Scully's hair whipped about her face as she stood on the clear, cold shores
of the lake, watching him. Her family was there too, even Bill, but only
because Maggie Scully had dragged him. Skinner stood beside her mother,
closer than could be considered casual. Scully didn't care. All she could
do was watch him.
HE hadn't wanted anyone but her to know. She had let it slip from her mouth, like ashes from fingertips. An ironic but accurate statement. And her mother, feeling Mulder would need all the emotional support he could get, dragged all of the seven visiting Scullys along to help him. Well, all had gone willingly and even eagerly except for Bill. A hatred for Mulder that Scully never fully understood was what had distanced the two siblings for several years.
He had been angry with her, but not very much so. There was just a sadness in his eyes when she nervously told him, and she could see his thoughts. Another person who failed to help him when he needed it most. And he wasn't even surprised. That's what had hurt her most.
But he had simply given her a weak, drawn smile, the brightest she had seen since his uttered declaration of freedom that night at the nurse's house. He'd made a phone call and set the ceremony to an earlier date. Guilt was in his every feature throughout it all, but he desperately wanted no eyes on him that day. Everyone was an outsider. Everyone but her.
Somehow, her mother had found out, and gone so far as to invite Skinner. Scully had been infuriated, but had kept her mouth shut to keep from damning her mother's good intentions. Nothing would ever be the way he wanted it.
Turning back to the present day, her in her black cashmere sweater with her black coat thrown over to ward off the chill that was Martha's Vineyard. The men in suites, Skinner's the only black one, save for Mulder's. Her mother and her brothers' wives dressed in black dress suites of different sorts, the childen dressed well for the occasion as well. Margaret's tears quietly rolled down her cheeks; a loss for her "adopted son" painful to her because that was how it was to him.
Mulder carefully opened the urn, his face dry but infinitely weary. HE looked across the cold expanse of the lake, his eyes mirroring its emptiness. He closed them for a moment, before re-opening them, and letting the urn tilt. Ashes spread gracefully over the still waters, aided by a chilling breeze. She saw his shoulders slump slightly, and his lips faintly whisper the word "Mom."
Setting down the empty urn on the rocky shore, he turned back, and stood taller at the water's edge. A shudder ran through him, before he reached into the left breast of his coat, and pulled out a small pink rose. Scully felt a sob rise up in her throat, and the eyes she had been able to keep dry henceforth suddenly blurred with tears. She casually wiped them away, and willed the sob to disappear. Still, more drops of salty sadness found their way onto her cheeks, making her foolishly thankful she had not chosen mascara for that day.
Mulder looked down at the rose now lying across his two palms. His face was stiffer than it had been before, and Scully saw the faint quiver of his lower lip as a tear fell onto a delicate petal. Just one, no more.
He reached slowly into his breast pocket again, a slight tremor in his hand as he fumblingly retrieved a small black lighter. Scully could not bite back the hiccupping gasp at seeing it. At seeing whose it was. Skinner gave a choked noise, and she could see his eyes were bright as well.
HE turned to them both then, an odd smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. "There is irony in everything," he said softly, his velvet rough voice carried away on the wind.
Turning back, Mulder held the lighter firmly in his hand, staring at it as if remembering all the times it had lit the thin Morley hanging in a sickeningly elegant fashion from that *man's* reed thin lips. His face was empty, his eyes ancient.
He looked at the rose again, and brought it up to his lips, planting a whispering kiss on one small petal. Then, with a strike, a flame jumped up from the lighter.
"This is for you, Sammy. Remember I'll always love you," HE murmured as flame touched flower, sending more black ashes fleeting across the shimmering water.
She could not stop the tears then, a shuddering coursing through her body as realization finally hit her. Samantha was gone. It was over. And nothing was gained from it.
She heard her mother give quiet sob, and saw Skinner silently get a handkerchief out of his pocket, sniffling as well as he handed it to her mother. She hoped it would mask her own tiny hiccupping cries. The others waited in uneasy silence. Outsiders. Always there were outsiders.
Her eyes closed as she tried to push away her tears. This was her time to be strong for him. Her tears were unwarranted.
Suddenly, she felt his strong arms enveloping her tiny body. His face gently nuzzled her hair as she sobbed helplessly into his chest. "Oh Mulder," She cried softly, not knowing what to say.
"Shhhh. It's okay, Scully. Shhh. Nothing is over. Nothing has truly ended," he murmured to her soothingly, his voice clear and easy. "Requiems come and go, Sweetheart, but the sun will always rise again tomorrow." She vaguely realized he had called her sweetheart. A small smile tugged at her heart that had grown so dark in the past week.
Reluctantly, she pulled away from his embrace, her eyes on his. She prayed he would know she was not pulling away from him. A weak, but genuine smile flowed onto his face, and though fleeting, it was a spark of the man he always was. Always had been. And, she prayed, would be again.
She felt a sudden presence beside her, demanding attention as always, yet oddly bewildered in its approach. Bitterness at his seeming intrusion stayed her gaze. Contact was admittance of the presence. The outsider.
"Sir. Thank you for coming," he spoke with the soft elegance he always carried but rarely flaunted into others' realization. His hand on her elbow conveyed the message clearly in its silence. This was no outsider. Her head turned and bowed in brief acknowledgement, but she could give no more. She had no more to give.
Skinner, vulnerable as he was for all his gruffness, met Mulder's gaze unsteadily. "Mulder, I...I truly am sorry." The baritone was hoarse and strangled, and pain lurked in those eyes as she dared a steady glance.
She felt him smile at Skinner's discomposure, though his somber gaze remained unchanging on his drawn face. "I know, Sir. Thank you."
"W-Walter, Mulder. I think...that after all this time, Walter is more than acceptable."
A sharp glance at her partner of so many years told her this was a connection he was not sure he could handle. Desperation flitted across his features in a vague, reluctant manner. None but Scully saw. "O-of course Walter, but please know you should suffer dire consequences were you to ever call me Fox." The falter at this beginning told her all, as did the surprisingly effective humor. Meant to put the man before them at ease. Even now, he did nothing to ease his own pain. Always it was for others. She willed away the once again impending salty droplets from her eyes.
A weak, but brilliant smile in its novelty showed itself. "Understood, Mulder." The expression escaped Skinner then, and he returned to the familiar stoic figure, though the painful confusion still lingered. "If you need anything, anything at all... Whatever the Bureau can do for you ...Whatever...*I* can do for you..." She sensed his need to right what could not be righted, repair the pieces of a puzzle that had long ago been thrown away.
Surprise was not present in her when he suddenly pulled Mulder into a tentative and oddly endearing embrace. A small gasp from Mulder indicated it was not the same for him. This left her with sad wondering at his world, so vastly different from her own comforting shelter called family.
His amazing presence of mind had not swept across the cold expanse of water with the ashes of his past, and after a hesitant, almost frightened moment, he returned the embrace, his guard letting down so far as to rest his head briefly on Skinner's shoulder. A father figure, though both men remained unaware of this.
Parting after a moment, something shifted in the feeling of the scene. Skinner's shoulders squared, his jaw set more tightly than before. Their A.D. had re-asserted his composure; his dominance over un-tamable situations. His façade of ignorance had returned to once again cocoon him within his false sense of security. Mulder understood, seemingly more than she herself did, and simply nodded at him before letting him turn and blend back into the scenery once more.
Safety in falseness, something she did not comprehend, but practiced daily. A ritual Mulder knew more about and preformed less often than anyone she knew. Or perhaps he understood nothing, but practiced it so well, the act was seamless. For all her knowledge in the man before her, she still knew nothing of him.
Next came her mother, hesitant when approaching her, but dignified with purpose as her tearful gaze fell upon Mulder. "Fox." Simply this. A statement of his being, and of his importance to her. Scully wondered if he would willingly accept either.
The graying woman, a Navy wife in essence still, pulled him down into her arms. "Oh Fox," She sighed. "Please, realize you are surrounded by people who care. Please." She knew him better than he knew himself, never ceasing to amaze her daughter.
"Time heals all wounds, Mrs. Scully," He replied lightly, knowing full well if anyone were to cause his shielding walls to crumble, it would be her.
"Let it ease the pain, but be sure it does not erase the memories, she whispered back, with wisdom borne of knowledge. Then she pulled back, and smiled at him easily, kissing his cheek. "Take care, Fox." He nodded sadly, and she turned and joined Skinner.
The others came, with murmured apologies, all as sincere as possible for knowing nothing. Outsiders. Rage engulfed her suddenly at their very existence. Why must there always be outsiders?
He kept a hand on her shoulder throughout, resting it lightly but firmly. HE sensed her anger, and empathized, but did not sympathize as the distinction was. Understood, but would not let himself agree.
Eventually, they were gone, leaving only her presence and his on the cold and lonely shores, the whispers of ghostly echoes swirling around her with foreign messages. Strange, and comforting, the soul of the ashes still lingered in the chilly waters.
His hand found hers, numb with cold and sadness. His gaze was faraway, landing here on the lake and disappearing into the horizon simultaneously. She wondered what names the dark shadows that lurked in his eyes possessed. Perhaps none. Perhaps they were no more than shadows to even himself. More terrifying in their strangeness than in any other pain they might inflict.
She pulled him back to here and now with a tight squeeze of his hand. HE turned to her slowly, his head lowering to meet her gaze. Rising up, she kissed his lips softly. "Requiems come and go, Mulder. But you and I, we are forever." He smiled then, to match her own, and with one last longing look at the dark waters, they turned and walked hand in hand, away from the forsaken shores, with only the steady, undying assurance that the sun would indeed rise tomorrow.
Uh, tell me what you think? First X-Files Fanfic I've put out here. Be nice, or if not, constructive at least?
HE hadn't wanted anyone but her to know. She had let it slip from her mouth, like ashes from fingertips. An ironic but accurate statement. And her mother, feeling Mulder would need all the emotional support he could get, dragged all of the seven visiting Scullys along to help him. Well, all had gone willingly and even eagerly except for Bill. A hatred for Mulder that Scully never fully understood was what had distanced the two siblings for several years.
He had been angry with her, but not very much so. There was just a sadness in his eyes when she nervously told him, and she could see his thoughts. Another person who failed to help him when he needed it most. And he wasn't even surprised. That's what had hurt her most.
But he had simply given her a weak, drawn smile, the brightest she had seen since his uttered declaration of freedom that night at the nurse's house. He'd made a phone call and set the ceremony to an earlier date. Guilt was in his every feature throughout it all, but he desperately wanted no eyes on him that day. Everyone was an outsider. Everyone but her.
Somehow, her mother had found out, and gone so far as to invite Skinner. Scully had been infuriated, but had kept her mouth shut to keep from damning her mother's good intentions. Nothing would ever be the way he wanted it.
Turning back to the present day, her in her black cashmere sweater with her black coat thrown over to ward off the chill that was Martha's Vineyard. The men in suites, Skinner's the only black one, save for Mulder's. Her mother and her brothers' wives dressed in black dress suites of different sorts, the childen dressed well for the occasion as well. Margaret's tears quietly rolled down her cheeks; a loss for her "adopted son" painful to her because that was how it was to him.
Mulder carefully opened the urn, his face dry but infinitely weary. HE looked across the cold expanse of the lake, his eyes mirroring its emptiness. He closed them for a moment, before re-opening them, and letting the urn tilt. Ashes spread gracefully over the still waters, aided by a chilling breeze. She saw his shoulders slump slightly, and his lips faintly whisper the word "Mom."
Setting down the empty urn on the rocky shore, he turned back, and stood taller at the water's edge. A shudder ran through him, before he reached into the left breast of his coat, and pulled out a small pink rose. Scully felt a sob rise up in her throat, and the eyes she had been able to keep dry henceforth suddenly blurred with tears. She casually wiped them away, and willed the sob to disappear. Still, more drops of salty sadness found their way onto her cheeks, making her foolishly thankful she had not chosen mascara for that day.
Mulder looked down at the rose now lying across his two palms. His face was stiffer than it had been before, and Scully saw the faint quiver of his lower lip as a tear fell onto a delicate petal. Just one, no more.
He reached slowly into his breast pocket again, a slight tremor in his hand as he fumblingly retrieved a small black lighter. Scully could not bite back the hiccupping gasp at seeing it. At seeing whose it was. Skinner gave a choked noise, and she could see his eyes were bright as well.
HE turned to them both then, an odd smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. "There is irony in everything," he said softly, his velvet rough voice carried away on the wind.
Turning back, Mulder held the lighter firmly in his hand, staring at it as if remembering all the times it had lit the thin Morley hanging in a sickeningly elegant fashion from that *man's* reed thin lips. His face was empty, his eyes ancient.
He looked at the rose again, and brought it up to his lips, planting a whispering kiss on one small petal. Then, with a strike, a flame jumped up from the lighter.
"This is for you, Sammy. Remember I'll always love you," HE murmured as flame touched flower, sending more black ashes fleeting across the shimmering water.
She could not stop the tears then, a shuddering coursing through her body as realization finally hit her. Samantha was gone. It was over. And nothing was gained from it.
She heard her mother give quiet sob, and saw Skinner silently get a handkerchief out of his pocket, sniffling as well as he handed it to her mother. She hoped it would mask her own tiny hiccupping cries. The others waited in uneasy silence. Outsiders. Always there were outsiders.
Her eyes closed as she tried to push away her tears. This was her time to be strong for him. Her tears were unwarranted.
Suddenly, she felt his strong arms enveloping her tiny body. His face gently nuzzled her hair as she sobbed helplessly into his chest. "Oh Mulder," She cried softly, not knowing what to say.
"Shhhh. It's okay, Scully. Shhh. Nothing is over. Nothing has truly ended," he murmured to her soothingly, his voice clear and easy. "Requiems come and go, Sweetheart, but the sun will always rise again tomorrow." She vaguely realized he had called her sweetheart. A small smile tugged at her heart that had grown so dark in the past week.
Reluctantly, she pulled away from his embrace, her eyes on his. She prayed he would know she was not pulling away from him. A weak, but genuine smile flowed onto his face, and though fleeting, it was a spark of the man he always was. Always had been. And, she prayed, would be again.
She felt a sudden presence beside her, demanding attention as always, yet oddly bewildered in its approach. Bitterness at his seeming intrusion stayed her gaze. Contact was admittance of the presence. The outsider.
"Sir. Thank you for coming," he spoke with the soft elegance he always carried but rarely flaunted into others' realization. His hand on her elbow conveyed the message clearly in its silence. This was no outsider. Her head turned and bowed in brief acknowledgement, but she could give no more. She had no more to give.
Skinner, vulnerable as he was for all his gruffness, met Mulder's gaze unsteadily. "Mulder, I...I truly am sorry." The baritone was hoarse and strangled, and pain lurked in those eyes as she dared a steady glance.
She felt him smile at Skinner's discomposure, though his somber gaze remained unchanging on his drawn face. "I know, Sir. Thank you."
"W-Walter, Mulder. I think...that after all this time, Walter is more than acceptable."
A sharp glance at her partner of so many years told her this was a connection he was not sure he could handle. Desperation flitted across his features in a vague, reluctant manner. None but Scully saw. "O-of course Walter, but please know you should suffer dire consequences were you to ever call me Fox." The falter at this beginning told her all, as did the surprisingly effective humor. Meant to put the man before them at ease. Even now, he did nothing to ease his own pain. Always it was for others. She willed away the once again impending salty droplets from her eyes.
A weak, but brilliant smile in its novelty showed itself. "Understood, Mulder." The expression escaped Skinner then, and he returned to the familiar stoic figure, though the painful confusion still lingered. "If you need anything, anything at all... Whatever the Bureau can do for you ...Whatever...*I* can do for you..." She sensed his need to right what could not be righted, repair the pieces of a puzzle that had long ago been thrown away.
Surprise was not present in her when he suddenly pulled Mulder into a tentative and oddly endearing embrace. A small gasp from Mulder indicated it was not the same for him. This left her with sad wondering at his world, so vastly different from her own comforting shelter called family.
His amazing presence of mind had not swept across the cold expanse of water with the ashes of his past, and after a hesitant, almost frightened moment, he returned the embrace, his guard letting down so far as to rest his head briefly on Skinner's shoulder. A father figure, though both men remained unaware of this.
Parting after a moment, something shifted in the feeling of the scene. Skinner's shoulders squared, his jaw set more tightly than before. Their A.D. had re-asserted his composure; his dominance over un-tamable situations. His façade of ignorance had returned to once again cocoon him within his false sense of security. Mulder understood, seemingly more than she herself did, and simply nodded at him before letting him turn and blend back into the scenery once more.
Safety in falseness, something she did not comprehend, but practiced daily. A ritual Mulder knew more about and preformed less often than anyone she knew. Or perhaps he understood nothing, but practiced it so well, the act was seamless. For all her knowledge in the man before her, she still knew nothing of him.
Next came her mother, hesitant when approaching her, but dignified with purpose as her tearful gaze fell upon Mulder. "Fox." Simply this. A statement of his being, and of his importance to her. Scully wondered if he would willingly accept either.
The graying woman, a Navy wife in essence still, pulled him down into her arms. "Oh Fox," She sighed. "Please, realize you are surrounded by people who care. Please." She knew him better than he knew himself, never ceasing to amaze her daughter.
"Time heals all wounds, Mrs. Scully," He replied lightly, knowing full well if anyone were to cause his shielding walls to crumble, it would be her.
"Let it ease the pain, but be sure it does not erase the memories, she whispered back, with wisdom borne of knowledge. Then she pulled back, and smiled at him easily, kissing his cheek. "Take care, Fox." He nodded sadly, and she turned and joined Skinner.
The others came, with murmured apologies, all as sincere as possible for knowing nothing. Outsiders. Rage engulfed her suddenly at their very existence. Why must there always be outsiders?
He kept a hand on her shoulder throughout, resting it lightly but firmly. HE sensed her anger, and empathized, but did not sympathize as the distinction was. Understood, but would not let himself agree.
Eventually, they were gone, leaving only her presence and his on the cold and lonely shores, the whispers of ghostly echoes swirling around her with foreign messages. Strange, and comforting, the soul of the ashes still lingered in the chilly waters.
His hand found hers, numb with cold and sadness. His gaze was faraway, landing here on the lake and disappearing into the horizon simultaneously. She wondered what names the dark shadows that lurked in his eyes possessed. Perhaps none. Perhaps they were no more than shadows to even himself. More terrifying in their strangeness than in any other pain they might inflict.
She pulled him back to here and now with a tight squeeze of his hand. HE turned to her slowly, his head lowering to meet her gaze. Rising up, she kissed his lips softly. "Requiems come and go, Mulder. But you and I, we are forever." He smiled then, to match her own, and with one last longing look at the dark waters, they turned and walked hand in hand, away from the forsaken shores, with only the steady, undying assurance that the sun would indeed rise tomorrow.
Uh, tell me what you think? First X-Files Fanfic I've put out here. Be nice, or if not, constructive at least?