Mulder listened to the sounds of leaves crunching and crackling beneath his shoes as he meandered along a faded asphalt path. His hands were balled up and stuffed into the large pockets of his trench coat, and the fabric whispered gently against his slacks as his body moved with slow stride. He could not remember when he had last done something 'slowly' or the last time the word 'meandering' had applied to his life. He liked the ring of that word as it washed over his so rarely settled mind. He was not a man who could easily slow down. He was always running towards that light in the distance that so few believed in: the truth. He knew it was there. He could see it winking to him as faint as a pinprick in the dark but still-it was there. He knew that pinprick would open one day, and the truth would out, and those who sought to hide it would be blinded with it's light and all the layers and layers of dirt, lies, and conspiracy would be nakedly on display. This would not slip through his fingers as she had; his sister. His Samantha.
Mulder let his head droop a bit, and toed at the firework display of leaves lying strewn before his ambling feet. He closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply, wanting to put those obsessive thoughts at bay for a few more minutes. His head was always spinning with what he knew, what he didn't know, and the many questions he needed answers for. Sometimes his mind seemed to him like a massive ball of shoestrings tied in knot upon knot, some of them tangled so deeply that it seemed no trying fingers could ever unwind them.
Mulder had to try anyway.
He breathed deeply once more, and the cool autumn air made him feel fresher, the scent of the leaves gave him a small comfort, and the breeze that combed through his hair and kissed his cheeks seemed to seep beyond, and thankfully it shrouded his feverish mind in a gauze of temporary relief. The corners of Mulder's lips turned up ever so slightly. His eyes crinkled slightly, as if a stray spoke of sun had spun through the whispering tree branches and made him squint ever so subtly.
If Scully was here she would notice. Her trained eye did not miss the most miniature detail. Mulder sometimes seemed oblivious, but he felt how she looked at him, or her subtle touches; a brush, a glance, a smile...even her jibes and the way she continuously shut down his theories...he enjoyed every moment. He would have really enjoyed this quiet moment with her, had she been by his side, weaving along this trail with him.
Mulder tilted his head upward, pausing beneath a tree whose branches twisted, bent, and fanned out over the path he was following. Leaves hung from the dainty wooden fingers-red flashing like the flitting fan of a goldfishes tail, and yellow glimmering like golden coins, and most of all the orange leaves. The breeze lifted the leaves and made them dance. The orange leaves reflected the exact shade of Scully's hair and in his eyes they seemed just as smooth and silky as her hair looked to him in those moments when he really stopped to see her. She would tuck it behind her ear, or sweep it of her face, or it would bounce as walked. How would that beautiful hair look twisted gently around Mulders fingers? How would it feel pressed against his lips? How would it smell if he curled beside her, closed his eyes, and inhaled her essence as it were a fine flower?
Mulder's eyes glittered, his smile a bit more evident now. His arm stretched out and his hand up, his fingertips reaching for those mesmerizing leaves that so reminded him of her. He could not touch them but his reach hung frozen in place. The tips of his fingers wiggled but were met only by the next breeze that jostled the leaves.
One of them floated downwards, see-sawing on the currents of air, and Mulder reached out. He wrapped his hand around it, and drew it near to him. The small orange leaf lay against his palm, and with one finger, he traced the stem and the intricate veins. His smile grew a bit more-a peek of teeth between lips-and the leaf disappeared into his pocket along with his hands.
Mulder ambled onward along the path, leaving the tree behind him.
No, Scully was not here with him on this path in this park, but he knew she was always beside him. Their true path was not an easy one. It was fraught with far greater perils than the crunch of autumn leaves underfoot. They did not often walk that path pleasurably, taking in the scenery, but they often ran along it as they chased the ends of red tape into the night.
Mulder's fingertips brushed the small treasure in his pocket, and his hand curled gently around it.
He held on.