she couldn't see him. There was only just a little self control left in his emotional reserves. Perhaps by tomorrow he'd have worked up a little more. She'd said it so emphatically. "I' m coming and don't argue, you won't win." She wouldn't take no for an answer. Good, because I could really use her level head here now. After a restless night tossing and turning, he stood for a long time under the hot spray of the shower. His first duty for this day was to deliver his mother's things to the funeral home, then go to the hospital and talk with the doctors. He needed to know exactly how she died. He hoped it had been quick. He learned from the doctor on duty that day that she'd had a massive stroke. The doctor surmised that she'd died instantly. Neighbors had seen her fall in the garden and called an ambulance. Mulder barely heard his sincere condolences as he handed him an envelope containing a few pieces of jewelry and left him alone. He leaned his head against the wall and tried to compose himself. Inside where the pearls she always wore in her ears, and her diamond watch. She wore her diamond watch to work in the garden. How very typical of his New England proper and buttoned-up mother. Pearls and diamonds even in the garden. His head was spinning from the conflicting emotions he was experiencing. Resentment and remorse. He couldn't fix the things he'd said or not said. It was too late. He only hoped his mother knew that despite his lousy childhood, despite all the truly crummy things they'd said to each other in the last few years, that he loved her. She was his mother, had given birth to him, the only one he had or would ever get. Now she was gone, and the things left unsaid and undone between them weighed heavy on his soul. It seemed there were too many things in his life left unsaid and undone. Perhaps it was time to rectify that situation. Perhaps it was time to seek a little peace. Some peace of mind would be a welcome change. The answering machine was blinking insistently. It was apparently all over the small town of Chilmark that Mrs. Mulder had died and Fox had come home at last. Not knowing quite what should be done next, he took a bottle of scotch and a glass and went to sit in the living room. He was halfway through it when he heard the doorbell. He stood up quickly, then sat back down. His vision was blurred and he seemed to lack the ability to remain vertical. Checking the bottle of scotch, it was half empty. Shit, Mulder. You're drunk. He stumbled to the door and looked through the curtains to see his partner standing impatiently on his mother's porch. He opened the door, and stood to one side motioning her to enter. Once he had closed the door he turned to face her. "Hi." "I can see that, Mulder," she said, trying not to sound too tough. She'd only seen him drunk once. She recognized the symptoms though. The half closed eyes and the determination to remain motionless. "Okay, yes, I have been drinking," he mumbled, allowing her to lead him back into the living room where he sat down heavily and closed his eyes. "I guess you're entitled. Have you eaten anything?" she asked, taking her coat off then lighting a fire in the grate. The room was dark and cold. "No, not since....I don't remember." "Well, I think you probably should get something to eat. What would you like?" His eyes were still closed but now he was clutching his stomach. "Scully...I think I'm going to be sick." He scrambled down the hallway and into the small bathroom. Scully sighed and followed him, retrieving a face cloth from the linen cabinet. She rinsed it out and waited while he emptied the contents of his stomach. When it seemed there was nothing left, he dry-heaved then sank to the floor. Poor Mulder, he never could hold his liquor. She knelt beside him and handed him the cool cloth for his face, rubbing his back, offering the comfort of her quiet presence in the room. Then she helped him up and to his room. He sat down carefully on his bed, then looked up into her piercing blue eyes. "I'm glad you're here..." he said, his voice breaking from the emotional strain of the past two days. She knelt again and wrapped her arms around his body. "Where else would I be?" He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled. He was truly glad she was here. She was the only one he wanted here. She was the only one he wanted, ever. He let himself be soothed, then she made him lie back and try to sleep. Every muscle and bone in his body hurt. He remembered now why he didn't drink. What would he have done if Scully hadn't come? But she had, and now she was here, letting him lay his head in her lap while her cool fingers gently stroked the hair from his face. Scully could make it better. It was nearly ten o'clock the next day before he woke. He stumbled into the bathroom in search of aspirin for the bitch of a headache that throbbed behind his eyes. After gently splashing water on his face, he decided a shower would be better. The hot water hitting his shoulders felt good, but his head felt four times it's size. His hair hurt and shaving was out of the question. Scully had begun to wonder if he was ever going to wake up. She had just made up her mind to check on him when he walked slowly into the kitchen. He was wearing sweatpants and a Tshirt, a towel looped around his neck. His face looked pinched, one eye open the other closed, and was walking like he'd received a severe beating. She winced every time he did. He sat down opposite her and leaned over to rest his head on his hands. "Morning, Mulder." She handed him a glass of orange juice and waited for him to raise his head. When he didn't, she retrieved an ice pack she had made up from the freezer. After carefully placing it on the back of his neck and resumed her seat. "Rough day?" "You could say that!" choked out. She leaned closer to him. "What can I do to help you?" she asked earnestly. He opened one blood shot eye and tried to smile. He did manage to locate her hand and squeezed it. "You've already done it." She returned his smile, gently squeezed the shaky hand that covered hers, then got up and made him some toast. She managed to pry out of him that the service was all arranged and asked if she would go with him to pick out a headstone. After several cups of coffee he managed to get dressed. Scully stood with him while he looked at the choices for a stone. How did you pick one? What difference did it make anyway. He was the only one left to see it. Sensing his dilemma, she tried to guide him into a decision. He wasn't listening to her though. He was remembering standing in a room just like this, looking at the stone that Mrs. Scully had chosen for her *baby girl*. He had told her it was too soon, that he felt they would find something leading them to Dana. He remembered the feelings of desperation and loneliness he'd experienced during her disappearance. Finally, he chose and left the room to wait in the car. It was Scully who told the clerk what to put on his mother's headstone. He was at a complete loss for the words. Afterward they went to a place on the pier for a crab salad sandwich. Scully ate, Mulder concentrated on breathing regularly. It was a cold, wet day on the Island. The sea was quiet, hidden behind the fog. They sat together inside the small cafe and watched the rain in a silence that was comfortable for two old friends. On the way home they stopped at the market. Scully told him there wasn't much in the house that he would eat. Mulder noticed the excitement among the islanders over the annual Halloween festivities. Chilmark, one of the six small townships on the Island, enjoyed it's traditions and Halloween was one of the best. Each year there was a big barn dance for the kids, a place they could go to after they had raided the small neighborhoods for candy. No one on Martha's Vineyard worried about razor blades in candy bars or drugs in the candy corn. Until recent years, locked doors were unnecessary. It had been this way since he was a child. It was a great place to grow up, a great place to be a kid. You could roam the island unafraid. Unless you were Bill Mulder's kid. Unnoticed by Mulder, Scully had slipped several bags of candy into the grocery bag before paying. She liked Halloween too. Mulder's mom lived in a neighborhood with lot's of kids. She was sure there would be trick-or-treaters at the house. He would be in no shape to answer the door and deal with excited kids. Other than his getting drunk and his quietness, she had seen very little of the behavior she had expected from him. He seemed to be keeping it in, but sooner or later he would break and she only hoped she was there to help him through it. Dinner would not be a gourmet feast, but she could certainly whip up an acceptable soup for someone with Mulder's fast food tastes. She stood at the sink watching him through the window. He was standing in the middle of the garden, staring out over the landscape that stretched down to the sea. Perhaps it was the very place his mother had fallen and died. He said he was going out to chop firewood. His hands were stuffed deep into his pockets and his shoulders were hunched, looking very sad and alone. There was something on his mind, she could tell. Something beyond the death of his remaining parent and the grief he was experiencing. After a long while, he went to the woodpile and threw his body into his work. She suspected he needed the physical exertion. He entered the kitchen quietly, his arms full of the fruits of his labor. He was assaulted with the wonderful odor of whatever she'd been cooking, that and the warmth of the house compared to the cool of the evening brought tears to his eyes. God, he really needed to stop crying all the damn time. He smiled and swiped at his eyes and moved through the kitchen quickly, hoping she had not seen his tearful entrance. After their dinner of a very tasty homemade soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, they did the dishes in the kitchen together. Experiencing a bit of guilt over his inability to act as gracious host, he sent her in to the living room while he made coffee. When he returned with two steaming mugs, he found Scully asleep on the couch in front of the fire. He stood for a long while just watching her, something he seldom got the chance to do. Observe Dana Scully without those startling blue eyes starting back at him. She was lying on her side, her knees drawn up and covered with the afghan from the chair in the corner. Her hands were palmstogether and stuffed under one cheek. In the glow of the firelight her hair was a fiery pillow for her head. Her skin glowed a gentle pink and her lips were slightly parted. The desire he felt for her at this moment threatened his sanity. He wanted so badly to kiss those lips, and feel those tiny hands in his hair and on his flesh. He set the cups down on the table and settled onto the floor, positioning himself at the far end of the sofa, nearest her feet so he could see her and the fire alternately. His gratitude for her presence was overwhelming. When Dana Scully had stepped into his mother's house, it seemed to welcome the feminine presence. It felt like...home again. In fact, wherever she was it felt like home to him. In the car driving to some case, in yet another strange motel, airports, crime scenes. When was he going to quit stalling and tell her he loved her. In truth, he held back because he wasn't sure how she would respond. He knew that Dana had feelings for him. They had shared enough in four years for him to realize that when she declared him her "best friend", she meant it. But was it true because she'd had no time or opportunity to find anyone else? Or, as he believed, was there some sort of connection between their souls? Every time he think he felt it and pressed his case, he sensed a hesitancy in her that made him pull back. Made him wait another week, content that she was still his partner. Relieved that all the times she could have left she hadn't. He was again drawn back to the feelings of regret he harbored at his mother's passing. Whatever had happened between his parents, whatever part they had played in the sad events of his childhood, they were still his parents. They had raised him. He should have learned this lesson with his father. These feelings were not new to him. After his father's murder and his own brush with death at the hands of the consortium, he'd hardly had time to grieve. Anger at the people who set these events into motion was the only feeling he could muster. But when the anger was gone, he yearned for the things he could have shared with his father. Father and son things. Now that regret was compounded twofold at his mother's death. He should have come home more often. He should have spent more time talking to her. Whether she wanted to or not. He should have made her talk to him, made her help him understand. He was consumed with feelings of remorse and a desperate desire for peace. Scully was lulled from her nap but not by any noise. Without moving she opened her eyes to see Mulder at the other end of the sofa, his knees drawn up and his arms folded across them. He chin rested on his arms and the flicker of firelight picked up silent tears and the slid down his face. Without another thought, she quietly sat up and drew him onto the couch with her. She waited while he stretched his six foot frame next to hers, placing himself between her and the cushions. She wrapped her much smaller body around his, pulling him into her arms and holding him tightly. His head was nestled up under her chin and he clung to her as his body began to relax. With the passing of his last remaining family member Mulder couldn't hold on any longer. She held him tight, running her hands up and down his long back while placing little kisses at his damp hairline. "It's okay, Mulder. It's going to be okay..." she murmured, her lips so close to his ear. She believed it would be okay. She knew that in time his grieving would end. He'd survive, but she was beginning to see that there was a fragility about him she had not seen before. Indeed, he had struggled with monsters, real and imagined, and kept to his quest tenaciously for such a long time. He was repeatedly slapped down and deceived by his superiors. A lesser man would have given up long ago. But not Fox Mulder. He had pursued his truths religiously. But at what price? She had long ago given up hoping for something more from him than partnership. His work seemed to be what drove him on each day. That, and the search for Samantha. He was her friend, her closest friend. But sometimes she wished...sometimes she wanted him to notice her as a woman, not a doctor or a scientist. Yes, he could toss innuendoes out and joke with her about his taste in video vixens, but he never seemed to see her as an attractive woman. She knew he cared about her, what happened to her. But love didn't seem to be an option for him. Maybe he wasn't capable. Maybe he was so emotionally crippled he didn't have anything to give to an adult relationship. So she settled for what there was. He was her partner and her friend. He was very still, and she drew away to look at his face. The blood shot eyes that looked back at her held an intensity of emotion that confused her and excited her. "What is it, Mulder? Tell me what's going on in that curious brain of yours..." she said, stroking his brow hypnotically. Her mouth was only inches from his and he was mesmerized by the motions of her hand. He felt as if his whole body was straining towards hers, tight and tense and in desperate need of release...slowly he reached up and stilled her hand, bringing it away from his face, to rest it on his chest beneath his. "I never told my mother I loved her," he whispered, unable to say the rest of the speech he had rehearsed in his mind for four years. Her heart broke for him. Was this what all this anguish was about? "Oh, Mulder, I'm sure she knew." "But I should have told her, and I should have told....." he said, trying to turn his face away from hers. But Scully would not be deprived of seeing his face just now. "I understand how you feel, but as a psychologist, you understand that these feelings are common after the loss of someone close to you." She hoped she wasn't sounding like she was trying to analyze him. He hated it when she did that. *She* was the doctor and *he* was the psychologist. "I understand it here," he said, pointing at his head, his fingers still entwined with hers, then moving his hand to his heart, he continued, "not here." "Oh, Mulder." She didn't know what else to say to him. Maybe there were no words to console him. Maybe all he needed was to have someone here with him, someone to be close to him while he worked this out for himself. She pulled him to her again, her arms holding him loosely, allowing him to take whatever he needed from her unchallenged. It was several moments later that she felt, to her surprise, Mulder's lips on her neck. They moved up her neck to her jawbone, then to her mouth, tentatively. After the initial sense of surprise, it came to her that Mulder was actually kissing her, and not like a friend. She moaned softly against his lips and tilted her head for a better fit. Her lips parted to invite him in and he breathed with her, breathing in the freshness and vitality that was Dana Scully. "Dana..." he whispered against her mouth, then deepened his kiss. Was she really letting him kiss her like this, was her body actually draped around his? Was her leg entwined with his, stroking up and down, enticing him, enflaming his already out of control imagination? His mind soon agreed with his body that she was indeed here with him, kissing him, her hands moving over his body slowly, seductively. When her hands reached for the waistband on his jeans, lights flashed behind his eyes, causing him to stop her hands from progressing any further. He raised up on an elbow to look at her, her face flushed and eyes bright and.... was it desire he saw? One hand clutched his arm, the other was at the nape of his neck absently toying with the collar of his polo shirt. "What is it Mulder?" she asked, clearly out of breath. She had been taken by surprise by the intensity of his actions, but not his intentions. Right now she just wanted him to shut up, not to analyze this. She just wanted him to make love to her and with all the passion he usually devoted to his work. The prospect of this was causing a most pleasant collection of feelings to bloom in the lower portion of her body. "I...this isn't how I wanted it to be." Her hand dropped away suddenly, withdrawing from his collar to rest on her chest. What the hell did that mean? "What is this Mulder? What is it that you want?" she asked, her body crawling away from his, inching up the back of the sofa. He looked at her and shook his head. "I should have just shut up, huh?" "Third base, possibly even home had you just stopped thinking and felt." He noticed she sounded impatient and annoyed, and she had every right to be. He sat up, putting his feet on the floor and resting his elbows on his knees, dragging his hands through his hair. "It's perverse, isn't it? That's what I usually think about you...why doesn't she just shut up and stop thinking and talking and feel something." Scully sat up and crossed her arms over her chest, a position he recognized as a combative one. "Really?" she asked, drawing out the word into four syllables. "Wait...let me finish. You have a very cerebral approach to life. Admit it." "I'm not alone there, am I," she responded, perhaps a bit too defensively. "Agreed. But you especially. So we need to talk about this." He stopped for a moment, inhaled deeply then continued. "I don't want you to think that I'm just being emotional here, that I'm just caught up in a moment....that I was going to make love with you because you were offering me the comfort." He stopped, his eyes darting nervously in her direction. "That wasn't what you were doing, was it?" Her eyes softened and she answered him honestly. "No, it was not." "Good. That's good. It's just.... it's just become painfully obvious to me all of a sudden. Something I should have seen all along. Something I should have told you a long time ago. I've loved you...no, been in love with you since...." She smiled and interrupted him "That day, that first case. When I came to your room and took off my robe?" She blushed, remembering how relieved she had been that the "marks" were only mosquito bites, not the marks of someone who'd been abducted by aliens. So relieved in fact, she had impulsively launched herself into his arms, needing to be held and reassured. Her first brush with his world had unnerved her. "Well, that was a good day, no doubt about it," he chuckled, then continued. "But not that day. It was that first day when you came into my office and pronounced how glad you were to be working with me. God, you were so confident and professional. I had checked up on you. I knew what your prospects were in the Bureau, yet there you were willing to work with "Spooky" Mulder, flashing those eyes at me, standing up to me when I challenged you with a chemical compound no one could begin to analyze. Then in Oregon when they burned down the whole damned motel just to destroy the evidence you collected. You never flinched. You are the most courageous person I know." He turned toward her now, moving his leg up under him to face her. "I wouldn't be able to live with myself if something happened to you and I hadn't told you how much you mean to me. I've been struggling with that .... things that I left until it was too late with my parents." She began to move toward him, and he stopped her, gripping her tightly by her shoulders. "That's why I stopped you before. I want you to hear the words. I want you to know I'm consciously saying these things, and not while I'm caught up in what I'm sure will be an ecstatic moment. I want you to know that I love you; know it in your head and in your heart. I love you so much, and I'm sorry I've waited until what must seem like an inappropriate moment to tell you. I didn't want it to be like this. Let me love you, Dana." "Well," she began, removing his hands from her shoulders and carefully placing them one by one around her waist, continuing in what she hoped sounded * cerebral * as he had put it. "Perhaps you might have picked your moment more carefully. But, you know what? I don't really care. It would be my most distinct honor to let you love me, and quite a pleasure to love you back." "Yeah? Honor?" There it was, that disarming half smile he used so frequently. She stopped, and kissed his cheek, her hands framing his face. Then kissed each eye; softly, slowly. Then thoroughly kissed his mouth. "Whatever it is you are feeling, whatever motivated you to tell me now, I can't tell you how happy it makes me. I love you too." She stopped, tilting her head curiously. "You know all I ever thought I wanted was a career. I set myself up with this expensive education then went in a totally different direction, much to my father's dismay. I decided I would be better at forensic medicine. I was good at it. That's all I ever asked of life. But it's not enough is it? It's not enough for me." She stopped, and turned the full intensity of her concentration back to the incredibly handsome and confused man in front of her. "I need more; I need you Mulder. It took me a while to figure that out, and I never dreamed you'd love me back. You seemed so devoted to the work. I would have been content to be your friend, I think. But," she said, walking her fingers up his shirt to his mouth, lightly tracing his generous lower lip. "Since you seem to think you love me, who am I to argue. Now, is there anything else you want to discuss before we get back to where we were?" "Yes, there is one more thing," he said, his lips again attaching themselves to her neck. She stretched, purring against him and he felt himself draw and tighten. Astounding! Dana Scully, purring beneath him. There was a God! She smiled and pulled him closer. It was glorious, whatever he was doing to her he needed to keep doing. "What is that, Mulder?" "No...Fox. No more Mulder. My name is Fox." She drew away from him, staring quizzically into his passion darkened eyes. "I thought you didn't like your name." "I just didn't like it when you said it. I fell from your lips so intimately. It did things to me that were completely inappropriate for the office," he said while moving to position himself between her legs. "Things? Like what? Oh....like that." she was teasing him; she knew what he meant. But it was marvelous fun. "Hmmm..." she said, nibbling his ear as his hands made their way underneath her sweater, sliding up her ribs. "Fox...." she whispered. "Dana..." he said, slowly pushing her arms over her head, sliding her sweater up and over her head, then over the arm of the couch. "Ever fantasized about making love in front of a fireplace?" he asked, his hands slowly making their way back down her arms. "Ooohhh, I have, I have..." she giggled as his lips followed his hand. He stood up and quickly moved the coffee table out of the way, pulling some pillows from the chairs and throwing them on the floor. Next, he locked the front door, pulled all the drapes and turned out the lights leaving the room bathed in warm firelight. Returning to her he extended his arm and took her outstretched hand, pulling her up from where she lay and into his arms. She was so much shorter than he was, especially without shoes. She laughed at the mental image she had of him, knees bent as he kissed her without bringing her feet off the floor. "What is so funny?" he demanded. "I just wish I was taller, or your were shorter. I have this weird mental picture of us standing...never nose to nose. You're always bent into some awkward contortion." He smiled lazily down at her, unconcerned. "Hmm. I think I know a way we can be exactly the right height for each other. A way it won't matter in the least how tall I am." "Oh?" she asked, returning his smile, knowing what he was going to say. "Prone...lying down it doesn't matter, does it?" he said, dropping to his knees in front of her, pulling her hands down so that she was on her knees with him. "Brilliant deduction, Agent Mulder." She breathed, while quickly pulling his shirt tails from his pants, waiting while he pulled it over his head and tossed it away. She looked at him then, at the scars on his body, one or two of them by her own hand. Especially the one on his right shoulder, the scar from the bullet that she had shot directly at him. She leaned over and kissed that scar, running her lips and hands over his chest, loving the warm feeling of him. She scooted a little closer, and closed her arms around him, pressing her ear to his chest, listening to his rapidly beating heart. His hands found the hooks in back, and undid her bra. Pink satin and black denim flew through the air to find his discarded polo shirt and Mulder gazed for the first time on the naked glory of Dana Scully. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Again, for the 87th time that day, tears stung his eyes and he lowered his eyes, then turned his face away. "No, Fox. No turning away now," she said, gently gripping his chin and turning his face back to her. He did as she requested. He gave himself to her body and soul. She'd always owned his soul, his heart, his mind. The conscious part of him that was Fox Mulder had always belonged to her. Now she wanted his body. Who would have thought that little body, those little hands, that pouty little mouth could do such things? A healing process began that night on the floor in front of the fire in his Mother's living room. He would still be sad, naturally. He still grieved for his mom, but a hope he thought he'd lost was growing inside him. Hope for family. In his black suit with the tie his mother gave him, he stood quiet and somber over her grave the following morning. It had stopped raining, but it was still foggy and wet. He listened as the minister talked about life and death. This was death, he thought, staring at the flower covered casket in front of him. This was what he had missed not being at his father's funeral. This was death. He tried to remember her as she had been before, just his mom. And when he did, his eyes filled with tears that spilled over his lashes and quietly fell down his cheeks. The minister was finished, he heard him pronounce a benediction, and the dozen or so people there came to him and expressed their condolences, then left quietly. Mulder was surprised to find that one of the gathered mourners was Walter Skinner. He stood in front of Mulder and extended his hand, which Mulder took hoping not to appear utterly amazed. "I'm sorry about your Mother, Agent Mulder." "Thank you, sir. Thank you for coming," Mulder said, trying to find his voice. Director Skinner pulled Scully away and spoke briefly with her. "Take care of him Scully. I'm counting on you." Now it was Scully's turn to try to be polite. She closed her mouth quickly and responded to his gesture of concern. "I will sir. We'll be in touch. I will be back in the office next week. I can't speak for Agent Mulder...." "Don't worry about it. He has all the time he needs." "Thank you, sir. I'm sure your being here means a lot to Fox." "Regardless of how it may appear to you, I like Agent Mulder. I believe in his work...anyway, just take care of him." He stood for a long while watching as the cemetery personnel came to finish up. He lowered his eyes again to the open grave and the casket being slowly lowered into the ground. Quickly, he tossed in a handful of his sister's precious sea-shells. A sudden breeze blew brightly colored autumn leaves into the space that would receive his mothers body. Fall was a beautiful time on the island. Memories of October on Martha's Vineyard assailed his mind again. Cutting holes in white bed sheets for a ghost costume; helping his mother make candied apples and popcorn balls. The hay ride the school sponsored every year. Maybe he did have childhood memories that didn't hurt. Maybe there were some good things tucked away there. But now he would add his mother's funeral. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. They stayed long after everyone was gone, the tall, thin man whose shoulders appeared to bear a great weight. Beside him, a tiny woman in a heavy wool coat with her arm tucked through his, hand in hand. Scully retrieved a handkerchief from her pocket and handed it to him. He took it with his free hand, then raised her other hand, the one that been clutched tightly in his throughout the brief service, to his lips and kissed her knuckles. This was life. She was life; life and a far better future than he had dared hope for. She released his hand and turned her body into his, putting her arms around his waist underneath his raincoat. She hugged him fiercely, possessively as if she could will him some of her spirit. The tears had all been shed for his loss. He would come to grips with what he should have done. But he would never have to regret loving Dana and not telling her and with her he knew he could find peace. Peace with himself and his past. End of story Note from author: I know, I know. Heavy. Too heavy? I started off trying to write a Halloween-themed story. But the more I wrote, the more angst I found. I'm always drawn to Mulder's passionate side. I find it so much easier to write from his point of view. And remorse is a topic I have struggled with. Let me know what you think. Paperheart@webtv.net
|