Land of the Living – Part II

Title: Land of the Living Part II
Author: ML
Posted Date: February 19, 2005

Distribution: I welcome it, just tell me where.
Spoilers: you’ve seen the whole series, right?
Rating: Adult themes, adult situations
Classification: S, A, UST/MSR
Keywords: Mulder/Scully romance

Disclaimer: The concept of the X-Files and of its characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen, and FOX. I mean no infringement and I’m making no money from this.

Author’s notes: This is the second and final part of “Land of the Living” and it picks up shortly after the end of Part I. If you haven’t done so, I recommend reading it, as the action in Part II hinges directly on Part I.

I’ve taken a few liberties with the show timeline. I’ve always assumed that in the XF universe “X-Cops” was filmed some months before it aired, and so I’ve decided that they were “caught on tape” back when they were in LA before, around the time they were investigating the Great Maleeni. The show just didn’t air until later.

As with Part I, I have stuck fairly close to canon as we knew it up through “Closure.” That means some elements that were introduced in S8 are ignored.

More notes at the end of the story.

Summary: What happens next? Picking up the pieces after “Closure.”

===========
Land of the Living II

The more I know, the less I understand
All the things I thought I figured out
I have to learn again

-The Heart of the Matter written by Mike Campbell, Don Henley, and JD Souther

~x~

Chapter One

~Los Angeles, Airport Hilton~

“Hey Scully, guess what’s on TV tonight?”

Scully groans inwardly. Now that they’ve finally gotten away from FPS headquarters, all she wants is a hot bath and an early night before their flight back to DC.

“I don’t know, what?” she asks anyway, massaging her tired neck.

“Don’t you even want one guess?” he asks. Scully can imagine his expression over the phone.

She tries to muster some enthusiasm. “Is it your favorite alien autopsy special?”

“No, it’s ‘Cops’! *Our* episode of ‘Cops’! Wanna come watch with me? I’ll spring for the pizza.”

It’s on the tip of her tongue to say no. She’d like to forget all about it. It’s bad enough that they were caught by the camera crew on their last trip to LA Actually sitting through the episode is not in her plans. But Mulder is trying so hard to be his old self, she feels she has to go along. What lousy timing. But then, lousy timing seems to be the theme of this trip.

She suppresses a sigh. “Okay, Mulder. When does it start?”

“Forty-five minutes. Don’t be late!” he admonishes as he hangs up.

Well, okay, Mulder thinks. At least Scully is still speaking to me.

He’s behaved badly the past few days, and he knows it. But God, it felt good to blast the crap out of something, even a virtual something.

It seems fitting. After all, the apparent source of his current problems is a ghost. That’s what Scully says, anyway. And if Scully tells him she’s seen a ghost, is he likely to disbelieve her? Not freakin’ likely, as Langly would say.

But he doesn’t know what else to believe. They’d been so close, and then…

A lot of people have trouble with interfering mothers, but not usually from beyond the grave. On the other hand, it shouldn’t surprise him that his mother is still trying to manipulate, withhold, obstruct.

In the aftermath, at least Scully is civil. That may be the most he can hope for at present. It’s ironic, but just like them, swinging like counterweights in opposite directions.

He’d welcomed Frohike’s call while they were at Sea Horse Ranch, postponing a conversation he hadn’t been ready to have. He’s glad to be thrown back into a more familiar world. He wants to be back to normal, whatever the hell normal is for him.

Scully may still give him some shit for the way he behaved during their “unofficial” investigation at FPS. So he overreacted a little. It’s not the game but the chance to get back *into* the game that’s important. And who could blame him for getting off on watching Scully interrogate Ms. Afterglow? He knows who he prefers. And if Scully doesn’t know it, he’s more screwed than he thought. For a brief moment, though, it was fun to pretend to be “one of the guys.”

Scully arrives at his door the same time as room service, allowing them to avoid any awkwardness over how to greet one another in a social setting. Scully is still in work clothes, Mulder notes, though she’s changed outfits and is wearing flat shoes. This is an equivocal sign in his Scully lexicon — she is feeling guarded toward him.

“Pretty fancy pizza delivery,” Scully observes as Mulder uncovers the dishes.

“FPS owes us more than pizza,” he replies. “Since they’re springing for our expenses, we might as well take advantage.” He reveals pasta primavera for Scully, a dish he happens to know she likes, and a burger and fries for himself. Iced tea for both of them.

“Big spender,” she says with a small smile.

Mulder pulls her chair out for her and sits in his own. No sitting on the bed knee to knee tonight, the way they normally would have. That’s off- limits.

He un-mutes the TV in time for the reggae beat of the “Cops” theme music. They watch the first few minutes in silence. Mulder sneaks looks at Scully, gauging her reaction. She seems more interested in her pasta most of the time. He notices that the camera loves Scully, even if she doesn’t love it back.

One scene makes him wince — does he really talk to Scully like that, or is the editing making him look like a horse’s ass? He hopes it’s just the editing.

On the other side of the table, Scully is not enjoying this at all. She’d done her best to warn Mulder what they were getting into, and those bastards caught it all on tape. She’d done her best to act professionally, and she’s come off as shrill and self-protective.

Mulder isn’t faring as badly, she thinks. She has to admit that he looks good on camera, even when spouting one of his crackpot theories. She wonders if Skinner is watching tonight, and how hard it will be to walk through the halls at the Hoover on Monday. She wishes the basement had a separate entrance.

At long last, the excruciating hour is over.

“Well,” Mulder says after a short silence, “it could have been worse.”

Scully can think of nothing more encouraging to say.

“Well, I guess I’d better go,” she says. “Early flight tomorrow. Thanks for ordering dinner.”

She’s out the door before Mulder can even react.

So much for getting back to normal.

x-x-x

“No way!” The ticketing agent at the airport says reverently the next day. “You were on TV last night!”

Oh no. Who *hasn’t* seen that stupid show? Scully’s cell phone had messages from everyone in her family last night. She hasn’t yet returned them.

“Best episode I’ve ever seen,” the agent enthused. “You really kicked butt, Ma’am.”

Having to cooperate with that ridiculous show in the first place is bad enough, but being called “Ma’am” by someone who is probably less than ten years her junior is the capper.

She tries to smile. “Thanks,” she says.

The agent types into his computer and it spits out two boarding passes. “I’ve upgraded you both to first class,” he says confidentially. “I bet you’re tired. That was a long night.”

Scully stops herself from pointing out that the show had been filmed some months before, but instead merely thanks him again, and turns away. She looks up to see Mulder’s bemused expression as he falls into step beside her.

“Well ‘Ma’am’,” he says, “maybe we ought to start a fan club for you. Can I be president?”

“Don’t press your luck, Mulder,” she says shortly.

~x~

Chapter Two

~Reagan National Airport~

“Can I give you a ride, Scully?” Mulder asks as they leave the baggage area.

“Did you leave your car here?” Scully asks. “You’re going to owe the national debt in long-term parking.”

“No, I just thought we could share a cab,” he said. He is reluctant to part with her, though he has no idea what he can say right now that will make a difference. He feels the same panic that he felt before — an unreasoning fear that if he lets Scully out of his sight now, he’ll lose her forever.

After a moment’s hesitation, Scully says, “Sure,” and he shepherds her toward the cab.

Neither of them can think of anything to say on the ride home. Scully is dropped off first.

“Want help with your bags?” Mulder asks. Maybe she’ll say yes. Maybe she’ll ask me to stay for coffee, and I’ll think of something to say.

“No, I’m okay,” Scully says. She smiles a small smile, one co-worker to another. “See you tomorrow,” she says.

“Bright and early,” he responds automatically, and watches her through the back window of the cab as it pulls away.

x-x-x

The fish nibble hungrily at the flakes he sprinkles into the tank. “Why are you still alive?” he asks them. They ripple their fins, keeping their own counsel. He glances around the room. Nothing else has changed. There’s a spill of papers on the floor by the desk from that night, the last night he spent here. The answering machine blinks at him with urgency, but he looks away.

His wool blanket is folded neatly at one end of the couch where Scully must have put it after he’d spent the night with it wrapped around him. He wishes he could remember more of that. He knows Scully did her best to comfort him. He remembers her soothing voice, but not the words. He remembers her arms holding him, her hands rubbing his back. He remembers very little else until he’d noticed her absence in the morning, ready to panic until he heard her low tones talking to Skinner in his doorway. He holds the blanket to his face, inhaling the dusty wool fragrance, trying to detect something of Scully there, too.

He can’t sit like this forever. He gets up and begins to set things to rights in his own fashion.

Finally he can avoid it no longer. He pushes the play button on the answering machine and plays the messages through.

There are too many messages that he doesn’t want to answer, too many decisions he doesn’t want to make. The funeral home, wanting to know what to do with the ashes, and whether or not he wants the services on their premises. A few relatives, most of whom heard of his mother’s death third or fourth-hand. A real-estate agent, of all people.

He doesn’t want to deal with any of them. All he wants to do is to forget about his mother and her legacy of deceit. She may have tried to obliterate the evidence of her life, but it seems to have had the opposite effect on the living.

x-x-x

As she enters her kitchen, Scully notes that her mother’s been here. There’s fresh milk and juice in the refrigerator and a pot of daffodils on her dining room table. Mom’s always been good at homecomings. Scully remembers getting the house in spic and span shape for Ahab’s return from the sea, and wonders if her mother misses that.

As expected, there’s a message from her mom on the answering machine. More surprising is a call from Skinner.

“Agent Scully,” he says formally. “Sorry to disturb you at home, but I’d like an update on the LaPierre case. I will expect you in my office at 8:00 am on Monday.”

But that case is closed. She’d filed her final report before returning to California. Skinner must be angling for something else, a message he doesn’t want to leave on her machine. Just in case anyone else might hear it.

Anyone, such as Mulder. Skinner’s looking for an update on Mulder, not the LaPierre case.

At first, she’s angry. She is not Mulder’s keeper. Yet Skinner had implied that he expected such information from her. Despite her own misgivings, she doesn’t feel that it’s fair to report on Mulder to Skinner. Especially since she’s far from certain about her own state of mind.

She wonders uncomfortably if her mind conjured Teena Mulder up because deep down she wasn’t ready to be more to Mulder than his work partner. It’s been a recurring thought the past few days. She doesn’t believe she’s that repressed. She can’t be that repressed. But it is a more rational explanation than a ghostly apparition.

And if Teena Mulder is making appearances, why isn’t she appearing to her own son? He’s the one open to extreme possibilities. Scully feels resentful and angry but it’s not fair to take it out on Mulder. He’d give anything to have it happen to him.

She knows too that she can’t blame him for pulling back on their attempt at a more personal relationship. His words had been bitter, and they’d hit home. It’s a little hard to try to make love with someone who flinches every time things get a little intense.

The thing that worries her most, though, is that Mulder appears ready to give up. When Frohike called from FPS headquarters, Mulder had leaped at the chance to start a new investigation, even an unofficial one. In many ways during the case, he’d been his old self, bossing her around and making sarcastic comments. And his “one of the guys” behavior when interrogating that Barbie-doll/action figure suspect. That last was probably more for her benefit than anyone else’s, but still.

Aren’t they, personally, worth at least the same effort as an X-File? She’s always thought so, and she’s said as much to Mulder. The work has to come first, without question. But there comes a time when the work isn’t enough any more. She’s said that to Mulder too. She thought he was starting to see things that way as well. He went out of his way to show how he could do “normal” during their stay in Northern California. Now he’s backing off again.

He’s right in one respect. A life of leisure isn’t them. Going off to be alone together may have been a mistake. It may be that they need the work as well as the down time. She’s always known that Mulder wouldn’t be Mulder without the work. He needs something to put his back up against, same as she does. They are well-matched.

But she can’t let him use the work as an excuse.

She dials Skinner’s number.

~x~

Chapter Three

~The Hoover Building, Monday morning~

He’s surprised to see Scully already seated when he enters Skinner’s office. He nods at her, and she nods back.

“Agent Mulder. Thank you for being so timely.”

Mulder glances at the clock. Skinner isn’t being sarcastic; he’s actually five minutes early.

“I’ll get right to the point. After consulting with Agent Scully, I’m granting you another week of compassionate leave. I’m sure you still have affairs to settle –”

“Excuse me, Sir, but are you saying I’m unfit for duty?” Mulder interrupts. “No, Agent Mulder, I am not. But as you took part of your leave to solve a case while in California, you still have time coming to you. I expect you to take it.”

Mulder glances at Scully, who stares straight ahead. “What about Agent Scully?”

“Agent Scully is capable of handling the office in your absence. She’ll continue with her duties.”

Scully still hasn’t looked at him. He opens his mouth to speak once more, but changes his mind about what he’s going to say. “Is there anything else…Sir?” he asks, but he’s looking at Scully.

“No, you’re dismissed.”

Scully gets up to leave, but Skinner says, “Agent Scully, a moment?”

Mulder leaves without looking back.

Ten minutes later he’s still in the basement office, waiting for Scully to arrive. He won’t leave until he’s seen her. He’ll wait by her car in the parking garage if he has to. But he hears the whoosh of the elevator doors opening, and the familiar clack clack of Scully’s heels striding toward the door. They seem to slow a little as she gets closer, but maybe that’s wishful thinking on his part.

As she enters the office she says, “I’m glad you’re still here, Mulder.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” he cracks. “Did you have a hand in this, Scully?”

She can’t lie to him. “Skinner asked for my opinion,” she says.

“Your *medical* opinion?” he asks pointedly.

“My opinion as your partner — and friend,” she says.

He is silent for a moment. “Okay, I get it. This is like the labors of Hercules. There will always be one more task for me to accomplish, right? Before I can get my reward.”

“What are you talking about?” Scully looks genuinely puzzled.

“If you don’t want to have anything to do with me, Scully, just say so. You don’t have to make up reasons not to be around me.”

She stares at him, and the angry sparkle in her eyes just makes him want to grab her and kiss her like there’s no tomorrow. Being angry with her seems to have no effect on his other feelings for her.

“Is that how you see this?” she asks incredulously. “That I’m withholding *favors* from you?”

“I just want to know how much more shit I’m going to have to shovel,” he sneers, his frustration at an all-time high. “At least be honest with me, Scully. Are you just hoping I’ll give up?”

“I don’t think I can talk to you when you’re like this, Mulder. I’ll call you later.”

“Don’t bother, Scully. I may not answer –”

But she’s already gone.

x-x-x

How dare he? How DARE he? Scully doesn’t trust herself to drive, or she’d go home right now. She marches herself out of the building and toward the Mall.

It’s freezing outside but she barely feels it at first. She takes a deep breath and the cold air fills her lungs. It calms her somewhat. She walks briskly toward the business district until she finds a coffee shop and ducks inside.

As she calms down, she thinks that she can’t really blame Mulder for taking Skinner’s dictum personally. He wouldn’t have done so if she’d been able to talk to him first before Skinner laid down the law. So actually, it’s all Skinner’s fault.

That’s right, Dana, rationalize it all away, she thinks.

She’d called Skinner the night before, hoping to convince him to assign them desk duty for a week or two, to allow them to get back on an even keel. Skinner, however, saw things differently.

“I know this isn’t what you expected,” Skinner told her when he kept her from leaving the office with Mulder. “But I think it’s the best course. You know as well as I do Mulder will avoid dealing with this for as long as possible.”

“Work is how he deals with it,” Scully told him. “You should know that by now. Sir.” she added belatedly. “Take away the work and you take away everything.”

“Dealing with the loss of his mother and his sister is his work right now,” Skinner said. “It can’t be an official case.”

“Then I request leave, Sir,” Scully said.

“Denied,” said Skinner. “I don’t want him using you as a shield, Scully. You’re much too close to this.”

“I respectfully disagree, Sir,” Scully replied. “He needs me on this, just as much as on any case.” She left the office with that, but as far as Mulder was concerned, the damage had already been done.

Feeling partly to blame doesn’t excuse Mulder’s remarks to her. He seems to want to misunderstand her. Instead of the events of the past week bringing them together, they seem to be pulling them apart.

On the other hand, maybe Skinner is right that they’ve become too dependent upon each other.

To hell with that theory, she thinks. She marches herself out of the coffee shop and back to the Hoover. She has work to do.

~x~

Chapter Four

~Hegal Place~

More messages on the answering machine. Mulder plays through them, barely listening the first time. His mind is still roiling with Scully’s betrayal.

He hears the familiar cadences of Byers’ voice, and rewinds the message.

“Mulder, it’s Byers,” he starts unnecessarily. “We’ve run the tape through every test we can think of. We ran every filter, tried all the code breaking techniques we know, and there’s nothing hidden in the message that we can find, other than the expected voice stresses.” The tape hisses with Byers’ silence. “We’re sorry about your mother. I hope everything else is okay.” There is a muffled exchange in the background. “And we fed your fish while we were there. Call when you get back home, okay?”

Scully is right, it appears. There is nothing nefarious about his mother’s last earthly message to him, at least as far as the Gunmen can tell.

What was so important that she had to kill herself to get his attention? Or had she planned it all along? Had she just wanted one last chance to reconcile, or did she have something to tell him?

He really does just want to put all of this behind him. His sister is gone, his mother is gone. His father…well, the jury is still out on that one, depending on who he chooses to believe.

In the meantime, there is all the minutiae of dealing with his mother’s estate.

Despite his reluctance, deal with it he must. He listens to the rest of the messages and scribbles the numbers down to call later. He re-packs his bag for a trip to his mother’s former home.

He’s not asking Scully to come, for more than the obvious reasons. He’s already sorry for what he said in the office, but she will just have to wait for his apology. He has been given an assignment to fulfill, and he will prove that he can take care of this on his own.

x-x-x

Scully sits at Mulder’s desk and looks at the office from his point of view. There’s her “desk”, facing his. His desk isn’t much better than her table; it’s scarred and battered, and one of the drawers won’t shut all the way. She wonders if that’s from someone rifling his desk in the past or if it was that way when he got it.

Not that things aren’t a little the worse for the wear of the past few years. There are scorch marks along one side; this is the desk he’s always had, even before the fire of two years ago. Most of their furniture looks like it came from a fire sale anyway. Her first impression of the office had been that it was furnished with cast-offs.

She wonders how Mulder is doing. Is he on his way to Greenwich, or is he sulking at home? He may think he’s alone in this, but he isn’t. She’ll try to call him later. Perhaps she’ll have something to tell him.

In the meantime, she has some investigating of her own to do. What would Mulder do? Where would he start his search, if he were leading this investigation? She smiles bitterly. Normally, she’d be turning in the opposite direction from Mulder, doing her best to rein in his more outlandish theories. Now she’s the one with the outlandish theory, and she needs backup.

She goes to the filing cabinets and starts reviewing cases, pulling out any that have any kind of apparition or manifestation referenced in them. The filing method is haphazard to the outsider, and somewhat of a mystery even to her — a Mulder specialty, designed since the fire to keep anyone from pulling specific files easily. Mulder understands it. Scully still has to work at deducing the method based on her familiarity with Mulder’s quirky reasoning. It may take some time, but what else does she have to do? This is a better use of her time than trying to match Mulder’s record for pencils in the ceiling. It might even bear some results.

x-x-x

~Greenwich, Connecticut~

The house is cold and empty, even though there’s still furniture. It seems like years since anyone’s lived there. He wanders through the rooms. He doesn’t know this house well; he can count on the fingers of one hand the number of visits he’s paid here. What few memories there are for him are about the arguments they had when he came to call.

He begins to rip away the crime scene tape and the masking tape that still clings to the door’s edge. He feels numb. In a way, it’s like any other crime scene. There is no connection to anyone he knows here. She’d burned all the pictures of them as a family. Though he has copies of all of them, it seems like a cruel gesture.

“Why did you want to talk to me, Mom?” he says aloud, his voice cracking slightly. “To tell me that you never loved me? That you still blame me for Samantha’s disappearance? What new lies did you want to spin? And why won’t you talk to me now?”

The house is silent.

He shakes his head and steps from the kitchen into the dining room. This room appears as he last saw it, cold and formal, not an item out of place, and much more like his mother than the kitchen with its disarray. His mother would have hated all those people tramping around her house, looking at her things. Delving into her personal affairs.

He wanders from room to room in the cold house. He recognizes a few pieces of furniture from his childhood. No pictures, of course; she’d burned them all, and apparently all her papers too. Unless that was just another misdirection. “Misdirection of whom?” he asks aloud. “Me, or someone else?”

His voice sounds too loud in the silent house.

I need a plan of action, he thinks. He looks around the living room. He decides to check each room methodically, starting where he stands. He will leave no cushion unturned, no vent cover unscrewed. No lamp unmolested either; he remembers a clue from his mother many years ago. “If there’s another weapon, I’ll have a matched set,” he says aloud, as if his mother is just in the next room. He takes off his jacket and gets to work.

x-x-x

Scully is surrounded by ghosts. Ghosts of people they’d tried to help, as well as vengeful spirits, sad spirits, lonely spirits. Anyone in law enforcement for any length of time can claim plenty of ghosts, but it feels like she and Mulder have had more than their fair share of them. She chooses a file at random and starts to leaf through it.

The ringing of the phone startles her. It can only be Mulder. She takes a deep breath before picking up. “Hello?”

“Dana honey, it’s Mom. Are you still coming to dinner tonight? I haven’t had a chance to see you since you’ve been back.”

A glance at the clock confirms that it’s after five. It’s on the tip of her tongue to decline, but an echo of Teena Mulder’s voice on her son’s answering machine stops her.

Instead she says, “I’ll be a few minutes late, Mom. I was in the middle of something and forgot the time.”

Her mother starts to say, “I know you’re busy –”

“It’s okay. I’m just about done here,” she says quickly. “I’m looking forward to seeing you.”

x-x-x

Mulder sits in the middle of the living room, which is now tossed like his apartment has been countless times. All the furniture has been upturned. He hasn’t gotten to slashing cushions yet, but he has ripped the protective lining off the underside of every chair and sofa in the place, as well as torn the felt off the bottom of every lamp. He’s unscrewed lightbulbs and outlet covers. He’s inspected the ductwork, as far as he can.

He’s ready to start breaking stuff. Not to discover what’s inside, but to relieve a little frustration. One room down.

He wants to call Scully. He should call Scully. He’s sorry for what he said before, and as the day progressed, he felt her absence acutely.

It’s getting late. He needs to decide if he’s staying here tonight, or finding a motel somewhere. It’s no contest, really. Even if it’s guaranteed that his mother will appear to him, no way in hell is he staying in this house.

He grabs his coat and leaves the living room as is.

x-x-x

Scully lets herself in her front door, balancing files from the office and a grocery bag of leftovers from her mother. A glance at her answering machine shows no messages. She’d checked her cell phone as she was leaving her mother’s house, and there’d been no message either. Frowning, she dials Mulder’s home number. The answering machine picks up and she hesitates over leaving a message. She’s not sure she’s ready to tell him what she’s been researching, she just wants to reassure herself that he’s okay.

“Mulder, it’s me…” she trails off. “I’ll talk to you later.” She doesn’t want him to think she’s checking up on him. She is not going to worry. Maybe he’s doing as expected for once, taking care of business.

Except, how often does he do as expected? She tries his cell, only to get his voice mail once again. She thumbs off the phone.

He’s fine. Of course he’s fine, she tells herself. He’ll call her when he’s ready.

x-x-x

He’s grateful to get Scully’s voice mail. He’d taken the gamble that at this late hour, her cell phone has been turned off. He needs to let her know he’s okay, but he can’t talk to her yet.

“It’s me. I’m in Greenwich. Got a real-estate agent coming, so I’m cleaning the place up. Nothing to report, just taking care of business.” Like he’d been ordered to do. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

That went well. No unseemly begging on his part, no snotty comments, except those in his head. Just enough info to let her know he’s still alive.

Yeah, that’ll help him sleep.

x-x-x

<"There are more worlds than you can hold in your hand...">

Scully swims up from sleep, heart pounding. She hears Albert Hosteen’s voice echo in her ears, as if he was just in the room. She wishes for some of his wisdom now.

Last year, Mulder had told her it was impossible for Albert to have visited her that night — the night before she’d been led to finding Mulder in the operating room. She’d struggled for an explanation that she could live with, unable to make that leap for herself. For once, Mulder hadn’t insisted on his own explanation.

Yet something Mulder had said years ago has stayed with her all this time. Something about dreams being the answers to questions they’d not yet learned how to ask.

If that’s true, what is Albert Hosteen trying to tell her?

Scully stares into the dark, thinking over the past weeks. She’d been so quick to tell Mulder that his mother was telling him to stop looking for Samantha.

What if Teena Mulder had meant the opposite? Normally, leaving Mulder with a mystery meant he’d move heaven and earth to get to the bottom of it. Was that what his mother was trying to do? How would they ever know for sure?

She reaches for the bedside phone but catches her hand back. It’s time to talk to Mulder, but she needs to do it in person.

~x~

Chapter Five

~Greenwich, Connecticut~

Mulder checks his home phone’s voice mail on the way to his mother’s house in the morning. Scully sounds hesitant, as if unsure of her reception. A few days ago he’d been afraid of losing her forever; now he’s pushing her away.

When he dials, her cellphone voice mail picks up again. “Hey Scully, got your message. I’m still going through stuff at my mom’s.” He chews his lip reflectively but only adds, “I guess I’ll uh, I’ll talk to you later.”

He hopes she’ll come down, but it should be her choice, not because he urged her.

x-x-x

A little while later, Scully is lying to Skinner. Or, more specifically, to Skinner’s assistant.

“I’ve got a family emergency,” she tells Kimberly. “I’ll be out of town for a couple of days.”

“I hope everything’s okay, Agent Scully,” Kim says sympathetically.

“I’m sure it will be,” she says. “I’ll check in when I can.” She’s more grateful than she can say that Skinner is tied up in meetings. It will be easier to ask forgiveness than permission. And if that isn’t a Mulder tactic, she doesn’t know what is. She seems to be becoming more like him all the time.

Downstairs, she gathers some files to put into her briefbag and locks up before Skinner gets the message and calls her upstairs.

x-x-x

Mulder sits in the one chair still upright and surveys his handiwork. He’s torn every room in the house apart and found nothing. No hidden cache in the air ducts, no false walls in the closets, no key in the sugar bowl. It’s as if she wanted to call attention to the fact that she had nothing to hide.

He knows damn good and well that this is not true, but he’s run out of ideas about where to find whatever it is. When the phone rings, he assumes it’s the real estate agent, and he flips it open without even looking at the display.

“Mulder.”

“Mulder, it’s me.”

He closes his eyes briefly, surprised at the welling of emotion he feels at hearing her voice. He clears his throat and says as casually as he can, “Oh hey Scully, how are the reports coming?”

“Where are you?” Scully is not falling for his act.

“At my mom’s house. Is there something wrong?”

“No, but I’m on my way there. Can I meet you there?”

“Why are you coming to Greenwich?” he asks.

“To see you,” she says.

“Why? Have you found something?”

“I’ll explain when I get there,” she says. “Can you hang out there a while longer?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says. He’s too spent to move, anyway.

x-x-x

It’s after dark when he sees headlights rake the front windows. He stands up stiffly and goes to the door, turning on the porch light.

As she comes to the door, he wordlessly stands aside to let her in. He hasn’t bothered to turn on the inside lights. Scully flips the switch and recoils at what she sees.

“Mulder, who did this?”

“Thought I’d do a little redecorating,” he says.

“You did this? Why?”

“That’s not the right tone to take at all, Scully. You should say something like, ‘I like what you’ve done with the place.'” His face crumples and he braces himself against the wall, slipping down to sit on the floor.

Without hesitation, Scully crouches beside him as she had the night he learned about his mother, putting her arms around him as best she can. “Mulder, I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have had to do this alone.”

Any urgency she felt to speak to him about her own discoveries has faded in the face of his distress. She eases him down to lean against her. After a little while, she speaks softly. “We need to get you out of here. You’re not staying at the house, are you?”

Wordlessly he hands her his motel room key.

“The same fine accommodations as always,” she says. “And all these years I thought it was the FBI who was cheap.” She stands and holds her hand out to Mulder. “Come on. Have you eaten today?”

“Not since this morning,” his voice comes out rusty and indistinct.

“Me either,” Scully says. “Let’s go.” She leads him out of the house.

x-x-x

He hadn’t realized how cold he’d gotten until they enter the little cafe Scully has brought them to. She has the waitress bring coffee right away and he wraps his hands around the mug, relishing the painful warmth.

“That house was freezing,” Scully says, watching him.

“I guess they hadn’t turned the gas back on,” he replies. “I didn’t notice yesterday.”

“It looks like your activities kept you warm,” she says. “Mulder, why?”

He shrugs. “I guess I thought she was trying so hard to get me to come see her, maybe there was something she wanted me to find. That happened once before, you know.”

“Did you find anything?”

He shakes his head. “Either she destroyed it, or someone else took it or destroyed it. If anything was ever there. Maybe she just finally realized she couldn’t control me any more.”

“I don’t know, Mulder,” she says. “Maybe she really was trying to tell you something.”

“That’s a switch,” Mulder says. “I thought you believed she wanted me to stop looking for Samantha.”

“Maybe I was wrong,” she says. “I don’t know what she was trying to do. I just wanted to help you. It seems to me now that she wanted — maybe still wants — to talk to you.”

“So that means it’s my fault,” he says bitterly. “Well, that’s my guilt to bear, I guess. If that’s what you came up here to tell me, sorry you wasted a trip.”

Scully frowns. “Stop it, Mulder.”

He looks up at her sharp tone.

“What I didn’t come here for is to watch you drown in self-pity. You’re stronger than that.”

He stares at her, but she isn’t saying any more. The silence is broken by the arrival of their food.

Scully releases him from her spell. “Let’s just eat. We will talk about this later.”

x-x-x

At least they both have healthy appetites, Mulder thinks as they leave the cafe. They’d eaten in almost complete silence. He could feel Scully watching him, though whenever he looked at her, she seemed to be concentrating on her plate.

“Why don’t you leave me off at my mom’s house,” Mulder suggests. “I can drive myself to the motel, and we can talk in the morning. If you’re staying over, that is.”

“I’m not staying where you are,” Scully says. “I booked a room at the Courtyard. I figured we’d be more comfortable there.”

“*We’d* be more comfortable there?” He sketches the ghost of a leer. “Are you coming on to me?”

“In your dreams, Mulder,” she counters with a practiced air. “I’m not staying in a fleabag if I don’t have to. I have two beds; you can stay or not as you choose. But I think we need to talk tonight.” Before I lose my nerve, she adds to herself. “Would you rather do that at your mother’s house?”

He shudders. “No.”

“Well, let’s get this show on the road,” she says.

~x~

Chapter Six

Teena Mulder’s house is in the opposite direction from Mulder’s motel, so Scully drives him there to pick up his things.

“Why did you choose this place, Mulder?” she asks. “It’s not even close to your mother’s house.”

He shrugs. “No reason.”

Where Scully has chosen to stay isn’t fancy, but it’s clean and comfortable, and several cuts above the place Mulder chose. He supposes he’s become inured to the usual accommodations they’re forced to take when on official business, but he’s always known that Scully likes her comforts. It’s a decent size, with a sitting area and kitchenette, and the two promised king-size beds.

It would be nice if only one bed was necessary, but that seems pretty distant at this moment.

“Why don’t you go get cleaned up?” Scully suggests. She puts a gentle hand on his. “You’re still cold. I’ll make us some tea.”

Without a word he gathers his kit and his sweats and does as she suggests. Everything has taken on a slightly surreal air, sort of like their stay in California. The same feeling is in the air: anticipation, anxiety. He’s very aware of Scully in the other room, observing him with what feels like clinical detachment. He’s still not sure what she’s here for.

When he comes out of the bathroom, Scully is sitting on the small couch, two mugs of tea steaming on the table in front of her. She’s got that expression on her face that tells him she’s made up her mind about something.

He can’t help himself; he goes on the offensive. “Are you here to check on me? You gonna report back to Skinner?”

“Knock it off, Mulder,” she says surprisingly. “I’m here because I care about you. And you’re trying to cut yourself off from me.”

“I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“How can you say that? You’re the one who keeps pushing me away.”

“I beg to differ,” he says annoyingly. “I’m not the one who is having these ‘visions.’ But you can blame me. Maybe I’m not capable of intimacy, or whatever you want to call it. We could go on Maury or Rikki Lake and discuss our feelings. How I’m emotionally unavailable, et cetera.”

Scully puts her hand on his. She’s not going to let him make her mad this time. “I’m not blaming you for anything. But I think you’re blaming yourself, and your mother, too.”

“I’m not really in the mood for pop psychology,” he says.

“Neither am I. How often do I talk to you like this?”

“Hardly ever,” he has to admit.

“I’m not qualified to talk about your relationship with your mother while she was alive, and I acknowledge that. I have my own feelings about the things she’s done to you, but I’m not here to talk to you about that, either.”

“Maybe we both have a lot to answer for,” he says quietly.

“In my opinion, she certainly does,” Scully says. “There’s plenty that I have a hard time forgiving her for, and I didn’t know her that well.” She takes Mulder’s hand in hers. “But I think you can’t keep being angry with her. All it’s doing is hurting you. She was who she was, and nothing you could have said or done will ever change that.”

“She tried to pin it all on my father,” Mulder says. “I don’t doubt he was to blame, but not for everything. I think my father tried to explain himself before he died. He — I couldn’t –” he buries his face in his hands. “I can’t even begin to explain to you what my parents were. Did they ever love either of us, or were we just ‘merchandise’? Counters to be played in their own game.”

“Maybe they both loved you the only way they could,” Scully tries to soothe him. “By keeping you at a distance. Your father made an attempt at reconciliation, you said so yourself. I know it must seem like your mother’s last act was meant to hurt you, but I don’t think she meant it that way.”

“Sounds like we’re switching roles again,” Mulder mutters.

“I think you need to hear this, as painful as it is. You had cut yourself off from your mother. You only contacted her when you needed to know something. When she asked to see you, you didn’t go.”

“What was I supposed to do? Drop everything and run to her? The last thing she did was smuggle me out of the hospital so Cancerman could perform brain surgery on me! All the times I went to her, she claimed not to remember anything. ‘It was a long time ago, Fox. I don’t remember anything, Fox,'” he mimics his mother. “Maybe I just got tired of the non-answers. How was I supposed to know this was the one time she felt like talking? And even if I had gone, who’s to say she wouldn’t have changed her mind?” He slumps back on the sofa, his head in his hands. “And if talking to me is so important, why has she chosen to appear to you instead of me?”

This is what she’s come to talk to him about. She can’t deny him the truth of what she now believes. Denial would be as cruel to him as lying.

She hesitates for so long Mulder assumes he knows what she’s going to say. “After all you’ve seen, I hope you’re not telling me that you doubt it really happened. Or maybe I just need to work on my romantic technique — if you’re thinking of my mother when we kiss, there’s something wrong there.” He tries to smile but his eyes are bleak.

“That’s not it at all, Mulder, and I’m sorry if that’s what you think. I’m not denying what I saw, but I can’t tell you why. I can only guess.”

“What’s your best guess then?”

Scully looks so earnest he almost laughs. “It’s going to sound really out there, especially coming from me,” she says.

“I’m the King of Out There, remember? You asked me once if there was anything I wouldn’t believe. I said no at the time. Well, here’s your chance to prove me wrong.”

“Okay,” she grips her hands together, gathering her thoughts. “I think…” she begins carefully, picking her way, “maybe because you’ve closed your mind to her.” Oh God, she sounds like Melissa, spouting off one of her unproveable pronouncements, but she soldiers on. “She can’t get through to you any other way.”

“I’ve *closed my mind*?” Mulder parrots. “How do you figure?”

“I think that you had certain ideas about what happened to Samantha, based on what Kathy Tencate told you, what Harold Pillar said, even what appeared to happen to Amber-Lynn. And once you made up your mind, you couldn’t be dissuaded. All evidence seemed to support your belief.”

“Again I ask, how do you figure?”

“Think about it, Mulder. Do you remember that day in Sacramento — the day after you found the diary?”

“Yeah. You found the connection to the hospital, where we found the link to Samantha.”

“Did you ever wonder how I found that file?”

“Not really. I’ve never questioned your investigative skills, Scully. If anything, I’ve faulted you for being too slow to believe, rather than too quick.”

“True,” she says, “you’ve never questioned my skills, just the conclusions I’ve reached. But this time, the conclusions matched what you already believed to be true.”

He starts to protest but she raises her hand. “Hear me out, Mulder. We question each other all the time. Why not this time?”

“I dunno,” he shrugs. “Where are you going with this?”

“I’m wondering if the girl in that file really was Samantha, Mulder. It was almost too easy.”

“I found her diary, Scully. I was *led* to her diary. It had to be hers. Would they really have gone to so much trouble to manufacture that evidence?”

“It wouldn’t have to be manufactured evidence, would it? There are other explanations. Do you remember what I said about the file I found at the hospital? That it was like it was waiting for me to find it?” She hesitates, then adds softly, “Maybe I just wanted it to be over, too.”

Mulder shakes his head, ignoring her confession. “I was led to that diary, Scully,” he repeats. “And I was led to Samantha. How, I can’t explain.”

“Maybe because you wanted to be?” she ventures.

“What about what Arbutus Ray told you?” he counters.

“What she saw, what she remembered was a long time ago. Maybe she remembered an incident, but that doesn’t mean that the girl she remembered is Samantha. Or that Samantha was taken to live in ‘starlight’.”

“Then why did I see her that night?”

Scully looks at him for a long moment, then asks gently, “are you sure that’s what you saw? Are you sure that it wasn’t just what you wanted to see?”

He’s reluctant to admit that the same thought has crossed his mind recently. He shakes his head. “That might work for seeing Samantha, but what about the diary?”

“There could be a lot of explanations for the diary, Mulder. It could be real — but maybe Spender and his family moved from April Base not long after that last entry, and Samantha just left it behind.”

He shakes his head stubbornly.

“Or maybe they left after she ran away,” Scully suggests. “Maybe –”

He asks again, “Are you really thinking it’s another hoax, Scully? That all this evidence has been manufactured?”

“I’m just trying to explore all possibilities.”

“And maybe, for once, I just want the simplest explanation.” He gets up, pacing around the room. “How many times in the past have we been deceived? How many times have I been shown something, only to find out later that it wasn’t the truth it appeared to be?” He raises his hands in frustration. “I really have nothing to go by but what I saw, Scully. I don’t disbelieve that you saw my mother, but I find it hard to believe that she means well.”

“Maybe there’s only one way to find out, Mulder.”

“And that way would be…?” he prompts.

“I’ve been doing some research these past few days,” she hedges. “I’ve been remembering some things, and I looked up some old case files. And there are some things that — happened — that you may not know about. Things not in the files. That I, um, experienced, but discounted at the time.”

“I’m all ears,” Mulder murmurs. He pulls the chair out from the small desk opposite the loveseat and sits facing face Scully. “Go on, surprise me.”

“During the Luther Lee Boggs case, the first year we were partnered,” Scully says hesitantly. “My father had just died, remember?”

Mulder nods. “Of course I do. I still have the scar from that case, too.”

“Yes. That was one of the things. Boggs predicted that, right down to the cross and the blood on it.”

“We may beg to differ on that,” Mulder says.

Scully grimaces. “I know. You were more skeptical during that case than I’ve ever been. But there’s more — things I never told you.”

Mulder waits patiently for her to continue.

“I — I saw my father,” she confesses. “The night he died, I saw him.”

“I can’t believe I’m only hearing about this now,” he says, stunned.

“I denied it to myself for a long time,” Scully admits. “I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. Then other things happened. You know about some of them.”

Mulder thinks back to the Harold Spuller case. He’d wanted to deny Scully’s vision himself, fearful of its implications. He shakes his head sharply, not wanting to remember.

“What else have you been keeping from me?” he asks, trying to make a joke. “Elvis sightings? You really did see the space craft in Antarctica?”

“I saw you,” Scully says unexpectedly. “When you were missing in New Mexico and everyone — including me — thought you were dead. I thought I’d dreamed it.”

He’s amazed, and a little angry. “You never told me,” he says, trying to keep his tone even. How is it that she, the unbeliever, gets all the visions? “Why?”

“I tried to, when you first came back,” she says. “But we were off and running so fast that the opportunity passed.”

He remembers that moment differently. They’d been in the elevator. She’d had this look of wonder on her face, and he’d wanted to grab her and kiss her, despite the fact that he was dirty and weary, and still blazing with anger from what he’d learned.

Any one of those things would be off-putting, he reflects. He can’t really blame Scully for not sharing something that personal under the circumstances.

Then they were on the run, and Melissa died. Scully had closed herself off for a time after that.

“I think I’m jealous,” he says, only half-joking.

“But you’ve seen things, too,” Scully points out. “You say you were led to Samantha’s diary. And you saw Samantha.”

“Maybe I did,” Mulder admits, “I’m not so sure anymore. That I saw Samantha, that is.”

She stares at him. “You seemed so certain, even a few minutes ago. Why do you say that now?”

“You make a very convincing argument, Scully,” he says with a half-smile. “Let’s just say, for the sake of discussion, that what you suggest is true. That finding the emergency room file was a coincidence, that what Arbutus Ray remembered was just another runaway who managed to get out of the hospital unseen — or that it really was Samantha, and she still managed to escape from the locked room and get away. How can we prove it one way or the other?”

“I don’t know if we can, Mulder,” she says. “Not with what we’ve found so far.”

“What else would my mother be trying to contact me about?” Mulder asks. “She started calling during the LaPierre case. I think she must have known that Samantha was last seen in California, and me going out there on a missing child case opened up a lot of memories for her. Maybe she led you to the file that helped us find Samantha.”

“Mulder, do you believe I saw your mother? Or, a manifestation of your mother?”

Mulder is silent. He’s told himself that he believes Scully, but he really isn’t sure what he thinks. Finally, he says slowly, “I don’t believe you’d lie to me. But we’ve both been hoodwinked so many times…”

“That’s why I propose we try and do this by ourselves,” she says quietly. “No outsiders, no possibility of deception.”

“What exactly *are* you proposing, Scully?”

She’s still a little hesitant to tell him. He’s always ragged her about her reluctance to believe in the unexplained, but has often been curiously dismissive when she has admitted to it.

“I guess there’s only one way to find out the truth,” she says slowly, feeling her way. “We need to hear it from the source.”

Mulder stares at her. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

“That we try to contact your mother,” Scully agrees quietly.

~x~

Chapter Seven

“Scully!” The look on Mulder’s face is pure wonderment. “Are you suggesting contacting The Other Side?” He can’t help himself. He feels like he’s fallen through the rabbit-hole.

“I can hardly believe it myself, but yes,” Scully says, trying to stay matter-of-fact. It’s just like any other experiment, she tells herself.

“Pinch me,” he says. “Did you put something in the tea? ‘Cause I just got very turned on…”

“You’d better be taking this seriously, Mulder,” Scully warns.

“I am, Scully, I am. But that still doesn’t explain why the sudden about- face from you. You were pretty skeptical of Harold Pillar.”

“I suspected his motives. I still do. I think that allowing an outsider into this can only taint the results.”

“That’s spoken like the scientist I know and love,” Mulder says lightly. “How do you propose we go about it?” He wonders how far Scully is willing to go with this. He’s still not sure he can believe what he’s hearing.

“We should probably try and do it at your mother’s house,” she says. “That much Harold had right, as near as I can tell from the research I’ve done. Attempting contact at a place where her living presence was strong.”

“You’re full of surprises, Scully,” Mulder says. “I’m speechless.”

“It’s just research,” Scully says testily. One hurdle down, one more big one to leap. She pauses, then gathers her courage and says it. “If I’m the conduit, the way she can contact you, then I need to do this as much as you do.”

“You’d do this for me?” Mulder asks incredulously.

“For you, for Samantha…and for us,” she says resolutely, though inside she’s filled with doubt. Can she do this? Now more than ever she needs the strength of Mulder’s beliefs. “But only if that’s what you want.”

He nods, unable to speak. Of all the many things Scully has given him over the years, this is the most stunning gift of all.

“When do you want to try?” Mulder asks.

“Let’s go to your mother’s house in the morning. We can sleep on the idea. I’ve sort of sprung it on you, I know.” She stands up.

Mulder stands up too, and takes a step toward her. He reaches for her, cups her face in his hands and looks at her seriously. “Thank you,” he says softly, and presses his lips against hers.

She stands very still, then slowly brings her hands up to rest on his forearms. She returns the pressure of his lips gently, not pushing for more, but not pulling away.

Slowly their arms slide around one another without ending their kiss. Mulder’s mouth starts to roam over hers, touching the corners, pulling on her lower lip. She follows his lead and they begin to taste more deeply of each other, bodies pressed close, closer. It would be so easy to keep on going, Scully thinks dazedly.

This time it’s Mulder who breaks it off. He clings to Scully but presses his forehead against her soft hair, stroking her back as she trembles against him. “We still have some other unfinished business,” he says softly in her ear.

“I haven’t forgotten,” is her shaky reply. “I still want you. That’s never going to change.”

“I feel a big but coming on,” he pulls back slightly and smiles at her, and her lips twitch.

“We have to take care of something more important first,” she reminds him gently. “Until we do, I’m going to be a bit gun-shy.”

“Is that what you call it?” He smiles into her eyes. Then he holds her close, placing kiss after kiss on her hair, her cheek, and one last lingering one on her lips. “That’s an IOU.”

“I’ll see you and raise you,” Scully says, kissing him back.

“Oh, you already have,” he retorts, and is gratified to see her blush. He’s still the champion of innuendo.

x-x-x

“Scully?”

No answer.

“Scully? You awake?”

A sigh from the other bed. “Yes.”

“Why?” He asks.

“Why are you?” She counters.

He flops onto his side, facing Scully’s bed. He can just make out her profile in the light leaking through the drapes. “I’m just lyin’ here thinkin’.”

“You should stop thinking and get some sleep. Do you need the TV on? It won’t bother me.”

Mulder smiles to himself in the dark. “You haven’t said why you’re not sleeping.”

The bedclothes rustle as she turns toward him. “You’re keeping me awake.”

“Touche, Scully.” He’s sure she’s smiling over there in the dark. “So we’re keeping each other awake.”

“You said you were thinking.”

“I am. I’m thinking about you.”

Absolute stillness. He can’t even hear her breathing.

Finally she says, “Go to sleep, Mulder.”

“I can’t,” he says.

Another sigh from Scully. “I can’t, either.”

“It’s like Christmas morning, isn’t it?” he says. “You anticipate, you hope, but there’s also the fear that the event won’t live up to your expectations.”

There’s a long silence, then Scully says very quietly, “I don’t want you to be disappointed, Mulder, but I don’t have any control over that.”

“I know that, Scully,” he says. “I — I don’t want you to worry about that.”

“I’m trying not to. But I don’t want you to think I’m trying to talk you into something.”

“Have you ever been able to do that?” he asks. “I’m just glad you came. Whatever happens tomorrow, I’m still glad.”

“I’m turning on the light,” Scully warns.

“No, don’t,” he says quickly. “Just…keep talking.”

“What about?”

“I dunno. Anything. What you did this week. What you said to Skinner to get him to let you come here.”

“If you must know, I lied to him.”

“You *lied* to Skinner? I’m surprised he hasn’t already called me, looking for you.”

“I didn’t lie to his face,” she explained. “I told Kimberly I had a family emergency.”

“Scully! What if he calls your mom?”

“He won’t. And besides, it wasn’t really a lie.”

“How do you figure?”

No answer from Scully.

“Thank you, Scully,” Mulder says finally.

Still no answer from Scully. Maybe she’s fallen asleep, but he doesn’t think so. He pulls the covers around him and shuts his eyes.

~x~

Chapter Eight

The condition of the house looks much worse in the light of day.

“My God, Mulder, what have you been doing here?” Every stick of furniture has been upended, the bottom linings cut away. All the pillow covers have been removed and the pillows tossed in the corner. Pictures have been taken from the wall, and their paper backing torn away.

“Looking for something,” he says.

“What exactly have you been looking for?”

“I’m not sure, I’ll know when I find it.”

“First things first,” she gestures around the living room. “Let’s get things set to rights in here at least.”

With Scully’s help, he’s able to get the room back in some semblance of order.

“Where do you want to do this?” she asks.

Mulder raises his eyebrows at her. “Oooh Scully, do what?”

She looks away from him, but he can tell she’s blushing a little. “You know exactly what I mean. Are you serious about this?”

“Sorry, Scully,” he says contritely. “Yes, I am very serious about this.” He looks around. He’s suddenly struck by the loneliness his mother must have endured in her later years. It doesn’t help to know that she’d brought it on herself. The sadness seems to surround him like a miasma.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he says softly.

Scully comes closer and lays a hand on his arm. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she says.

How can he back down? The offer Scully made was not done lightly. He needs to honor that. “This room is as good as any other, I guess.”

Scully stands in the middle of the room. “I’m not really sure what to do now.”

“Maybe we just stand, close together. I think you have at least as much psychic ability as Harold Pillar has.”

“Thanks, I think,” Scully says. “But you’re the one who wants the contact as much as Harold.”

“Maybe that’s why I can’t see her — because I want it so much.”

After some hesitation, they end up standing facing each other. Scully reaches out her hands and Mulder takes them in his, holding them lightly. He closes his eyes and tries to empty his mind.

Scully tries to do the same, though her technique is a little different. Instead, she concentrates on Mulder. She’s aware of his hands on hers, warm and soothing. She wants this to happen for him, to give him what he needs. What they both need to be able to move on.

He’s not sure how much time has passed. Scully’s hands feel cold in his; they still hadn’t done anything about turning the heat back on. He considers stopping the whole thing, returning home.

Scully is on the point of saying it’s not working. She’s now embarrassed that she even suggested it, and opens her mouth to tell Mulder so.

“Fox…” It’s no more than a whisper, coming from Scully’s lips. He hasn’t heard her say his first name in years. But this isn’t Scully. It’s her voice, sure, but it’s not *her.*

“Who is that?” he asks. He opens his eyes, and it’s still Scully standing before him, eyes closed, lips moving as she speaks.

“You know, Fox. You know who I am.”

“How do I know?”

“Ask me something that she wouldn’t know.”

He casts back in his memory. “Who was my first-grade teacher?”

“Mrs. Frances. You had a crush on her.”

He smiles, just a little, at the memory. All the boys had a crush on Mrs. Frances. “What was my first dog’s name?”

“You never had a dog, Fox. Your *father* didn’t like them.”

“I always thought *you* were afraid of dogs,” he counters.

“That’s what *your father* wanted you to think,” she replies.

It’s beyond eerie, hearing his mother speak through Scully. But no one else would know these things.

“Are you finally ready to speak to me, Fox?” his mother asks.

“More to the point,” he says, “are you ready to speak to me?”

“I was always ready,” she avers. “You just never asked the right questions.”

That statement is definitely his mother speaking. She was always good at deflecting blame.

“I only have one question. Why?” He can’t bring himself to call her “Mom.” It’s just too weird.

There is a long silence and he thinks, once again, he’s asked the wrong question. Par for the course, since he’s evidently never done anything right by her standards.

Scully is very still, but finally her eyes flutter and a sigh wells up from deep within her. “I had to protect her.”

Mulder waits.

“I had to protect her from your father. You know what he’s capable of. He used me, he’s used you. He’ll stop at nothing.”

Another long silence. It’s a battle of wills; it always has been. Shouting at her and hectoring her never worked when she was alive. It seems to be the surest way to get her to clam up. So he waits, letting her speak in her own way and time.

“I’ve always loved you, Fox,” says his mother in Scully’s voice. “You must know that. Everything I did, I did to protect you.”

“I’m sure you’ll understand if I seem skeptical,” Mulder murmurs. “My whole life seems to have been based on lies. I’m never sure which ones I’m supposed to believe.”

“You have always believed what you wanted to believe,” she says. “Sometimes it fit in with Their plans, and if it didn’t, They found ways to subvert you. But other times, you did it to yourself.”

“What do you mean?” he asks. He’s trying desperately to let her tell him things in her own way, but his patience has limits.

“You think you saw Samantha,” she says. “You wanted to believe she was happy, in a better place, and so you saw her.”

“Just answer this, Mom,” he says, not really expecting he’ll get an answer, but what has he got to lose? “Is she dead?”

“No.” There is no hesitation in her voice.

A shockwave of emotion rolls through him. “How do you know?” he cries. “Please, I *have* to know.”

“I knew where she’d been taken,” she says. “And I knew when she ran away. I hired a private detective and he found her. She escaped from the hospital.”

“Where’d she go?”

“She was cared for,” she said. “The name is not important. They weren’t connected to us in any way. They knew nothing of her past, and I’m sure Samantha never told them.”

“Who are they? Where can I find them? Please tell me,” he pleaded.

“Fox…I don’t know,” his mother’s voice comes through. She has sounded less and less like Scully, but he’s not sure if it’s his imagination supplying the change or not. “I’m telling the truth. I burned his reports as soon as I got them, and only contacted him from pay phones. Once I was sure she was safe, that was all that mattered.”

“How do you know she’s still alive?”

“I think, given the current circumstances, that I’d know,” is her dry reply.

“Then why can’t you tell me where she is now?”

“It was safer for me not to know. I kept track of her, very discreetly, until she turned eighteen and left home. I know she changed her name, and ended communication with everyone she knew. I think she’d always planned it, Fox. She didn’t want to be found then, and she doesn’t now. But I’m sure she’s fine, wherever she is.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Let’s just say that there are people in the organization who wouldn’t have hesitated to tell me if they had information that would give them some kind of hold over me. You should know that yourself. If Samantha had been found, I would have been told in the most gloating way. From time to time, they tried to make me believe that they had her. But I always knew. She is safe.”

The tears are running down his face but he won’t let go of Scully’s hands to wipe them away. “Why couldn’t you tell me when you were alive?”

“I might never have told you, but for the case in California. I thought you’d stopped looking for her …it had been so long since I’d heard from you. But I knew that the case would open old wounds. I knew my time was short; it was the only way I knew to make amends. But you shut me out.”

“You shut me out first,” he says before he can stop himself.

She’s quiet for so long he thinks she’s gone.

“I can’t explain any better than I have, Fox. I had no one to trust, no one to turn to. The one I thought I could trust betrayed me. I had only myself to rely on.”

“You could have trusted me,” he says. “Why didn’t you trust me?”

There is no answer for a long time. He can’t think of anything more to say to her.

“Let it go, Fox. In one way, Miss Scully is right, though for the wrong reasons. I want you to stop. One day, Samantha may come back to you. Don’t be afraid for her. Don’t lead them to her. Be careful for your own sake…” Her voice is fading. “Fox…do you understand now?”

“I’m not sure,” he says. “I have to think about this.”

“I can’t stay. I’ve said what I came to say.” Scully’s grip seems to weaken in his hands.

“You mean *gone* gone? You won’t be making any more appearances?”

“Try to understand…that’s all I ask…”

“One last question,” he says desperately. “Why Scully?”

His mother smiles, and this time it is her face he sees, not Scully’s. “Someone I know — knew — once suggested that the best way to get your attention was through Miss Scully. I didn’t take his advice at the time, but I suppose events have proved otherwise, haven’t they?”

“Mom…”

To his horror, Scully crumples to the floor.

“Scully!” he exclaims, kneeling next to her. Carefully, he lifts her limp form and carries her to the couch. He’s been around her long enough to know how to check for vital signs. Her pulse is steady and she appears to be breathing normally. He races to the bathroom to get a damp washcloth, then yanks the comforter off his mother’s bed and folds it over Scully carefully. He sits by her side and holds her hand, watching over her.

He’s not sure how much time has passed when her eyelids flutter and she looks at him drowsily. “What the hell happened, Mulder,” she asks in her own voice.

“You don’t remember?” he asks incredulously.

To his very great surprise, she bursts into tears.

“I’m sorry, Mulder,” she chokes out. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says. “It was more than I expected. How are you feeling?”

“I feel really stupid right now. I can’t believe I fainted,” she says.

“Is that what you think happened?” he asks.

“Well, didn’t I?”

“Not until the end. Seriously, are you okay?”

“I think so. Do you mean you, you talked to her? To your mother?”

He nods. Scully raises her hand to his face, and traces the tears still on his cheeks. “It doesn’t look like she told you anything good.”

“She told me more than I expected. I just don’t know how much of it I can believe.”

“It’s a little late for you to become the skeptic in the partnership, don’t you think?” Scully asks with a watery smile.

“Well, if you’ve suddenly become the believer, someone has to naysay you.” He stands up and offers his hand to her. “Let’s not talk about it here. It’s cold, and there’s nothing for us to find here any more.”

x-x-x

Once they’re in a quiet corner of the cafe where they’d gone the night before, Mulder tells her what happened at the house.

“You don’t remember any of it, do you?” he says dejectedly.

“The last thing I remember is thinking that it wasn’t working,” Scully says. “The next thing I knew, I was on the couch and you were kneeling next to me, trying to get me to wake up.”

“Please don’t tell me that you don’t believe me,” Mulder pleads.

“I think it’s more important that *you* believe, Mulder,” Scully says. She looks at him for a long time. “*Do* you believe?”

“I know one thing for sure: you couldn’t have faked what I heard and saw, even if you wanted to,” he says.

“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence,” Scully says wryly. “But do you think it was real? That what she told you is the truth?”

“It could be,” he admits. “It fits some of the facts we know. It does give me another avenue to search.”

“Didn’t you tell me that she said you shouldn’t continue searching for Samantha?”

“And since when have I ever listened to my mother’s advice?” he says with a grim smile. “I could get into a whole big circle-jerk about whether she *really* wants me to look or not. I mean, why would she tell me Samantha’s still alive? Why does it matter to her whether or not I believe she exists in starlight?”

Scully looks at his bleak expression. “Maybe it would have been better if we hadn’t done this.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I think it’s better to know something than to know nothing.”

“So you’ve always said,” she smiles a little sadly. “What are you going to do?”

“I honestly don’t know, Scully.” He rubs his hand over his face. “I’m sorry I don’t have a better answer than that, and I’m sorry you had to go through it.”

“Don’t be sorry about that,” she says. “It’s not something you have to decide about tonight. If you believe, you’ve got something to go on. And if *you* believe, that’s good enough for me.”

He finally smiles at her. “Well, that’ll merit a special entry in my diary. ‘Dear diary: today Scully agreed with me.'”

“I’m not sure I’d go that far,” she teases. “Just that I don’t disagree.”

“Well, that’s worth something,” he says.

“What’s it worth, Mulder?” she asks, suddenly serious.

“What would you like? A bundt cake? A day off? A night on the town?”

“I’ll take whatever you’re offering,” she says.

He reaches for her hand over the table. “Sold,” he says.

~x~

Chapter Nine

~Georgetown, one week later~

Scully gives the pot one last stir and turns the burner down. She’s never tried this recipe before, but it smells good and with luck it will taste good, too.

She’s been trying all kinds of new things lately.

The ringing of the doorbell startles her. If it’s Mulder, he usually gives a quick knock and then lets himself in. A look through the peephole shows it is him, though, and she lets him in.

He’s balancing a bag and a bakery box in his hands. “As requested, wine, bread, and dessert,” he says.

Scully takes the box out of his hands, getting a kiss on the cheek in return.

“No peeking,” he says. “That’s for after dinner.”

“I don’t have to look at it to know what it is,” she says airily.

“You’re adding psychic to your considerable list of accomplishments now?” Mulder asks as he enters the kitchen behind her.

“No, I just happen to know what you like,” she replies.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” he promises with a wiggle of eyebrows, and she feels her stomach do a little clench that has nothing to do with hunger pangs. Not for food, anyway.

“Here, the wine is chilled and the bread’s still warm.” He sticks his nose in the bag and inhales the yeasty perfume. Scully smiles at his beatific expression.

They’ve had dinner together every night since he’s returned from Greenwich. That’s not so unusual, but Scully cooking is. She’d issued a specific invitation to Mulder, and spent the afternoon getting ready for the evening. Not all of her time was spent on cooking, however.

She wants to set this night apart from all others. Nothing has been said, but she has the feeling that this night together will end differently from any that has come before. It certainly will if she has a say in it.

Without having to ask, Mulder locates the corkscrew and opens the wine while Scully dishes up their dinner.

They clink glasses but any toast is left unspoken. The look they exchange says more than any words could express. They sip, and smile, and settle in to eating. They speak of ordinary things: Scully’s temporary re- assignment to Quantico — Skinner’s punishment for her recent transgression — and new cases that Mulder’s interested in.

Scully thinks in the past week they’ve started to find what normal means for them. She’s been giving it a lot of thought recently: what their version of normal is, and what it might look like in the future. She’s begun to realize that in their way they do have a normal life, and it’s something that she thinks she can be comfortable with. Mulder would scoff if she told him, but she thinks he feels it, too.

Mulder’s thoughts are running along the same lines. He’d called her every night from Greenwich, and the first thing he did when he got back to town was show up on her doorstep. Not with any specific intent, but with a desire to re-connect with Scully in a way he hadn’t for a long time. Over a week of shared meals and good-night kisses, he’s come to the same conclusion as she. They don’t need to go someplace else and pretend to be something they aren’t. He can be who he is around Scully, and she can do the same around him. If that isn’t normal, then there is no good working definition of it for them.

As they’re cleaning up after dinner, Mulder says, “I think the house may have sold today. I got a call from the real-estate agent as I was driving over.”

“That’s good,” Scully says. She’d stayed an extra day in Greenwich to help Mulder put the house back in order, and then Mulder made her go back home.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” she’d asked.

“I’d love you to stay, but you don’t have to,” he told her. “I think I’d better do the rest on my own. I can, now. You made that possible.” He’d kissed her on the cheek. “Call me when you get home. I’ll miss you.”

“Me, too,” she’d whispered, and then surprised him by kissing him long and hard before turning to her car and driving away.

That was probably the best incentive Mulder could have had for finishing up in Greenwich and returning home as quickly as possible.

“I’ve been thinking,” Mulder says now. “I might put the other houses up for sale, too. I’ve held onto them this long for so many reasons, but I don’t think those reasons exist any more.”

Scully wipes another dish and waits for him to continue.

“I was thinking I might start a trust fund with some of the proceeds,” he says. “Just in case…”

She nods, knowing what he’s trying to say. “I think it’s a good idea.”

“I’m glad. I wanted to know what you thought. You’ve never been to the house on the Vineyard. Maybe you’d like to go before we decide definitively.”

“Are you sure you want to?” she asks. Mulder may feel he’s made peace with his family and his past but visiting the scene of the crime, as it were, may not be the best idea.

“There are no more ghosts for me there, Scully. I think you should see what you’re giving up before you give me your final answer,” he says.

“What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “It’s a nice house, Scully. I don’t know if you’ve ever had a desire to live in a place like that, but we could, you know.”

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so. If you really want me to see it before you sell it, I’ll go with you. But I think your idea is the best one.”

And just like that, without actually saying the traditional words, they establish that they have a future together. Scully shakes her head again and laughs.

“What?” Mulder says.

“I think you just proposed to me,” she says.

Mulder grins. “I’ve been proposing to you for years, Scully. Are you ready to give me an answer?”

“There’s a difference between a proposal and a proposition,” Scully says, eyebrows raised. “And the answer is yes.”

“To which one?”

“Take your pick.”

“I’m greedy; I want both,” he says, advancing on her. Her hands are still in the dishwater and he grabs her around the waist, nuzzling her neck. “I propose we go neck on the couch for a while, and then see where that leads us,” he murmurs in her ear.

She turns her head to kiss him, her lips landing on his ear until he notices and turns so that their lips meet. She turns and grips his shoulders with her wet, soapy hands and leans into the kiss.

“Take me to bed,” she whispers in his ear. He looks at her in surprise. “We’re going to end up there anyway,” she says.

“You’re awfully sure of yourself,” he says.

“Are you going to disagree?” she asks, eyes twinkling.

“Well, uh, no…” he stammers.

“Quick, before I change my mind,” she says, and he looks so crestfallen she has to smile, just a little, before she rescues his ego. “I’m not changing my mind, Mulder, and you better not be either,” she threatens.

“I made up my mind about this a long, long time ago,” he says.

“Prove it,” is her challenge, and he scoops her up in his arms, kissing her as he staggers toward the bedroom.

Scully’s planning is evident here; the bed is already turned down. There is a low light burning on the dresser, just enough for them to see each other by. Mulder sets her down next to the bed and looks around appreciatively. He’s seen her bedroom before, many times, usually under much less pleasant circumstances. Now it looks the way he’s always seen it in his imagination: feminine without being frilly. Inviting without overstatement. Orderly without being rigid. Exactly like he’s always thought the private side of Scully would be.

“It appears that someone has been doing a little advance work,” he observes.

“It’s not anything out of the ordinary,” Scully says demurely, but she’s pleased that Mulder has noticed.

“You’re out of the ordinary,” he says, turning his attention back to her. He leans in to kiss her again, putting his arms around her and pulling her against him. He feels her hands on his back, stroking him slowly up and down, raising herself up on tiptoe to pull him closer.

“Let’s make this height thing a little more equal,” he suggests, pulling her down to the bed. He sits and places her on his lap.

This is much more like it. She likes having a Mulder-armchair, even one with arms that won’t stay in one place. His hands roam all over, sliding down over her ribs and then skimming up her back, somehow bringing her sweater with them. She trembles with anticipation as her body is bared to him. But she barely gives him a minute to gaze on her appreciatively before her hands claim equal opportunity and pull his shirt over his head.

How many times has she seen him naked? More than she has the ability to catalogue at this moment, and none of them matter now. Before, she could look, but not touch. Now she runs her hands over his chest, scratching lightly through his hair and rubbing her palms against his nipples. She hears his breathing change as she does so, gratified by his reaction to her. It’s not the only change she feels, straddling his crotch as she is now.

Mulder can barely contain himself but he lets Scully take the lead, entranced by her innate ability to find just the right touch to drive him wild. When he feels her mouth against his skin, it’s all he can do to stay still. A groan escapes him.

Scully looks up at him. “You like that?”

“Oh yeah,” he breathes. Then he remembers his manners and says, “Want me to show you how it feels?”

Scully’s eyes go dark and all she can do is nod.

With great gentleness, Mulder moves them around so that they are both lying on the bed. Scully is still wearing her bra, and though it’s very pretty, it’s impeding his progress. He reaches around to unclasp it even as he’s nuzzling between her breasts. He eases the straps down her arms and now she is truly revealed to him. He smoothes his hands down her sides and then brings them up to cup her breasts, brushing all his fingers over her nipples before lowering his mouth to one. Scully’s hands in his hair tell him all he needs to know about her feelings, and he applies himself to the task at hand, pulling first one and then the other into his mouth for a thorough discovery of the tastes and textures of his love.

Now there are no words necessary. Now they can put to the best use the skill they’ve honed over the years. Why speak when mouths can be used in much more tantalizing ways? Why not enjoy the touches, always yearned for? Now they can give in to the secret desires they’ve harbored for so long, without interruption, either ghostly or corporeal.

She helps him remove her trousers and undergarments. He returns the favor, letting her unbutton his jeans before shimmying his hips as she slides his jeans and boxers down and off. The shimmy makes her giggle and then earns him an appreciative look as his body is fully revealed to her.

They lie side by side, facing each other. His hand glides down over her hip, fanning across her abdomen and then lower, carefully parting, gently sliding. She gasps and trembles at his touch. He takes her hand in his and guides her to touch him, though he has to bite his lip and keep a tight rein on his own reaction when he feels her soft hand encircle him, caress and stroke him. He urges her closer, feeling the heat of her body radiate over his, so close to igniting him. She complies with his gentle touch and presses against him, allowing him to draw her leg over his hip as he makes his first physical foray into her depths.

She moves them both by rolling from her side to her back, grasping his shoulders and pulling him to loom over her as he slowly enters, her eyes locked with his. She wraps her legs around his, opening herself up and holding him close.

Somehow their minds have merged, that can be the only explanation for what he’s feeling. He has the sensation not only of entering her, but of being entered. Mind and body are in perfect synchronization, and he sees in her eyes that she is experiencing the same.

“Scully…” it’s the first word he’s spoken for some time, and it’s pulled from his very soul. He’s deep within her now, and not just physically. Her mind is open to him, all her fears, doubts, and love. He embraces them all as he embraces her body.

“I know,” she whispers into his mouth as he begins to move. “I know.” She’s overwhelmed by the sensations she’s feeling. Maybe later she’ll feel the need to analyze what’s happening, but she’ll resist it. This is too special. She closes her mind to anything but the present, and concentrates on Mulder.

He smiles into her eyes, placing glancing kisses wherever he can reach as he presses her into the mattress with his thrusts. Her lips are parted to receive his kisses and return them. He can feel her hands on his back, fingers tapping along his spine, then to palm his buttocks, which have suddenly become so sensitive to her touch. He feels himself tightening, concentrating himself as though he could pour himself entirely into Scully, become one with her. He feels capable of anything at this moment.

She pulls him into herself as far as she can with each thrust. As he withdraws, she feels herself drawn up too, following him, loath to let him get very far away. What’s happening between them is beyond a mere joining of flesh into flesh. She has no words to describe what she’s feeling. Every inch of her skin is sensitized.

All too soon she feels the beginnings of the end. She shuts her eyes against the onslaught, gripping Mulder’s shoulders tightly.

He feels Scully tighten all over and braces himself, hoping that her release will precede his own, though he’s been on the fine edge for the last couple of strokes. He covers her mouth with his own. Somehow he finds the wherewithal to get one hand between them, searching for that one touch that will abet her final ascent.

He encounters her own fingers doing the same, and together they find what they’re looking for. In a matter of moments, Scully is shuddering beneath him, and in that moment, he finds his own release.

~x~

Epilogue

~Raleigh, North Carolina~

It never seems right to be in a cemetery on a sunny day. The sharp coldness in the air helps make up for the blue sky, and the bare branches are not yet showing the promise of the coming spring.

All the other mourners have left; only Mulder and Scully still stand by his mother’s grave.

“Why did she want to be buried here, Mulder?” Scully asks.

“Her family is from around here,” he says. “Maybe she just wanted to be as far away from the Mulders as possible, even in death.”

“I can understand that about part of the clan, but that makes it hard on you, doesn’t it?”

“I’m not really the grave-visiting type,” he says. “I’ve never visited my father’s grave at all.” He puts his arm around Scully. “They’ve said their piece, and all told, I’d rather concentrate on the living.” He drops a kiss on her hair.

“So what do we do next, Mulder?” Scully asks as they leave the graveside. “Do we keep looking for Samantha?”

“I’m not sure,” he says, stopping and facing Scully. “Maybe what my mother told me is enough for now. Enough to know that she’s out there, somewhere, having a normal life. I hope she is. I want to believe she is. Maybe searching for her would only endanger her.”

“Are you sure?”

He pauses before answering. “No. I’ll never be sure. But I really meant it when I said I wanted it to be over. I think I finally know the truth, Scully. And maybe, for now, that’s enough.”

She smiles at him, and takes his hand. “Then it’s enough for me, too. For now,” she says.

“For now,” he agrees.

Arm in arm, they leave the cemetery.

***end***

Author’s notes:

This story has been haunting me for six years . It’s the first fanfic story I started to write. I began it not long after Closure first aired.

Then my computer crashed and I lost everything I’d written, including some things that fortunately have stayed lost. I still had the longhand notes for this one, though, and every couple of months or so, I’d come back to look at it and maybe add a sentence.

It’s been through many revisions over the years. Part One was more or less finished a while ago, but not being a WIP kind of writer, I couldn’t share it until I’d resolved the story in Part Two. So now, for good or ill, here it is. I hope you’ve enjoyed it. Either way, I’d be delighted to know what you think.

A further acknowledgment: This story would never have seen the light of day if not for Carol, who has been an enthusiastic beta and cheerleader for the past several years, and Tess and Char who read it at a couple of stages and gave me much encouragement (and a little nagging) to finish the story.

I’m also more grateful than I can say to Circe Invidiosa, who hosts my stories here: http://ml.invidiosa.com/

Thank you for continuing to read XF fanfic. It’s still a joy to write it, and to know that folks are reading it.

-ML