Title: Distance to Touch Upon Author: Trixie Email: scullymulder1121@hotmail.com Rating: PG-13 (cause Scully has a dirty mouth . . .) Classification: S, A, MSR Spoilers: Requiem Archive: *NO ARCHIVE* to Ephemeral, I'm submitting it myself -- anywhere else, knock yourself out. Summary: Have you ever listened to "Elsewhere" by Sarah McLachlan? This is NOT songfic, and that song appears nowhere in this fic, but I think listening to it provides a nice sort of summary. Plus, it's a cool song. Go on, you know you want to. I'll wait. It's on one of her older CD's. No, the other one -- Fumbling Toward Ecstasy. Right. There you go. Author's Notes: This is an improv fic! The three of us (Brandon Ray, Narida Law and myself) got together and each gave three different elements . . . this is the result . . . elements, and the evil doer who supplied said elements, can be found in Author's End Notes, located at the rear of the craft . . . thank you for flying Air Fallen Angel, the bumpiest ride in the sky . . . Disclaimer: (Instead of giving you a disclaimer to read, the author, realizing the futility in this practice, instead gives you a sampling of "Elsewhere" that she thinks illustrates a fanfic character's desire to break away from its "creator") Oh the quiet child awaits the day when she can break free / the mold that clings like desperation / Mother can't you see I've got / to live my life the way I feel is right for me / might not be right for you but it's right for me . . . ~(~(~(~(~(~ I love the time and in between / the calm inside me / in the space where I can breathe / I believe there is a / distance I have wandered / to touch upon the years of / reaching out and reaching in / holding out holding in / I believe / this is heaven to no one else but me / and I'll defend it long as I can be / left here to linger in silence -- excerpt from "Elsewhere" -- Sarah McLachlan ~(~(~(~(~(~ There was magic in the air when I finally saw him again, after so long. I should have felt it sooner, I should have known something amazing was about to happen, something I'd prayed for, longed for. After the unbelievable day I'd had, to expect this to top it off seemed like asking too much, being too greedy . . . Of course, this all seems incredibly out of place. You can't understand how I felt, the elation that overcame me without more of an explanation. Starting at the beginning would take much too long. Besides, you already know how it all began. But jumping right to the end's no good, because you'd be hopelessly lost. I suppose we'll have to start at the middle of the story. That's when things started getting juicy, anyway . . . ~ "No, Mom, I don't--" A pause. "Mom, I can't--" A longer pause. "It's not that I don't want--" An impatient sigh and an even longer pause. "Fine. No, Mom, I said fine, I'll work it out somehow. Love you too." An expression of displeasure stole across her features as she hit "end" on her cell phone. She faced her own reflection, disgusted at her mirror-self for giving in so easily. "Fuck me," she muttered in resignation. ~ Dana Scully had three things to do today. Buy a giant chocolate cake that had "Happy Birthday, Mulder" written in neon green icing across the top; obtain a copy of 'Plan 9 from Outer Space'; consume said cake while watching said movie. Both rented Blockbuster video and freshly-baked chocolate sat in the back seat of her car as she drove along the road that would lead her to the thing she dreaded more than mutants, Krycek, and Cancer Man combined. Her entire family waited, gathered together because both her brothers had gotten leave on the same weekend. Why did it have to be the weekend of Mulder's birthday? It wasn't that she didn't want to see them -- Scully missed her brothers, especially Charlie, whom she =never= saw. And it had been years since Charlie's wife, Brandi -- Sandy -- whatever her name was -- had deigned to come to a Scully family gathering. Scully was more than a little surprised she'd agreed to come now, of all times. 'Busy with the kids,' was the excuse Charlie had always given. Scully couldn't remember what excuse he'd used before they'd had children. The fact that Scully was unwed and pregnant only added to her anxiety over attending this little gathering. Compound the above with the father of said child being M.I.A. (assumed abducted by an Unidentified Flying Object, the official report read), and you got one curious group of Scullys, and one very uncomfortable Dana Katherine. She really shouldn't be worrying. Nothing that would take place this time around could possibly equal that horror that was the last gathering of the entire clan. As Scully pulled up outside her mother's home, her forehead sunk down to the steering wheel, a defeated sigh leaving her mouth. Maybe if she hid here for awhile, she'd get the nerve to go in there. Not that she was hiding. Dana Scully did =not=-- Bill's wife, Tara, toting a toddler on one hip, passed by Scully's car, cooing softly to her precious cargo. Scully ducked down as far as she could, thanking whoever was out there listening that her stomach wasn't yet extended enough to make maneuvering around the steering wheel problematic. --hide. It had been nearly six months since that fateful day she'd somehow ended up taking Mulder to meet her entire family. They'd been groping at each other like teenagers for a few weeks, leaving small personal items at one another's apartments like dogs marking territory. He'd already met the most unpleasant-if-you-didn't-grow-up-with-him member of her family, her loving brother, Bill. Mulder, she'd assured him then, I =want= you to meet my entire family. It's just that I don't want you to meet them all at once. He'd argued that most of them, he'd already met. What was the big deal about putting them together in a group? Aye, that was the rub all right, she thought now, a fond smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. He was always so sure when he thought he was right, so unwilling to accept there might be a flaw in his theory. This flaw, though, had been the mother of all flaws. With a sigh, Scully felt herself being pulled back into the memory of that day totally against her will. They'd been in this very car, and the entire drive, until the moment they pulled up to the small restaurant that promised gourmet food at gourmet prices, the proverbial point of no return, she'd tried to get him to change his mind. And the entire way there, he'd remained firm in his conviction that it would all turn out right in the end. "Scully, it'll be fine. We'll go in there, we'll have a few drinks, we'll eat some funky high-priced food that'll leave us hungry again in an hour, we'll make nice with your family, then we'll head back to my place, pick up some Chinese take-out, and hibernate in bed for the next twenty-four hours." "Or," she said, letting the word drag out, pasting a far-too-bright smile on her face, "we could skip everything before 'head back to my place' and just spend the next twenty-=eight= hours in bed." "Too late, Scully. Already found a prime parking spot." "Mulder, I'm offering you over a day of nothing but sex and rest, and you're choosing to go in there and spend time with not one, but =both= of my brothers, their wives, my mother, and three children under the age of ten?" For a moment, he held his lower lip prisoner between his teeth. Their gazes met and lingered, before a look crossed his face that she could only describe as astounded. "I think I am," he finally managed to answer. "You're crazy," she whispered, though her tone was ripe with affection. "And I love you more than you will ever know," she added, just in case he didn't get it. "Remember that when I shove a very expensive dessert in your brother's sour puss," he murmured, brushing a whispering kiss over her pouting mouth. Before she could respond, he had exited the vehicle, and was already bounding around to her door. Holding it open for her, he graced her with a comforting, sympathetic smile, the kind she let warm her despite her more pragmatic nature. "Ground rules," she muttered as they walked crisply toward the restaurant's front door. "No touching any body part covered by fabric. No mentioning the fact that we're cohabitating, even though you refuse to give up your apartment, and rarely =ever= leave mine except to make a trip for more clothes and whatever those things are you use on your eyelashes--" "A statement like that, for instance, would be in direct violation of the very rules we are discussing," she reminded him, smirking nonetheless. "Just because you're ashamed to tell your family that your common sense finally deserted you in regards to our relationship--" "You know I'm not ashamed of you." Her interruption was soft but adamant, and still, they didn't pause to look at each other, merely kept walking, eyes pointed straight ahead. "I was kidding, Scully," he assured her lightly. She didn't mention the note of insecurity she heard in his voice, and he was grateful. He hadn't meant for her to hear it in the first place. "If it gets really bad, we can always make a run for it with the old "we've got a case" excuse," she muttered as he held the door to the restaurant open for her. "Frohike's calling me in an hour and a half; I told him to have a dire emergency ready just in case." At her look, he grinned. "I'd hate for you to have to =lie= to your family." "I spy with my little eye someone who's about to get a bear hug!" Whatever response Scully had been about to make was cut off by a robust red-haired man that Mulder assumed was her brother, Charlie, lifting her off the ground with what was, true to his word, an enthusiastic bear hug. "Is it possible that you've grown since the last time I saw you?" Extricating herself from his hold, Scully took a moment to truly look at her brother. "No, =Dr.= Scully, I quit growing around age eighteen, if you remember." "It's been too long," she murmured, reaching out to take his hand. At the same time, her left hand drifted to Mulder's, and she squeezed. "Charlie, this is Fox Mulder. Mulder," and she beamed brightly between the two of them, sending up a silent prayer that this wouldn't be Bill all over again, "this is my brother Charlie." "Hey," Charlie said pleasantly, offering his hand, which Mulder shook warmly. "Nice to finally meet the man who ripped my big sister away from the bosom of the family. Ow." He rubbed his shoulder where Scully had hit him. "Smartass," she muttered. To his credit, Mulder didn't betray a hint of the anxiety he felt, outwardly. He looked between Scully and her brother and got the impression the relationship between them was slightly less tense than the current state of affairs that existed within the rest of her family. Perhaps that was just what happened when Scullys got separated from the herd. While she hadn't gone into excruciating detail, Scully had told him a few things about Charlie. Charles, to everyone but her, which was actually the most telling thing she could have imparted. It showed an unwillingness on the part of his family to accept him for who he was. That was a trait Mulder had also made note of when it came to his own beloved's position in her family. And he'd thought his family was odd -- the Scullys had not one, but =two= black sheep amongst their ranks. "You just get here, too?" Charlie was asking his sister. "Dana! Charles! You're both finally here." Once again, Scully was prevented from answering as Margaret Scully crossed the room to enfold her children in what could only be described as a motherly hug. "Hi, Mom," they chorused, causing a bittersweet smile to cross Mulder's face. Was this how he and Samantha would have been? Friends finally, as well as family, grudgingly accepting their mother's boundless affection as they were immersed in a familial maelstrom? "Fox," Maggie greeted him civilly, if not warmly. "Mrs. Scully," he responded, offering her a conciliatory smile. It was only by her grace he was permitted here, and he damn well knew it. The truly sad thing was, they liked each other, he and Mrs. Scully. As the weeks turned into months, and there had still been no sign of Scully, they'd become something stronger than friends -- support systems. If only so many crushing blows hadn't been dealt to her family following Scully's disappearance, perhaps things might be different. He shut off that train of thought violently. If onlys didn't have a place in his world. They had the power to drive him mad. Maggie looked at the man who was family to her daughter. Like had nothing to do with the tense state their relationship currently lived and breathed in. While she didn't want to, a part of Maggie shared her eldest son's views about Mulder. True, it wasn't really his =fault= all the things that had befallen her daughter occurred, but if Dana hadn't known him, they never would have happened. Abduction, cancer, Melissa's death . . . Oddly enough, it was remembering Melissa that alerted her to something that she hadn't seen in years: a strange light in Dana's eyes. Looking closer, Maggie confirmed her own suspicion. Dana was happy. And not just happy, like she had been years ago, before she'd heard of the X-Files, but . . . she searched her mind for an appropriate adjective. Jubilant? Settled? Peaceful? They all worked, but none of them quite fit. "Mom?" "Hm?" Found. That was it! Dana looked found. "I asked you if everyone was here yet." "Yes, dear, everyone's here. We already ordered drinks." The four of them made their way across the restaurant. Two tables had been pushed together to accommodate their large party. The first thing Scully noticed was that Andi -- or was it Mandi? -- wasn't present, although both of Charlie's kids were there. She cast a puzzled glance his way, and he studiously avoided her gaze. The second thing she noticed was Bill. His jaw had tightened like a debutante's spine at an orgy. His hands made fists on the table, and if looks could kill, Mulder would have been in need of some serious CPR. "What the hell is he doing here? You =are= staying, aren't you, Dana? Or is this just a pit stop on the way to some ghost-busting expedition?" Nice one, bro, she thought sarcastically. You manage to question Mulder's right to be here, =and= get in a dig about me being late that =one= lousy Christmas. Never should have told you the truth about where I was, you little shit. She exchanged glances with Mulder, and in a characteristic display of silent communication, he hit the "power off" button on his cell phone. There would be no Frohike to save them from this. That would just give Bill ammunition for the rest of their natural lives, and while she wasn't ready for the inevitable confrontation that would result when the day came that she and Mulder announced they were . . . =together=, she couldn't delude herself into believing that day would never come. She and Mulder were in it together for the long haul, and sooner or later, her family would have to be made aware of that. "It's good to see you, too, big brother. I missed you," she said, instead of the dozens of other things begging to be let out. She pressed a kiss to his cheek, then moved around the table to sit next to Charlie. Mulder sat at her side, and Maggie took her seat at the head of the table. "I'd just like to comment on how wonderful it is to have the entire family together again. It's been far too long." Maggie raised a glass of red wine in a toast. "Here, here, Mom," Charlie agreed, raising his own glass. "Too bad it isn't =just= the family," Bill muttered, glaring at Mulder. Scully knocked back her glass in one swallow, reached out for a waiter's arm, and calmly ordered a three-olive martini. Mulder held back a wince. There were only three separate occasions on which he could recall getting drunk with his partner. Each and every one of them had resulted in a nightmarish disaster of epic proportions. Some people, when they'd had too much to drink, lost their inhibitions. Some were prone to fits of belligerence, or even violence. Alcohol offered still others a euphoria they were unable to get from their normal lives. There were messy drunks, happy drunks, angry drunks, even funny drunks. Dana Scully was an honest drunk. Vodka martinis were like truth serum to her system. As the meal wore on, he watched her pick at her food, her appetizer ignored in favor of cleaning olive after olive off the small plastic sword placed in her glass. When the main course came and she was on her sixth drink, he almost opened his mouth to tell her to slow down. Luckily, his common sense returned before he got himself into trouble. Rule #247 of living with Dana Scully -- =never= tell her what might be best for her. Meanwhile, on the other side of the table, Bill Scully watched his baby sister choke down drink after drink, and his ire grew with each swallow. Had that little shit turned her into an alcoholic now, too? And what was he even =doing here in the first place? This was a time for family, not crackpot idiots who'd ruined everything good in life. He was worried about Dana. Bill was the first to admit he didn't always express that concern in the most healthy, or productive of ways, but damn it, why couldn't she see what was so clear to him? Fox Mulder had brought her -- and her entire family -- nothing but misery. "So, Mulder, what brings you out here with Dana?" There, that sounded civil. Nothing Tara would yell at him for later, nothing that "embarrassed" her. Mulder and Dana exchanged looks Bill wasn't entirely comfortable with. If he had to place a name to the emotion on Mulder's face, it would be panic. It's a simple question, dipshit, he thought irritably. "We had an early morning interview. Scully invited me along, and I never turn down a free meal." Dana winced, and Mulder shrugged helplessly. Bill's eyes narrowed, but he remained quiet, for once, Charlie noted with an internal grin. Bill hated Mulder, Dana was annoyed with Bill for hating Mulder, Mulder obviously bore no love for Bill, and Tara was annoyed with her husband for being such an idiot. Contrarily, she was also annoyed at Mulder and Dana for making her annoyed with her husband in the first place. . . He had to stop himself from giggling. The kids and their grandmother were the only people in the room who didn't seem the least bit uncomfortable. He knew that the indifference to the tension swirling about the room was somewhat feigned on his mother's part. In lieu of worrying about his mother, Charlie Scully decided to extract some revenge on his elder siblings for their years of endless torturing. You're too little to go, Charles, you wouldn't understand, Charlie, maybe when you get the braces off, touch it and die, buttmunch, Mom, he's doing it again . . . Ah, memories. "So, Bill, it's been awhile since we've been in the same time zone -- how's life treating you?" "Good. I've got my next assignment, doing time down near the Gulf." Bill clammed up, and Charlie mentally cackled. He also silently thanked Tara for her well-meaning phone call a few days ago. It appeared there were secrets from his life before her good 'ole Billy had never bothered to tell his wife about. "It's always good to be out on the high sea again." Charlie paused, and waited for the right moment. "Have you heard who your CO's going to be yet?" That muscle in Bill's jaw jumped again. "The Admiral's an old friend of Dad's, actually. Donaldson." "Admiral Donald Duck," Dana mumbled happily under her breath, though Charlie and Mulder were the only ones to hear her. "Scully, do you think maybe you've had enough to drink?" Mulder gently asked, temporarily shelving rule #247 in favor of adhering to rule #192 -- never, =ever= let Dana Scully embarrass herself in a public place. "I'm fine, Mulder," she insisted, though it came out sounding more like "I'n fime, Muller." "Donaldson, huh," Charlie was musing under his breath. "Is that the same Donaldson that used to take great joy in catching Melissa with her boyfriends? Didn't you spend a lot of time over at his place, doing odd jobs that one summer?" Bill's eyes narrowed at his youngest sibling. The place Charlie was taking them to was =not= a place Bill wanted to visit today, =especially= not with fucking Fox Mulder three feet away. "Yeah." His answer was clipped, and told his younger brother to shut the hell up if he knew what was good for him. "I remember him," Maggie said. "Parker Donaldson. His wife's name was Deirdre, wasn't it?" "Deirdre Duck," Scully called out happily. A frown pulled at her face when everyone looked at her like she'd sprouted a second head, which in turn made her feel self-conscious and defensive. "What?" "Scully, why don't you try some of the pasta you ordered," Mulder gently coaxed. Why was he coaxing her? Ohhhh, he thought she was drunk, and out of control, and he was trying to sober her up. He didn't understand that the last thing she needed right now was sobriety. She'd been working up to this for nearly an hour, and wasn't about to punch through the lovely haze surrounding her conscious mind. "Deirdre Duck," Charlie repeated, nodding. "That's what we called her. Remember, Bill, when you and I got in that huge fight--" "No, I don't remember," Bill interrupted, looking irritated. His face was getting kind of red, Scully noticed, the same way it did when he was little and she and Missy would make him take them to the movies with his friends. "Sure you do," Charlie insisted. "I called her Deirdre Duck, and you told me I should show more respect for a fine woman like--" "Is that what that was all about?" Maggie asked, interrupting. "I'd never seen the two of you fight like you did that day." "It wasn't really that bad," Bill mumbled. "Yes, it was," Scully said solemnly. "'Cause Ahab had to take you both to the hospital, and you got stitches. Stitches. That's a hard word to say, isn't it, Mulder?" "Yep," Mulder agreed as Scully's head lolled drunkenly on his shoulder. "And you've got enough vodka in your system to qualify you for Russian citizenship." "That's 'cause I've got a plan," she whispered to him, and her breath nearly knocked him out. "What plan?" Bill asked, and to Mulder's eyes, looked a little green around the gills. "Well, I'm gonna get really, really drunk, so that I don't care what you think, and then I'm gonna tell you that Mulder and I are fucking each other." Her nose wrinkled up in the most adorable manner, and only the presence of both her brothers and her mother kept Mulder from kissing the tip of it. "Whoops, guess it worked!" she crowed triumphantly. "WHAT?!" "Dana, did you just say--" "Fucking!" "Sweetie, don't say that word." "What's fucking, Daddy?" "I'll tell you when you're twenty." "You go, girl. Does this mean all those times you said you had a case, you've been boffing--" "Charles!" "Way to break those rules, Scully." Momentarily tuning out the cacophony of shocked voices, Scully blearily turned to Mulder. His face reflected his surprise, and, if Scully read him correctly (and she usually did, even three sheets to the wind), his pleasure at her disclosure. Scully slammed her hand, palm down, on the table. "Hey! I didn't tell you so you'd yell and be more upset, I told you so you'd stop worrying about me so much, so just be quiet, and be happy for me, or else . . . just or else!" "I'm getting a divorce," Charlie announced, smiling the first genuine smile he'd felt in ages. Telling the kids had been hard; this was a piece of cake. "I'm pregnant," Tara added, deciding that if this was the time for life-altering confessions, she'd jump in too. With Bill shipping off, she hadn't been sure how to break the news. "Great," Bill muttered. "Just fucking great." He threw his hands up in the air, and leapt from his seat so fast his chair toppled over behind him. "I lost my virginity to my future CO's wife. Happy?" And although the words were directed at Charlie, Bill glared at Mulder. Somehow, this was all his fault . . . As Bill stalked away from the table, Scully could be heard mumbling happily "Mulder fucking, fucking Mulder, fucking the fuckable Fox Mulder . . ." >From her car, a six-and-a-half months pregnant Dana Scully lifted her eyes toward her mother's house once again. Look on the bright side, she instructed herself as she picked up not only Mulder's cake, but the movie as well. This couldn't possibly be more draining than the last time. ~ Meanwhile, a couple hundred miles away, and a few hours before, an event had been set in motion, one that would contradict that very thought . . . ~ One thing that prison in Tunguska had taught him was how to bide his time. Usually, when you were thrown into tiny, filthy little cell, you didn't have much in the way of entertainment. They fed you once a day, if you were lucky, and left you alone most of the time, if you were truly fortunate. The trick was to keep breathing, to keep yourself from succumbing to the madness that loomed just beyond. So in the spirit of sanity, Mulder built himself a world of fantasy. Living in it might not have been the most rational thing to do, but it kept him from falling into the fantasies he wouldn't be able to distinguish from reality. Instead of imagining a rescue that might never come, he pictured himself home again, safely ensconced in the warmth of Scully's bed. He worked out cases they'd never had the chance to take on, spent tax dollars they'd never had the chance to waste. The world he constructed in his mind bore little resemblance to the so-called perfect life he'd experienced while undergoing the minor brain surgery cooked up by good 'ole C.G.B. Spender. Nor would the place in his mind where he vacationed look like heaven to anyone who wasn't him, with the possible exception of Scully. Each morning, they awoke in a different bed. But they were always together, he and his partner, and they were never clothed in the early a.m. For a solid hour, they woke up to each other and the world with soft touches and lingering kisses. Most of the time, they made love. Sometimes, the touching was all either needed. This ritual was always followed with a shower. He washed her hair, her body, and gladly submitted to her will as she returned the favor. As they went through the homes or motels that routinely changed, there would be different things he'd see. Sometimes Samantha sat at their kitchen table, sipping coffee. Sometimes a beautiful baby boy with red hair and Scully's eyes bounded into his arms, demanding to have the secrets of the world explained to him. Once, both their mothers were bent over the kitchen sink, washing dishes and gossiping as only two old ladies could. They went to work together, and did the things they were used to. The Gunmen phoned with unsubstantiated claims of governments gone wrong, and Skinner called them to his office and looked at them with stern disapproval that somehow masked a deeper affection. There were long lunches spent sitting in the grass outside the Hoover building with what they both referred to as "cart food." Hot dogs, a salad of questionable origin, and two cans of soda between them, they talked of everything and nothing, insubstantial conversations he could never quite remember details of later. It was the =feel= of these long talks that made them so special. His world had no need for air travel, so when he had a case in mind that took them out of the state, they simply arrived there. Somewhere in his recollection, though, he knew that one of them had called Scully's mother and asked her to take care of that red-haired boy. The plots of dozens of pulp fiction novels and past cases remembered and embellished upon furnished this part of his imagining. The darker parts of their lives had never scared him. It was just a part of who they were, an important piece to the puzzle that made them, =them=. Once the Big Bad of the week was taken care of, they would mystically be home again. Maggie, or Samantha, or Charlie, or even Bill, would be there, guarding over children that were and weren't Mulder and Scully's. He always found himself in a room, pressing a kiss to the forehead of a dark-haired little girl whose eyes he never saw in sleep, but somehow knew they were his own. And then he was in bed with Scully again. Their clothes were nowhere to be found, and their flesh seemed to mold and melt on contact. They always flowed into one another, his sense memory always taking over for his conscious brain at these times. Pleasure, pain, completion, comfort, intensity, all came to a head in these times. Always, he fell asleep with his head pressed against her breast, her heartbeat echoing in his ear. Sometimes, he even heard two hearts beating beneath her skin. The worst moments were when he woke up and found himself alone on this pathetic excuse for a bed. It reminded him of all that had come before, of the forest in Oregon, of the people missing from Bellefleur, of the bright white light, then . . . nothing. Until he woke up here. The not remembering was worse than anything, and he felt another layer of understanding Scully effortlessly slide into his being. But through it all, he never dreamed of his rescue. While he knew Scully wouldn't rest until she'd found him, he couldn't fathom that she'd ever be able to. Skinner would have told her what he had seen, and Mulder had a pretty good idea of what that was. He couldn't remember, but he wasn't stupid. Out amongst the stars as he surely must be, no mere mortal -- no matter how extraordinary he knew Scully to be -- stood a chance in hell of finding him here. Which was why Mulder was all the more surprised when the door to his cell shook violently before falling open in a cloud of smoke. "Get up, we've got five minutes before all the devils in hell fall down on our asses." "Krycek?!" Mulder spat, rolling off his cot in shock. "Nice to see you, too. I wasn't being melodramatic before. That is, unless you'd rather stay here. I'll give Scully your best." Praying he wasn't leaping out of the frying pan and into the fire, Mulder followed Krycek who placed a SIG Sauer into the palm of his hand without comment. "Planning on a showdown?" he asked nervously, feeling the cool metal in his hand again after so long. He hated to admit it, but it felt good. "Better safe than sorry." They began walking at a brisk pace down a long hallway. They started taking a complicated set of twists and turns Krycek seemed to know by heart. "The old man is dead. Whatever new Consortium he'd hoped to build is now in my control. And, as much as I hate to admit it, Mulder, we need your help." A decidedly undignified snort escaped Mulder's lungs. "Let me get this straight. You're breaking me out of jail so I can help you take over the world?" "We're not taking over the world," Krycek snapped. God, Mulder had always been so single-minded when it came to this. He knew this was a mistake, he'd =told= Marita it was a mistake, but she was convinced Mulder would be invaluable to the project. As much as he hated to admit it, she was usually right. "Whatever you want to call it, count me out." A door to their left burst open and two men, who were very surprised to see them, reached for the guns at their sides. Those of them smart enough to already have their guns drawn neutralized them in seconds, turned away from their bodies, and continued on their escape. "Did it ever occur to you there might be a different way to save the world than this relentless need you have to know the truth? What good will your precious truth do when cities are ashes at your feet?!" "Why are you and all the others like you so convinced that the truth will hurt us?! Is it so impossible to believe that the world might be able to handle the impending threat of alien invasion? Imagine if all the governments, all the people of the world found a way to band together. We might actually have a shot at beating this thing before it begins." "It's already begun," Krycek muttered, forcing the miniscule spark of hope buried deep down inside him to ignore Mulder's words. That kind of idealism had killed far greater men than he. "It began before your ancestors were born." "That was informatively cryptic," Mulder snapped. This was getting them nowhere. He hated Krycek for crimes he couldn't begin to name, but whatever his reasons, he was trying to get him out of this hell. For that, he owed him something. If it got him back to Scully, he owed him everything. "Have you ever thought of trying to do this a different way?" "What, you mean give up this glamorous life for the drudgery of FBI livin'?" Krycek shrugged his prosthetic shoulder. "Something tells me I wouldn't quite pass the physical they put new recruits through. Not to mention that pesky psych screening." "Did I say anything about the Bureau?" Mulder countered. "I'm merely suggesting that you might try working with us, instead of against us for once." "You suggesting a truce, Mulder? That we be," and he couldn't keep the sarcastic bark of laughter at bay, "friends?" "I wouldn't go that far," Mulder agreed, a bit disgusted at the idea. "But maybe . . . maybe we could be allies. Maybe we could help each other." "Right. And you can come to the birthday party Marita's throwing for me." Krycek grinned nastily. "You can even bring Scully with you, provided you each bring a present." "Fuck off, Krycek. I don't know what I could have been thinking," Mulder muttered, turning away from the other man. In ten years time, he =still= wouldn't know what made him turn left instead of right. Even Krycek's rather loud "Wrong way, idiot" didn't stop him from heading down a long corridor that didn't appear to have doors of any kind. Just as he was about to turn around, he saw a flash of something in the darkness, and he could have sworn someone whispered "Fox," though he didn't recognize the voice, it was so softly spoken. Blue/white light scorched his retinas and he forced his eyes closed. When they opened again, there was nothing but the same dark that had been there before. He moved toward it, and was almost surprised to find a door. Mulder nearly jumped out of his skin when Krycek came up beside him again. "Mulder--" "What did you use to blow my door?" "C4, why?" "Do you have anymore?" "Yeah--" "Open this door." "What? Man, we don't have time for this." Mulder turned toward Krycek, a glint of determination in his eyes, and, if Krycek wasn't mistaken, a big threat. "Make time." Muttering about stupidity in Russian the entire time, Krycek quickly rigged the door and pushed Mulder back. It blew, and both men stumbled through the wreckage. Krycek saw her first and nearly stopped breathing. Mulder saw her a second later, and she was in his arms as soon as they made eye contact. Samantha Ann Mulder clutched the back of her brother's gray t-shirt, the same material and style as her own. Tears she hadn't let herself cry in over a decade fell freely down her cheeks as she breathed him in. It was him this time, it was really him, it wasn't a dream, or a delusion, or some sick joke. After today, after the tests that they hadn't bothered to do in years were inflicted on her again . . . too good to be true, too good to be true, too good to be true . . . "How the hell did you know she was here?" Krycek asked, looking at Mulder with a combination of fear and awe. Helplessly, Mulder held his sister to him, his eyes never leaving the side of her neck where his face was buried. "I don't know. I just . . . I just felt her, I just knew." Nodding, Krycek made the kind of decision he'd been making for years, the kind that had kept him alive, and, with a little luck, would keep him alive for a long time to come. "Maybe we could talk about that truce you were mentioning . . ." ~ "And that was the moment I'd been waiting so very long for." "Aunt Sam, tell us about when Daddy came home to Mommy." The little boy was the spitting image of his father, quite a contrast to his baby sister. "No, Mommy, tell us about when you met Dad." "Stupid. Sam met Dad the same time Uncle Fox came back to Aunt Dana." "Hey, hey, nobody's stupid," Samantha Scully soothed her stepson and daughter at once. "And the story you all want to hear so badly will be saved for tomorrow night, because right now it is =way= past bedtime for children of =all ages," she said, pointedly referring to Charlie's two eldest. Both of them put up the hissy-fit of all time when it was even hinted at that they should be forced to do anything the younger kids were. "Hey, babe, you ready?" Charlie stuck his head in the room, making goofy faces at the kids who were all tucked into Sam and Charlie's big king sized bed. How five kids fit in that thing was anybody's guess, but when their parents were absent, they insisted on sleeping together. "Want Mommy and Daddy." Samantha smiled at Fox and Dana's little girl. "And they want you, little one. You know Mommy and Daddy are very important people. They'll be back tomorrow night, same as Uncle Charlie and I, and when everyone's together again, we'll go out to dinner and have ice cream." "Dana will just love you for that," Charlie muttered under his breath. "And until then," Samantha continued, pretending he hadn't spoken, "Grandma will be here to take care of you." They all pouted, but remained silent. Charlie moved around to the opposite side of the bed, and between the two of them, they managed to press a kiss to each child's head. The lights were turned out, and they headed down the hall to say goodbye to Maggie. A few beats of silence passed before the first child spoke up. "Grandma?" "Right here, little one." Five pairs of eyes looked up at the ghostly image they knew to be their other grandmother, the one they =weren't= allowed to tell people about. "Grandma, will you tell us about how Daddy came home to Mommy?" asked one little voice. "And about how Mom met Dad," another chimed in. Teena smiled at them, gleeful she was able to know them, that they were able to know her. She hadn't been there for her own children in life, when they'd needed her. It was a measure of comfort to be there for them in death, to be there for her children's children. "I remember as though it were yesterday . . ." Her mother's house was immaculate, obviously having been meticulously cleaned in preparation for the children that were soon to fill it once more. I watched as they came, first her eldest son, his wife and child in tow, then her youngest, his soon-to-be-ex-wife and their brood preceding him through the door. It was almost as if he wished himself anywhere but here at that moment. His soon-to-be-ex struck me as especially sad, and very put-upon to be attending this little get together, and in a flash of clarity I knew she was there because her children had begged her to come. Dana was the last to arrive, and her sadness made my own soul ache. Possessively clutched to her were a freshly-baked cake in a box and a videotape. Both these things she took with her into the den after accepting a genuinely affection hug from Charles, and a grudging one from Bill. He hadn't completely gotten over the fact that she was sleeping with his enemy, let alone carrying the man's child. Closing herself off from her family was the only coping mechanism she had, and one I couldn't blame her for, given their treatment of my son, her lover. With luck, I knew she wouldn't be sad much longer. True to that sentiment, she had barely gotten ten minutes into her movie when there was a pounding at her mother's front door. The man whose lover's ear I'd whispered into while she had slept had learned Dana's location today and delivered my children to this doorstep before speeding off into the night. As she opened the door, Maggie's "oh my God" echoed through the house. Everyone came to see as Fox, a comforting arm slung over his sister's shoulders, entered the house, his gaze scanning the room for Dana. Not yet hypnotized by the movie, she heard the commotion and entered the living room. I'd never seen shock and joy fight more valiantly for control over one woman's features before. Her mouth silently formed the word "how?" but it became clear she didn't really care because a second later, she was in his arms, and I doubt anyone watching could tell you which one of them moved. Not since the night he came to me to apologize for missing his father's funeral had I seen my son cry. Great, joyful tears coursed down his cheeks and I believe that holding this woman in his arms was the only force capable of getting him to let go of his grip on Samantha. As Dana cried out the months of anguish into my son's shoulder, my daughter looked around the room, lost and unsure of her place here. I would have loved her husband all his life if the simple kindness he performed then had been the only he ever did. He took in her appearance, and her obvious relation to Fox, and held out a plate filled with crackers and cheese. "Are you hungry?" he asked, giving her a warm, welcoming smile. Bashful, an emotion I'd never seen my baby girl exhibit, she accepted his offer and let him lead her to the corner of the room, away from curious eyes that were much happier settling themselves on the reunion before them, anyway. It took him a minute, but Fox finally noticed the distinct changes to Dana's body. He whispered "Scully," against her cheek as he slowly sunk to his knees and placed his hands against her belly. Again, her tears flowed, but the smile on her face belied them. Her hand ran through his hair, and I saw her clutch a great fistful of it, as though sheer strength would keep him there with her. "Oh, God, Scully, I'm so sorry," he whispered against her stomach. "Please forgive me for leaving, I shouldn't have gone, not without you, not even to protect you. And you're . . . I didn't know you were . . . how are you . . .?" And the character I always knew she possessed was confirmed to me in that moment as she cupped his cheeks in her hands and pulled him to his feet. She pressed her lips to his in the sweetest, purest kiss there's ever been, and if I'm not mistaken, it was the first time she'd done so when there were witnesses around. All the while, she began whispering against him that he had nothing to be sorry for, and there was nothing to be sorry for anymore, and that everything was perfect. And for awhile, for a long while, everything was. ~(~(~(~(~(~ I believe that if I should die, and you were to walk near my grave, from the very depths of the earth I would hear your footsteps. -- Benito Perez Galdos ~(~(~(~(~(~ END Thanks: To the coolest fellow Fallen Angels in the world, Narida and Brandon. You give great beta, and better friendship. Brandon, this fic truly wouldn't exist without you and Narida . . . well, what can I say, Nare? Your kung fu is the best. End Notes: Wow, you made it. Yay you. Okay, an explanation . . . well, it's all Brandon's fault, but I recommend you take a look at Narida's end notes ("Absence of Memory," by Narida Law, I command that you read it NOW -- you're missing out on something great if you don't) I think she better explains things than I ever could. Sufficed to say, the trick was to write a =serious= fic using these elements, without resorting to the old "it was a dream" or "outrageous fantasy" guise. Here is a listing of my improv elements: Narida's elements (and I can't tell you how much I LOVE her for the 3rd one . . .and yes, that was my sarcastic voice.) 1) Mulder is forced to beg Scully --literally on his knees -- for her forgiveness for something, and this scene must occur in front of five spectators, one of whom is his mother. 2) Scully gets drunk and gives away the fact that she and Mulder are sleeping together -- in front of her whole family and Mulder. Bill Scully may or may not immediately try to kick Mulder's ass. 3) Krycek invites Mulder to his birthday party, and says he can bring Scully as long as they each bring a present. Brandon's elements (And really, I love him as much as Narida for that Charlie/Samantha thing . . .) 1. Charles Scully and Samantha Mulder in a loving, sexual relationship (need not be NC-17). 2. Since this seems to be developing into a Scully family story, let's add: Bill jr being forced to admit to Mulder about some embarrassing incident in Bill's past. 3. Magic. Not stage magic ... real magic. As in, something supernatural ACTUALLY HAPPENS in the course of the story. If you've made it this far . . . feedback would be lovely. Come on, it's just a quick point, click, type, click. . . I told you to listen to that cool Sarah McLachlan song . . . please? I once tried to commit suicide by jumping off a building . . . I changed my mind at the last minute, so I just flipped over, did a double back flip and landed on my feet. Two little kitties nearby saw what happened, and one turned to the other and said, "See, that's how you do that." -- Steven Wright All the cool cats check out my fanfic . . . won't you? http://www.crosswinds.net/~trixie1013/xfficmain.html