I am not the original author of this story! I am archiving this to share it with readers here, but I would like to point out up front that this is not my original work. I have attempted to contact the author for permission to post this here using the email provided along with the original text at keyofx_dot_org, but the account seems to be inactive. So, dlynn, if you're out there and you happen to see this, no infringement is intended.
All Things Bright and Beautiful
CHAPTER ONE:
"Dad?"
His office was quiet, serene. It was such a peaceful place. It had large bookcases full of textbooks, literature classics, and the stray paperback, pop culture fiction. The wooden bookshelves were made of dark, sleek, and richly textured mahogany just like his desk.
It was its enormous bulk that he sat behind, pecking at the computer keyboard. You'd think after all these years he'd be a better typist, but, frankly, he so very rarely had to do it. That's what dictation and secretaries were for in his busy world.
But, this was personal - so very personal, and something he could not entrust with a subordinate or even his daughter. As he thumbed through the reference book, looking once more for text that said what he wanted, he smiled. Today was a good day. A great day as he'd finally decided to move forward, to quit living in the past, to seek out all that he wanted - all the good things life had to offer.
"Daaad?" The voice came nearer, finally permeating his thoughts and making him realize he'd have to respond or she'd be up the stairs in a heartbeat, worried that he'd relapsed. It didn't matter that he was healthier than he'd been in months. His body was stronger, and his mind sharper as he had exercised and trained in these few months with a fervor that surprised his colleagues. He, after all, wasn't noted for fanaticism when it came to his health. Obsessive behavior with other things, perhaps, but to be all consumed with rehabilitation was uncharacteristic for him. His peers and friends were thrilled.
Perhaps, finally, he was moving forward in his life.
Running his grammar check through the document he'd typed, he smiled. It wanted to correct an historical literary icon, to tell him this poetry didn't fit the standards of proper, refined English. What did it know? It was just a machine, a machine without soul or heart, without the capability to understand the significance of these words, and their place in his life.
Pushing the save button, he printed out his poem. As he heard the soft swoosh of the paper sliding through the printer, he slid a pink envelope out from under his desk blotter, and removed the pretty floral card from its sheath.
It really was a lovely card.
"Daaad, are you up there?" came his daughter's concerned voice, floating up the stairs to his sanctuary.
"Sweetheart, I'll be down in a minute. Just checking on one of the medical sites. I need to review something for one of my patients," he answered, hoping that would be sufficient to keep her downstairs.
As he pulled the paper from his printer, and began cutting around the edges of the words, he heard her voice come closer. He could hear her footsteps as they sounded on the stairs. "We're gonna be late, dad. I told Mark we'd meet him for brunch at 11:00a.m. It's almost 10:30a.m. And you know what traffic is like in that part of town."
"Look...uh...I need my day planner, sweetheart. I think I left it downstairs by the telephone. Would you mind looking for it for me? I really need to take it with me, and I'm almost done here. Go take a look, dear. We'll get out the door more quickly, I promise."
His daughter paused on the staircase landing. "Fine, but you've got five minutes up there, or I'm going without you. And you're the one who wanted this meeting in the first place."
"No problem, I'll be down in three," he said as he glued the poetry quotation inside the card. Sitting back, he admired his handiwork. Not too bad for someone creatively inept, he thought. He debated for a moment if he should sign it, but no...there wasn't any need. Of course, she'd realize who sent it. They'd always been so alike in thinking. So perfect together in every way.
It really was a lovely card - and the sentiments, so heartfelt.
Sealing the previously addressed envelope, he grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair, stuck the pink paper in his inner pocket, and headed out his door. As he flicked the light switch, he paused. A smile crossed his face, and he headed back inside the room to the front of his desk. Opening the top drawer, he slid his fingers along the interior until he felt the special, hidden latch. Pushing it aside, he pulled the drawer farther out than it first appeared it would go.
Inside was a secret compartment where several glossy pictures were scattered throughout. Rifling through them, he grabbed one of the photos. Turning it over, he chuckled, reveling once more in its exquisite familiarity. The photo had been taken almost 11 years ago. It was him, and a beautiful, vivacious woman. They were smiling at each other as he pushed wayward strands of auburn hair away from her face. He remembered it had been such a windy day, and her long hair would just not stay in place.
But, it had been a day worth commemorating, so he'd had a waiter at the outdoor cafe snap this picture, immortalizing the moment in brilliant Technicolor. Yet, even as glorious as the captured moment, it truly couldn't do justice to his memory. That was etched permanently on his heart. After all, this had been the morning after they'd first made love.
Life had been perfect - perfectly exquisite.
"Daaad! I'm leaving without you. This is ridiculous; I'm not going to keep Mark waiting."
Sighing, he pushed the remaining pictures down inside the drawer, and began to close it. However, one of the photos got caught, and he had to pull it free. Bringing the snapshot up to his face, he puzzled at its composition.
When had this one been taken? He really couldn't place it.
Obviously, it wasn't as important a moment as the other picture. But then, not every second held the same sublime ecstasy as that one perfect day.
Puzzled he looked once more, trying to figure it out.
There was the same long, red hair, but this time it was matted with blood, and the eyes were lifeless, devoid of the sparkle and vigor so very visible in the other picture.
Ah...but then, this wasn't the same woman, was it? No...That's right. This was only a poor substitute, one who quickly failed in his estimations. That's right...he remembered, she was just one of several that had failed over the last ten years, never living up to his high standards.
She just wasn't the one.
He smiled once more as he slammed the drawer shut. Placing the picture inside his coat pocket with the envelope, he exited his office. Securely locking the door behind him, he shouted down the stairs, "Maggie, hold on...I'm right behind you, dear."
Maggie Waterston stood at the foot of the stairs, her toe tapping out an impatient beat. "I don't know why you feel the need to do this anyway, Dad. This is crazy, I feel like some 16-year-old and you want me to bring my boyfriend home for inspection."
Bending down to drop a gentle kiss against her cheek, Daniel skirted around his frustrated daughter and grabbed his car keys off the foyer table. "Just consider it a father's prerogative, Maggie. I only want to meet the man who's stolen my daughter's heart."
As she grabbed her own jacked off the banister where she'd thrown it, Maggie replied, "I don't understand the sudden interest in my life. You've never felt the urge before to keep tabs on me."
"Low blow, Maggie. You know I'm trying to change, to take more responsibility for my family, for my actions," Daniel muttered, opening the door to the garage.
"Fine, Dad, just understand I'm a grown woman, and I don't need your blessings."
"Message received, loud and clear, Maggie. We're just having a friendly bite to eat."
Placing his hand inside his jacket he felt the comforting feel of the glossy photo and the smooth envelope. It was time he took charge of a lot of things in his life. Things he'd let slide, that he'd ignored the last several years. He'd start with this letter.
There was a mailbox just outside the restaurant. It would be a perfect place from which to mail it.
It really was such a lovely card.
He was sure Dana would adore it. He really should have sent it ten years ago, instead of trying to always find solace with life's imperfect substitutes. But that was going to change. He was a new man. He'd been revitalized. In fact, he had Dana to thank for that.
It really was a beautiful day.
X-FILES BASEMENT OFFICE
LATER THAT WEEK
"Mulder, did you put this on my desk?" Scully asked, holding a gift card envelope up to the light and peering at it as though, if she stared hard enough, she could see through it. Turning over the pink envelope, she looked for a return address - nope, nada, zip. There was only the DC postmark, but no address.
"Another, secret admirer, Scully. I'm not sure my heart's up to that," Mulder panned, fainting back as he clutched at the center of his chest.
Scully looked up from the envelope, and quietly stared at her partner. Her features froze in place, the smile she'd worn as she picked up the card, gone. Mulder straightened up, and had the good grace to actually stammer as he said, "Ok...bad form. That was a totally insensitive, and uncalled for remark."
"Yes, it was," she mumbled as she slipped her fingernail under the envelope flap and gently peeled it back. Reaching inside, she pulled out a greeting card.
Mulder, incorrigible to the nth degree, slipped around the desk coming up beside her. As he tried to blatantly peer over her shoulder, he said, "At least we know the sender thinks you're special. It's a Hallmark, Scully."
"Hmm...You say something, Mulder?" Scully muttered as she glanced at the spring bouquet of flowers splayed out on the front of the card.
"The little crown, Scully, on the back. You know what they say, 'When you want to send the very best, send a Hallmark'. Personally, I've always felt the whole card thing overrated."
"That's why you forget all my birthdays? Hate to blow all your money on the very best?" Scully mused as she looked up from reading the lines within the card.
"Come on, Scully, you can't tell me you're not aware of the whole gift giving conspiracy. First we had Valentine's Day - that lovely holiday where anyone who's not involved is made to feel like a second class citizen. And of course, let's not forget honoring our mothers and fathers with their very own days. I could deal with that, Scully, but now we tack on Sweetest Day, Grandparents Day, Secretaries Day, Take Your Best Dog Groomer Out to Lunch Day. It's all a giant retail ploy to bring increased revenues into these greeting card consortiums."
"Consortiums? Interesting choice of words don't you think," she smiled as she concentrated on her partner's diatribe of the morning. "I was just talking about my birthday, Mulder - a birthday card, a simple acknowledgement that you are glad I exist in your life, not a pledge of undying love."
"Actually, Scull...eee, I always thought singing telegrams had the ability to add so much more of that personal touch," he said, reaching across the desk and flipping the switch on his portable CD player. As the music began, he wiggled his butt, arched his back and snagged Scully around the waist. Grabbing her hips, he pulled her closely into him. As their bodies made contact, the card fluttered to the floor, all but forgotten.
"Mulder, knock it off. What if someone walks in?"
"They'll have to find their own dirty dancing partner; you're taken," he said as he sensuously slid his pelvis against hers, undulating his hips with lazy, intimate intent. He gently swayed in perfect time with the music, drawing her with him in this seductive dance.
"Moby, again, Mulder. When did you become such a fan?"
Leaning down, he brought his lips tenderly up the nape of her neck to whisper at her ear. "Scully, I guess I'm just a romantic at heart. You make my heart sing, baybee." Tugging her earlobe into his mouth where he sucked gently, Mulder hummed along with the lyrics.
Laughing, Scully attempted to avoid his playful, tickling caresses. Finally, her eyes focused once more on the pretty card that had fallen beneath her desk chair. She pushed at her frisky partner, extricated herself from his embrace, and bent to collect her mail. Opening it, she read aloud,
"Take, oh take those lips away.
That so sweetly were forsworn,
And those eyes, the break of day.
Lights that do mislead the morn;
But my kisses bring again, bring again,
Seals of love, but sealed in vein, sealed in vein."
"Mulder, are you sure this isn't a joke? Did you put Frohike up to this?" she asked, hopeful that this whole thing could still be easily explained away.
Reaching into his desk drawer, Mulder grabbed a latex glove, which he snapped onto his hand. He reached over and took the card from Scully's fingers. "Unless someone's given Shakespeare a triple XXX rating, I'd say this came from some other source. Frohike's never been one for the bard, Scully."
All playfulness gone as he examined the card for telltale signs, he asked, "Seriously, Scully, do you know who sent this to you?"
Raising her eyes to his concerned gaze, Scully sighed, "I wish I did, Mulder, but I have no idea. It was just here, lying with the regular mail delivery. It's probably nothing, like you said, a secret admirer."
Walking around the desk, she grabbed the coffeepot and began to pour herself a cup of hot coffee. She raised her eyebrow to him, a silent inquiry about whether he'd like her to pour him some as well. Shaking his head no, Mulder continued, "Scully, hold down the fort. I'm taking this up to the lab. I want to run it for fingerprints."
"Don't you think it's a tad premature to be expecting nefarious intent, Mulder," Scully said as she sipped her, suddenly, bland coffee.
"I think, Scully, with our track record. It's better safe than sorry. Frankly, I've got a nagging feeling that we are already steps behind where we should be with this," he said, throwing his jacket on and heading out the office door.
As she sipped her coffee, Scully murmured against the cup, "Me too, Mulder. Me too."
The Shakespeare quote is from Measure for Measure: Act 4, Scene 1