Teena Mulder's Greenwich house looked like a collection of a life that she had only observed but never taken part in. Wiping sweat off her brow, Scully sighed sadly as she finished boxing up the last of the items from the living room of the house Mulder's mother had lived in since her divorce from Bill Mulder. It was like a treasure trove of memories from a woman who had cut herself off from life the moment her only daughter went missing, and instead physically collected memories rather than spiritually or mentally doing so. In the living room alone Scully had gathered old wedding invitations, a box with clippings of fine, dark children's hair, and a letter from England, covered in Mulder's frantic, slanted writing, reassuring his mother he was warm enough, eating enough, and yes he was loving Oxford, and he was studying hard. It was a poignant reminder to her that Fox Mulder had, at one time, been just a normal college kid whose mother fussed over him.
Scully had agreed to help her partner clean out his mother's house in the weeks since her death, a task made slightly difficult by the fact that Mulder refused to take bereavement time to do it. From the experience with her own father's death seven years earlier, she knew it was his attempts to not have to immediately confront all the pain and hurt that the long torn and broken Mulder family still left behind in the person of their son. Scully had tried to convince him to at least take a few days, but he had shrugged off the idea, asking her instead to come up with him that weekend to pack up what they could, so that once Teena's will had gone through probate, he could sell the house and move on.
The story of Mulder's life, always moving, never standing still and just remembering what he was and where he was. She half expected to see his restless form wandering through the house; he never sat still for long unless he was exhausted. In the growing darkness of the Connecticut evening, she stood up from her seated position on the living room floor, rubbing her dusty hands against her jeans, her tennis shoes not making a sound as she moved through the dimly lit house. She called Mulder's name, but received no answer. Growing concerned, she moved further into the house, where the bedrooms were, where Mulder had stated he would clean out the 'storage room'. She realized now that had been hours ago.
The storage room was no more than a bedroom in which a futon daybed sat, with boxed piles in the closet and corners. Perhaps it was another extra room if need be, but really looking as unlived in as the rest of the house. Scully blinked as she realized this room was slightly darker even than the rest of the house, and noticed the blinds were down. She made a move for the light switch, but Mulder's husky voice stopped her.
"Don't," he said, and she looked around for him to see where he was in the grey twilight, only a slight movement on the floor clueing her into his position. She frowned down at him, forgetting momentarily he probably couldn't see her.
"Mulder, are you all…" she got no further.
"Come over here," she realized he was laying flat on the carpet, as he patted the floor beside him. Wondering what he was up to, she carefully stepped over to the sound, mindful of his hand, and hoping she didn't step on it. She sank to the floor beside him, feeling for him so that she wouldn't accidentally sit on him, at the same time laying straight out like he was, her face turned up to the ceiling.
She blinked in astonishment at the many, glow-in-the-dark stars above them."
"Mulder, where did these come from," she breathed.
"They were Samantha's, she had some just like these in her room when we were kids," he said. "Mom and I got her a set for her last birthday before she disappeared. I used to laugh at her because her room was all rainbows and stars, it was so girly." He chuckled lightly. "I never knew Mom kept these. I wonder how she got them up there?"
"You mean you didn't do this," Scully was surprised.
"No, I didn't discuss Sam with my parents much after it happened. Remember, I was gone within six years of it all, after that I couldn't keep far enough away from them." There was regret in his voice, and Scully reached out to find his hand, large in her small one, and squeeze it gently. "Unlike the Scullys, we Mulders didn't feel the need to spend holidays and birthdays together, we couldn't have made it past the cranberry sauce without a snide remark"
Scully, thinking of her own family, her brothers and their wives, her mother, even her long lost father and sister, and all of the good times they had, she felt an infinite sadness for Mulder. He was truly alone now, his parents and sister all gone. And while Bill and Teena had died fairly recently in comparison to Samantha, Fox had lost his family nearly thirty years before. He had thirty years with no one, she thought, except for her, his partner.
Mulder's thought though didn't seem to be heading the same morose direction Scully's were. Instead he sounded wondering and contemplative as he continued to stare upwards. "It's so strange, Scully, to think that my sole purpose is done, my race run, that Samantha was gone long before I ever started to search for her."
"She's in a better place, Mulder, you do realize that," Scully asked, the inevitable response of the faithful to someone who had experienced loss.
"She is where she always wanted to be," Mulder laughed, and his strange happiness caught Scully off guard.
"Where's that?"
"Up in the stars," and Scully smiled as well, as she watched the myriad of green, glowing plastic dots above them in the steadily darkening room.