Subject: NEW "Beginnings and Endings", MSR, R (1/2) Date: Thu, 12 Aug 1999 17:27:56 -0800 From: Char Chaffin Organization: University of Alaska Information Technology Services Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative TITLE: "BEGINNINGS… AND ENDINGS" (1/2) CATEGORY: Pre X-Files, Mulder/Scully Marriage (yes, you read correctly), Angst up the wazoo RATING: Strong "R", for sexual situations and some adult language SPOILERS: "Pilot", mostly DISCLAIMER: I want them, but I can't have them… FEEDBACK: GOD, yes! I'd beg, but it's so undignified (please please please) WITH THANKS TO: The following amazing authors: My so-dedicated Beta-Muse, Hillary (Foxsong), who always seems to understand my strange need to write pre-X fic, and encourages me shamelessly, to Shoshana for her advice and help with some of the more technical aspects of time and space, to Sister Moon for keeping me focused on the realities of pre-X lore, and Hester (Stormlantern), who reads my stuff and loves me, regardless … SUMMARY: After spending countless hours, wondering about that band of gold on Mulder's finger… this is what must have gone down…oh, so long ago… "Beginnings… and Endings" Part One: "A Beginning…" May, 1989 The beat of the pounding rock music blaring through speakers hung along the walls of the bar echoed in the floorboards underfoot and actually caused the overhead light fixtures to tremble. The dance floor was crowded with gyrating, bouncing bodies; each table surrounding the tiny floor packed with drinking twosomes and threesomes. Solitary bar patrons flocked at the counter, where the haze of smoke lay low in the thick air - the smell of beer permeated every corner as well. Behind the bar, three bartenders zigzagged back and forth amongst every conceivable bottle of alcohol, mixing drinks in a frenzy to keep up with the orders shouted out to them by the harried cocktail waitresses; four of them, each balancing huge trays of beer, hard shots and exotic drinks with umbrellas and cherries impaled on plastic swords. O'Malley's on a Friday night… and Saturday promised to be even worse. O'Malley's was the most popular bar in Lexington; the building was at least one hundred years old and the history of the place drew tourists and locals alike. Booze prices were very reasonable, the music was always good (albeit too loud) and anyone who was anyone made it a point to stop there for a drink or two when in town - the famous as well as the Average Joe. Carpenters and attorneys rubbed elbows with musicians and artists; schoolteachers paired up with young, pouty actors and jaded producers, out on the dance floor. Everyone ended up at O'Malley's on the weekend; it was a tradition. It was THE place to be… It was goddamned hot in here, he thought, struggling to reach the open door before he suffocated within the cloying haze of smoke, beer and two hundred different fragrances of perfume. Beer in hand, he fought against the sea of bodies coming through the swinging doors, much as a solitary salmon might struggle to swim upstream against the downward flow. Sweat beaded his brow and ran in small rivulets down his face; he wiped at it with an impatient hand and continued on his forward, snail-like crawl to the doors… finally reaching them and staggering out onto the sidewalk with an audible "whoosh" of relief. He leaned against the brick wall of the bar's front facade, and drank a long swallow of beer, draining the last of it and tossing the empty bottle into a nearby bin. Almost magically, another full bottle appeared at his elbow, and he looked up with a silent grin of thanks aimed at the young waitress who placed it in his hand, waved off his proffered money with a careless, "It's been covered, hon," and popped the cap for him. She winked at him and disappeared into the noisy bar, and he let the cool, clean spring air blow over his overheated face as he took the first sip. Closing his eyes as he leaned his head back, he wondered, not for the first time that evening, why he'd chosen to come here, instead of dinner at Tonya's… why he'd stood her up. It wasn't the first time he'd done that to her… but she never complained… she never seemed to care how off-hand his treatment of her had become, lately. She loved him… as she was so fond of telling him… loved him and of course could forgive him anything; anything at all. Love did that to a person, she was always quick to assure him - love was all encompassing, all forgiving… and as far as he was concerned, all-smothering. Earlier in the evening, standing in front of a full-length mirror in his bedroom, staring at the polished, expensively-dressed image facing him… he was feeling anything but loved… he felt smothered, by the clothes… by her professed "love". Tonya was 'loving' him into a whole separate person, someone more acceptable to her…, and he didn't like this person reflected there in the mirror, he'd decided; as he'd defiantly ripped off the damn tie which was suddenly strangling him… tore off the tailored slacks, made of an expensive wool which scratched lightly at his skin; flung them in a corner. She'd picked them out for him, the other half of an expensive charcoal suit which fit him like he'd been born in it, and never failed to cause a minor bit of havoc at work when he wore it… he hated that suit. He'd stood in his silk boxers… fuck them, too, he thought with a grimace, as he shimmied out of them and tossed them on top of the growing pile of discarded clothes: a silk tie in muted shades of mauve, maroon and gray; the offensive charcoal wool slacks; the thin silk boxers. He looked at himself in the mirror… still wearing the shirt. He hated that shirt… cream colored Egyptian silky-feeling cotton; tailored, button-down collar; embroidered emblem on the pocket… his family crest. How in frigging hell had she found an illustration of his family crest, much less figured a way to have it embroidered onto a shirt, for Chrissakes? With a mean tug, buttons flying in four directions, he whipped off the shirt and threw it on top of the boxers. Naked and unfettered, stretching hugely in front of the mirror, a cool breeze wafting over his bare skin… searching his face for any more signs of her attempted branding… finding nothing but him. He nodded, finally satisfied… finally feeling like himself instead of a carbon copy of someone she was trying to mold in his image. He strode over to his wardrobe and started grabbing; all his favorite things. Gray tee shirt, tiny holes around the hem… over his head it went. Faded black jeans, old and soft, tight in all the good places, a tear in the thigh on one side… he tugged them over his long legs and slim, bare hips; screw the underwear. He hated to be contained. If God had meant for his package to be tied up in underwear, he'd have been born with jockey shorts covering his newborn wang. Black cotton socks and his Doc Martins; broken in and comfortable, a hell of a lot more comfortable than those damn tassled loafers she'd talked him into buying. He picked up a brush, brought it to his head… then abruptly threw it into the sink and ran his hands messily through his thick, dark hair, almost making it stand on end, then shook his head hard and let the heavy locks fall where they may. He looked at himself in the mirror… and saw himself grinning back… at last. This was the real McCoy, he thought in sudden delight… free. Unfettered, he thought again… yeah. That was a good word for his liberation… he was done with fancy tailored clothes and underwear and shoes that pinched. Time enough for wearing that shit when he was stuck at work for ten hours a day… the nights were his. He grabbed the most disreputable leather jacket he could find and bounded out the door… and found himself at O'Malley's, along with several hundred other people. And although he'd been suffocated in that mire of human flesh and beer… he'd been a willing participant in the suffocation… and that made all the difference in the world. He sighed and gulped more of his beer… remembered hearing his machine beeping as he'd run out the door. Of course, it had been Tonya… he was exactly three minutes late, the high, slightly nasally voice whined on the phone… where was he? Had he forgotten about the dinner for the Whitneys? Mother and Daddy were expecting him to partner her… where was he, whine… whine… whine. Want some cheese with that whine, Tonya… you uptight bitch? God, he hated that woman. Maybe he should tell her how he felt about the way her controlling nature was slowly driving him off his onion… maybe now would be a good time to break off the engagement, before she bought the fucking ring and told him to ask her to marry him… but not before he put on the proper suit… He'd grinned in sudden and lighthearted amusement, and got the hell out of there. Now, pleasantly buzzed from the beer and light-years away from Tonya and her proper little dinner party… he turned back into the doorway of the bar to get another beer… and got nearly plowed under by the gaggle of laughing and giggling women exiting the bar at the same moment. He grabbed onto thin air to steady himself… found his hand landing heavily on a soft warm body… and the force of his stumble sent them both to the ground, with him on top of a very indignant, screeching female… he shook his head to clear it, and looked down to see what he'd landed upon… Holy Mother of Gouda cheese… all the breath left his body in one big whoosh as he stared down into the face of the woman he'd knocked over. She was… exquisite, that was the only word his addled brain could find to describe her. Absolutely perfect. His dazed eyes drank in every feature as he lay on her, unable to move an inch. She stared back just as hard. He took rapid note of the impossibly blue eyes, large and well-spaced; the tiny straight nose and the sweetly curved lips, painted a soft red… the pale creamy skin, dusted with golden freckles… small body but curved in all the best places, clad in a pretty pale green dress which had crept up over her slender legs and shapely thighs; a shade of green which set off her long, wavy red hair… he was enchanted. A redhead… he loved red hair. Thick, silky red hair, winding around her delicate neck and curling over her small shoulders and down her back and clinging like baby kisses on the front of his gray tee shirt… somehow his hand had found its way underneath the nape of her neck, cradling it; keeping it off the sidewalk… and he still stared at her in rapt fascination… and his other hand had landed on her soft, rounded breast, covered in the thin material of her dress. She wasn't wearing a bra, his foggy brain told his growing erection, in utter glee. No bra! No bra! Bare nipple, Guy… what d'ya think of that, Hand? Hand had to agree it was a magical moment; that moment his brain confided to his hand and all five fingers about the bare breast. Hand had a mind of its own, he was rapidly finding out… because it took full advantage of the moment to cup that sweet spot tenderly… and he watched her wide blue gaze get even wider, with amazement at his audacity… and her mouth opened to yell at him, just as his swooped down and buried itself in hers. She drew in a sharp gasp, which turned into a moan as soon as his tongue started stroking hers. And she began to warm to him, began to kiss him back… she tasted of cherries and coconut and some sweet alcohol; grenadine, he thought, as his mouth deepened the kiss and their tongues mated wildly. She pushed her breast harder into his hand, as her own fingers gripped the front of his tee shirt and yanked him closer. The kiss went on and on, there on the hard ground; people walked around them and over them; some ignoring the display completely; others cheering with good nature and a little envy, as they walked over them, moving in or out of the bar. A foot which came a little too close to their heads, and stepped on her hair, caused her to gasp in sudden pain into his throat, and he broke the contact long enough to gape at her upturned face in dumbfounded shock; to realize they were lying in the middle of a busy sidewalk with people walking on them and over them, kissing and necking like there was no tomorrow… and his hand had somehow found its way underneath the edge of her loose dress and was actually cupping bare nipple. His open mouth dropped even further, and he locked panicked eyes with her rapidly-amused ones, as she softly queried, "If you move first… you could pull me up with you… and then we'd both be on our feet, together…" Her voice was soft and sweet, a little low for one as young as she appeared, but it suited her, he decided, as he slowly rose to his feet and tugged her up beside him. Standing, she was very small and delicate, barely coming to his chest… her head could have tucked under his chin with room to spare. He kept a grip on both her hands, and stared down at her in bemusement; she gazed up at him in much the same manner, hair all tangled and spilling over her shoulders and halfway down her back, dress gaping at the neckline, sliding down over one small shoulder. He stared and stared, with only one thought in mind: how marvelously perfect… everything about her. Every small inch of her, every tiny freckle, every miniscule pore on her flawless skin… every eyelash and every strand of her red hair, each pretty fingernail and golden hair sprinkled on her soft little arms. Her eyes were dilated with the desire which still hung in the air between them, eyes which were devouring him in much the same way as his, on her. She whispered, low in her throat, "God… look at you. I have never seen anyone who looked so good… as you… felt so good…" her voice petered out as he yanked at her, hard; pulled her back into his hard embrace and buried his hot face into her silky hair, shuddering. She wound her arms about his waist and hung on tightly. Neither spoke for the longest time, content to just hold to each other and let the feeling, the need, build and build, until with a combined gasp they pulled away from the embrace, just far enough to press hard stares into eyes gone dark with that feeling, the need… and without a word they turned and walked into the street… and into the first waiting taxi they found. They held hands all during the ride, not speaking, not looking… both of them sitting with eyes closed, their linked hands the only connection. Into the darkened apartment… no lights needed; he knew where every stick of furniture was placed, and he had wrapped both arms around her hips, and had lifted her high against his chest, holding her that way as he walked though the silent shadowed rooms. She'd laid her arms along his shoulders and never broke eye contact as they moved into the bedroom and he set her down, so gently, upon the cool cotton comforter. The blinds were open, and enough moonlight filtered in through the slats to illuminate the room in a natural imitation of candlelight… still not breaking eye contact, he pulled at his shirt… she tugged at her dress. She was nude beneath, not even a pair of panties. He gawked at her in a fever of awareness, and kicked off his boots as she pushed at her low-heeled shoes; his hands went to the buttons of his jeans… then paused, as he remembered he was bare beneath them… and suddenly her small hands were pushing his aside gently, as she finished unbuttoning the jeans, and pushed them down his strong thighs and down over his feet where they were kicked away to join the boots. And her eyes raised slowly, up long, muscled calves, up further to lock on the fullness, the utter beauty, of his erection; long and thick and waiting patiently… for her. She ran a single finger down its ridged length, barely hearing his hiss of indrawn breath as she touched him, a half smile of wonder upon her face. Sitting there in the edge of his bed, just looking at him, at eye level with her enchanting face… she could have stayed in that position forever, just looking. He placed a hand on her cheek and forced her face up to his, noting with amazement the flushed skin and the way she wet her lips with that little tongue… he didn't want to wait any longer. He pushed at her, settling her back upon the pillows, and sliding over heated skin and slender limbs, until he had positioned himself above her, and with one silent murmur of need, slid into her on a long, fevered glide of flesh and heat. Both gasping at the feel, the fit… so good. Both moving so slowly, almost languidly, as if they had all the time in the world… which they did. There was no hurry here; no need to be at a specific place, at a specific time; no timetable, no pressures. Easy and free… unfettered. That word again, his mindless mind tossed out at him, as he wound his fingers through her flaming hair and held her face close to his as he moved deeply through her and watched with pleasure each reaction of her beautiful face; she alternately gasped and moaned with the emotion pounding through her… eyes flickering open and gazing into his soul while their bodies moved faster against each other, now kissing deeply as they both reached out for it… she got there first, crying into his open mouth as she shuddered around him, and he followed mere seconds later, groaning into her neck as his body spent itself in an endless spooling of release. And as he lay upon her, still within her satin warmth, he didn't worry about being to heavy for her to bear… he wouldn't separate from her… and she would not have let him. They fell asleep in that position, never moving an inch, not even to pull the comforter up around their cooling bodies… no combined strength between them to make the effort. They slept unmoving through the rest of the night, until one weak ray of sunlight slitted through the blinds, and hit the pillow where his head lay pressed into her neck. He felt the warmth before the brightness roused him, enough to gain an awareness of where he was, and who lay beneath him, cushioning him… he looked down with half-closed eyes. God… so lovely. He brushed at a lock of red hair, pushing it off her cheek, just staring, unable to look away. He'd never in his life felt even a morsel of the kind of emotion which she'd stirred up inside him… all his past intimate associations crumbled into nothingness compared to her. He stroked her bare shoulder, ran a trembling finger over one soft breast and rosy nipple. His mouth followed, and he kissed her gently, pressing sweetly against her; enough to awaken her, but not so much that she wouldn't be able to refuse, if she didn't want him again. Underneath him, she stirred; one hand slowly moving up his arm and behind his head to hold his mouth against her as she shifted her body, still mostly asleep; until she'd maneuvered herself to lie open beneath him, making it easy for him to slip into her drowsy warmth, rocking against her with long, lazy strokes… like the ocean, she thought dreamily… rocking in a small ship on the wide, calm ocean. Long and wet and rocking to and fro, until with a soft gasp into his ear, she convulsed around him and pulled him under the waves, too. And as they surfaced, as they came fully awake, and kissed their first kiss of the day… he finally spoke, for the first time since the night before; he held her gaze with eyes gone dark with overwhelming emotion, and whispered, "Please… don't leave me… promise you'll stay… promise me? Stay with me…" She couldn't look away from him; her own eyes flooded with sudden tears. "For how long… how long should I stay…?" So softly spoken he could barely hear the words… but hear them he did, and he smiled and kissed away her tears. "Forever… stay forever, 'kay?" Her answering smile was brilliantly blinding, soaking him in warmth and sudden love. "I can do that… I can stay that long… but not a moment longer…is that alright with you…I'm sorry… I don't even know your name - and I guess I should know that, if I'm to stay with you forever, shouldn't I?" He grinned with such a light heart, and kissed her lips sweetly. "My name is Fox… but you can call me Mulder…" She cupped a hand around his jaw, and pressed her thumb against his beautiful mouth, as he spoke his name to her, feeling it on her skin… liking it very much. She whispered back just as quietly, as softly, to him. "Mulder… my name is Dana - but please, call me Scully…" He tried it, tasting it on his tongue, in his throat. It slid around in there and fit nicely, he thought. "Scully…" he held her close and kissed her eyes, each cheek… her mouth… breathing her name into her soul, warm and fresh from his. "Scully… do you believe in the existence of… love at first sight?" He waited… and felt her answer in the smile which curved against his neck, in the little niche where her face pressed on his skin. "Oh, yeah… I believe…" Part Two: " The new Beginning" March, 1993 He was bone-tired… bone-tired, and past the ability to sleep; had been overtired for so long. He needed someone to come along with a club and conk him over the head… that would work, he thought as he refilled the coffee cup and sat back down at his desk. A small blizzard of slides and files lay in a jumbled semblance of order, all over his desk; the light from the slide viewer making his eyes itchy and red. He rubbed at them, irritably, and re-set the glasses on his nose; with a weary sigh, he began sorting again, not quite sure what he was looking for but knowing he'd recognize it when he saw it. The individual colored slides of young bodies, all lying face-down, most partially bare, began to blur into one single body as he rubbed at his eyes again, and slowly pushed away from the desk, standing and stretching hugely, trying to stay awake. He drained the cup and poured another, lifting it to his lips… and suddenly as if it were yesterday, hearing her teasing voice, right there in his ear: "Aren't you afraid you'll just float right away, drinking all that rot-gut coffee? I hope you know I don't have a lifesaver on me, anywhere…" He remembered her flushed nakedness as she'd poked fun at his coffee habit, standing there in the kitchen without a stitch on, giving him major grief… and he'd dumped the dregs in his cup down the drain, and lunged for her, breathing coffee breath all over her, causing her to squeal and protest loudly as he pressed wet coffee kisses everywhere, until she stopped protesting and started kissing him back hotly, unmindful of his breath, or anything else beyond their connected lips, and bodies… With a grimace of self-disgust, he forced the images from his mind, shaking his head hard; tossing the half-full cup of coffee in the trash. That was a long time ago; it had happened to someone else, some other Mulder… not the Mulder he was today. He dropped back into his chair and faced the slides again, without much enthusiasm. It had been a little while since he'd allowed himself to think about her… he supposed hearing her name again today, after all this time, was what brought it back, the pain fresh as if it had happened yesterday… At first, the relationship had been so amazingly wonderful… they were deliriously happy… everything was perfect. After that initial 'weekend of wonder' as she'd jokingly named it, they'd seen each other every night; would have spent every waking and sleeping hour together if she'd not had classes to attend and he'd not had a job to do. When she'd found out he worked for the FBI, she had been very impressed, and had asked him endless questions. Just a few credits shy of graduating herself, majoring in pathology and forensics, she knew that medicine would have to be her chosen field, her one singular passion… but the idea of the FBI Agent wouldn't let her go, and she found the notion quite exciting. However, at the moment she was content to finish and get her degree, to apply her professional talents wherever needed… and to cash in on her personal talents: making Fox Mulder happy. She must have succeeded very well, for he was happier than he'd been in a very long time – happy enough to throw caution to the wind, and propose marriage to her, only four short months after they'd met. By then she had moved into his apartment, which was bigger than hers, and had a huge aquarium which could not have been moved. She had never much liked her apartment anyway – so she'd made herself very comfortable, in his. Their relationship was fragile back then, and both were careful to nurture it along; careful to celebrate their passion without stepping on toes, if it could be helped. They never argued much, and always made up in gloriously apologetic detail, after one of their infrequent disagreements occurred. They'd already declared their mutually-undying love for one another, and had celebrated the pledge in every room of their apartment, including the outside balcony… By almost mutual consent, they had not told their families much about each other, except to say they each were "seeing someone"… and each had yet to meet the other's respective parents, and siblings. Mulder would have been content to keep Scully away from his parents indefinitely… for they were not what he'd have considered the easiest people to get to know. After years and years with them, he still didn't understand them… and he saw them very infrequently. Scully seemed very close to her family, though; she'd told him a little about the clan, and he knew she had a sister and two brothers… but no names had really been mentioned. Truth be told, they'd been so caught up in their newfound feelings for each other… they'd let just about everything else slide, quite willingly. They had holed up together, in their apartment… coming out only long enough to attend to such mundane routines as work, and classes… Scully had called her mother, once or twice… had apologized for not getting in contact sooner… then had sighed hugely in relief as her mother teased her gently about being "all wrapped up in her new guy". Surprisingly enough, she'd seemed to understand their need for each other, and only each other… Mulder supposed Mrs. Scully would start fussing about it, sooner or later… but by then he'd be ready to face a roomful of Scullys. Time slipped by them in a haze of need, of learning about themselves, as a couple instead of just two people, hanging out. Then, before they knew it, four months had passed, and they'd decided to celebrate this momentous anniversary in the place they'd come to call their own: O'Malley's, where they'd begun their relationship, right there on the sidewalk (literally) in front of the place… Also by then, Mulder knew what he wanted…knew he needed Scully with him, in every sense of the word…and so on a Friday night, four months after the fateful Friday on which they'd met… Mulder found himself down on one knee, in the middle of O'Malley's, with a ring box in his hand, sweating with the fear of doing something so right, it could almost end up being wrong – if she refused. But, she didn't refuse; she'd looked down at him, kneeling on the sticky floor of a noisy bar, blaring music all around them, a diamond ring winking at her from a blue velvet box – a hopeful smile lighting his face, his wide hazel eyes – and she'd begun to cry; had sunk to the floor in front of him, and had wound her arms tightly about his shoulders and clung to him while the entire bar erupted into cheering and applause, all around them – and had whispered a shaky "yes" into the warm skin of his neck. They had kissed, still on the floor, and someone had run over to them and had opened a bottle of champagne over their heads, letting the bubbly cold liquid explode all over them, while they gasped with the wet cold, into each other's mouths, and fresh cheering broke out again. And for the next hour, one after another bar patron had bought them drinks and had toasted their future, finally allowing them to leave when Scully passed out in the ladies' room; Mulder picked her up, none too steady himself, and poured both of them into the nearest taxi which sped them off to their apartment with a hundred bar buddies in the street in front of O'Malley's yelling good wishes and waving them off. A week later, they'd married, privately… almost secretly, which had much to do with the kind of work in which Mulder had found himself embroiled… something called the "X-Files". He wouldn't speak much of it, and she didn't ask, not back then. But he wore his wedding ring proudly… a rounded gold band, engraved on the inside with two simple words: "Love, DKS." Her band was identical, with the words, "Forever, FWM". Those words became the focus of their marriage, their love…and its ultimate downfall, as well. And they still hadn't said a thing to their families… by letting it go on so long, in such private circumstances… they'd unknowingly set the course for the way they'd always deal with their association… in whatever context it would become… Mulder wiped at eyes suddenly wet with tears, and set his eyeglasses on the cluttered desk; made a determined effort to drop it; to push the past out of his mind. He had a new case, and this one was going to be tough to deal with, mostly because of the circumstances, but mainly because for the first time in a very long time… he had a new partner. And he didn't want a new partner, but he wasn't being given a choice. His AD was being a prick about it, a suspicious, insensitive prick… never mind that his solve ratio was higher than any other agent – never mind that he put in killing hours on cases, stretching his own neck time and again, his own life on the line each day… pouring his own blood into the solving of each case. Never mind all that; it wasn't important. What mattered was the nature of his work; the cases he solved, the questions he asked… the places he dared to go. The heat he was applying to the powers above was getting uncomfortable, and they wanted to rein him in… so they were siccing a new partner on him, in hopes of catching him out in some way. Mulder laughed bitterly, rubbing again at his eyes. If they only knew the half of it… to be continued... Subject: NEW "Beginnings and Endings", MSR, R (2/2) Date: Thu, 12 Aug 1999 17:30:19 -0800 From: Char Chaffin Organization: University of Alaska Information Technology Services Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative TITLE: "BEGINNINGS… AND ENDINGS" (2/2) CATEGORY: Pre X-Files, Mulder/Scully Marriage (yes, you read correctly), Angst up the wazoo RATING: Strong "R", for sexual situations and some adult language SPOILERS: "Pilot", mostly DISCLAIMER: I want them, but I can't have them… FEEDBACK: GOD, yes! I'd beg, but it's so undignified (please please please) WITH THANKS TO: The following amazing authors: My so-dedicated Beta-Muse, Hillary (Foxsong), who always seems to understand my strange need to write pre-X fic, and encourages me shamelessly, to Shoshana for her advice and help with some of the more technical aspects of time and space, to Sister Moon for keeping me focused on the realities of pre-X lore, and Hester (Stormlantern), who reads my stuff and loves me, regardless … SUMMARY: After spending countless hours, wondering about that band of gold on Mulder's finger… this is what must have gone down…oh, so long ago… continued from part 1... They had been married six months when the first major crack appeared in the fault line of their relationship. Mulder had been deeply involved in what first had appeared to be a simple kidnapping case, in upstate New York; Scully, immersed in finals and away at the lab almost every night, had not noticed the changes in her husband. They had not seen each other, except in brief passing, for almost three weeks; but strangely, it had seemed to bring them closer instead of slicing at their love; both understood the necessity of the separation, and it was treated casually. They made sure to get in at least one good bout of "naked pretzel" (Mulder's favorite description of their sexual antics), usually in the shower, before they went their separate ways each day. But then, Mulder, assigned the new case, discovered he had a great deal of field work to do; had to catch a plane to Saratoga Springs…and they found themselves apart, for the first time since they'd met. Scully assured him it wasn't a problem, as they stood in the middle of the airport frantically kissing… no problem at all. Finals were very close and she would be buried in it, anyway… they'd kissed one last time, and he'd walked away, tall and darkly handsome in his black trenchcoat and dark suit. And as she watched him leave, determined not to cry… something about the way in which he moved from her side, in his stance, the tilt of his head… sent a chill through her, as if for one tiny moment she was gazing into a future moment, seeing him leaving her again, but this time, for good. She'd shivered and slowly turned away, to start back home. He'd only be gone a week… just one week. But, it would be one month before she would see him again… and by then, the beginning of the end had come upon them… and it was just about too late to save themselves from the pain which they'd inflicted, on each other… too late. The first few days were slow ones for her, in spite of all the studying she'd had; the hours away from their apartment. He'd called her every night, from the little cabin he'd rented for the week - and they talked for a couple of hours, she giggling breathlessly on her end while he described, in lustful detail, all the delicious little things he would do to certain parts of her body, as soon as he was able to get his hands on her. She'd said outrageous things back to him, in a low rasp of a voice which made his toes curl as he listened to her, over the phone. Those conversations got them both through the first few days. After a week, however, the calls came less frequently, and when he did call, his voice had a harried, rushed sound to it… as if he'd been sitting on the threshold of some major event, and the call was keeping him from it. It worried her some, but she didn't agonize over it… she knew how focused he sometimes got on his work - it was one of the things she loved about him. By the second week, he'd stopped calling… and he wasn't registered any longer at the cabin when she called the motel office, in a panic to see what was wrong… he had checked out and had left no word as to his whereabouts. She'd tried calling his office, but the secretary there had refused to give her any information… because they had never told anyone of their marriage… and his office didn't know her from Adam… his office thought she was a crank. So she sat in her apartment, worrying, wondering where he was… what he was doing… if he was even alive. She went through absolute hell, not knowing who to call; not having a phone number for his family. Somehow, in between the wondrous sex several times a day, and the hectic schedule which had become commonplace to them… they'd continually put off the telling of their marriage, to their families… who thought each of them were still in 'dating' mode. As the months had slipped past, it had become more and more difficult to say anything… For Mulder, he just didn't care; but Scully's dilemma was a bit different… she knew the sort of hot water she'd have been in, with her family, for letting it go so long… so she said nothing at all, and compounded the problem. It wasn't one of her more shining moments… So, not only did their respective relatives not know about the wedding… she didn't even know if his mother and father were still even married to each other… didn't know if he had any brothers or sisters. She'd even dug around in some papers she found in his old, beat-up desk, looking for an address book… not finding anything. He'd talked, very briefly, about living in Martha's Vineyard… and so she'd called Information, trying to find a Mulder somewhere… only to discover nothing. His parents had either moved, or were unlisted. She sighed in frustration… stupid, stupid. In retrospect, of course it was stupid - to be that ignorant of each other's past, and families - but they'd only needed love, as the old song went; "All you need is love"… well, they had plenty of that. But they were so selfish with it - only doled out morsels cautiously, and never gave any to their families. They hoarded it all with true greed, keeping their cards very close to the chest. Never dreaming it would come back to bite them… head in the sand, big-time. So, Scully tried to concentrate on her finals, which was just impossible; her grades came very close to suffering, but her pride refused to let it go down that way. Her final grades were excellent… but she was frazzled, close to the edge. And she still hadn't heard from Mulder. It had now been over two weeks; she was way beyond the common boundaries of worry… she was stark, raving… pissed. In fact, she was so pissed she couldn't even articulate to herself, much less anyone else… and since she'd not yet told her family about her marriage, she did not dare call them now and vent, knowing full well their reaction would be… less than desirable. Her stomach curdled just thinking about it. So, after her finals, she sat in the apartment, and worried some more… and cried, a lot… and wouldn't answer the phone, unless it was him… in other words, she wouldn't answer the phone. Finally, a little over a month after he'd walked away from her, in that airport… he came home. In the middle of the night, he strolled into the apartment as if he'd only been gone an hour or so, just enough to run down to the corner store to buy a loaf of bread. Although he entered quietly, she'd heard him at the door; she'd fallen asleep on the sofa, and by the time he'd gotten in the door and locked it behind him and had turned on a lamp, she was sitting up, looking at him through red-rimmed, burning eyes; in a low voice as burning as her eyes, she grated, "Where the fuck have you been…?" His head jerked toward her voice, and he paused in taking off his trenchcoat, staring at her, expressionless… until with a small shrug he pulled the coat off and laid it over the armchair and said in a perfectly normal, perfectly inflectionless voice, "Hi, Scully… you still up?" That was all he said - after a month or more of absence, and several weeks of gut-wrenching worry… five words. That was all. No kiss, no hug… no begging her forgiveness… no explanation. She gaped at him in utter and complete shock, as he moved into the kitchen and got a glass of water and gulped it, before placing the glass in the sink and turning off the kitchen light and shuffling back into the living room and tossing a casual, "Goodnight - see you in the morning" in her general direction, not even looking at her… before he walked into the bathroom, and closed the door… and locked it as well. Six words, that time… each hitting the space between them with the tinny resolution of water drops in an empty pail… She had not moved a muscle. Her mouth still hung open… her face still a mask of shock. But two fat tears filled her eyes and spilled over onto her cheeks… even though she sat like a frozen statue… crying icicle tears. How long she sat there on the sofa, shivering with the cold of her tears chilling her face, she didn't know. When she could muster enough will to move, she swore she could almost hear her bones creak, with the wintry despair blowing through her body, as she slowly rose and walked very carefully to the bedroom door, and walked in, certain she'd find him asleep… hoping he'd be blissfully unaware of her as she walked to the edge of the bed and wrapped both hands around his throat and throttled him senseless… and with those thoughts beginning to swirl inside her, feeling the warmth steal over her; the warmth of anger – actually, no, not anger… something much more lethal than anger. Fury didn't even begin to cover it… whatever it was, her entire body was suddenly hotly consumed with it, something so powerful and explosive which she'd never in her life felt before; a blend of too much worry and despair and loneliness and hurt, more hurt than she could grasp… and she reached out a hand to him, curled there on his side of the bed… and got a good handful of blanket, and yanked, hard. The blankets flew from him and hit the floor, leaving him in silhouette on his side, face pressed into the pillow… fully clothed. He'd not taken off a thing, not even his shoes. And his eyes were open, and staring straight ahead, empty sockets of such monumental misery that she couldn't act upon her anger; could only slide down into a limp little pool on the floor, next to him, and stare at those eyes. Twice she tried to speak; her voice failed her… then, she heard him sigh, and his head turned just a little – just enough to train those dead eyes upon her. His words were soft and hushed… and delivered in a flat monotone that made the hairs on her head stand up, as she listened. "You can keep this place… I'll find another one. I know you like it here. I'll take the aquarium apart on the weekend… after I find another apartment. I may have to leave some of my stuff here for a little while, in case there's a waiting period before I can sign a lease and –" "SHUT UP JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP MULDER AND TELL ME WHAT'S HAPPENED TO YOU OR SO HELP ME I'M GONNA KILL YOU WITH MY BARE HANDS…!" Her screaming words jolted him out of his catatonic monologue faster than he could blink; and now he was facing her fully, sitting up on the bed, in shock at the spitting fury of her tone; she'd jumped up and was staring him down, both hands clenched into tiny fists and fury smoldering from every pore. She screwed her eyes tightly shut, drawing huge, shuddering breaths… then in a softer, yet still angry voice, spoke again. "Mulder… you have got to tell me what has happened to you, why you haven't called home… why you just disappeared. You must know how scared I've been, what kind of horrible thoughts have been going through my mind… you've got to understand that… can't you?" He nodded, just a tiny one, and rubbed at his eyes, which were red-rimmed, from lack of sleep, it appeared. He reached out a cold hand for one of hers, still clenched into fists… but she couldn't let him touch her, not just yet; still not ready for that, not until she got some answers. She wasn't going to let him off the hook that easily, not at all. He sighed again and struggled briefly with the words, then held her eyes with a gaze overloaded with regret and sadness. "Scully… I don't know… where to start – Christ, I can only imagine what I've put you through… actually, no I can't… can't even find words harsh enough for what I've done… Jesus you must really hate me…" He wiped sudden tears from his eyes and tried again. "I've been on an emotional roller-coaster for a month… started out OK, with this damn kidnapping case… Oh, God, don't even know if you can understand this… I can't quite comprehend it all, myself… "Scully… I've thought long and hard, about this… and I keep coming back to the same conclusion… and it's a conclusion I can't ignore. This past month, away from you and concentrated solely upon this case, really brought it home to me… in the harshest possible way. But I'm glad it was so harsh… because I can deal with it now… and I wouldn't have been able to do it otherwise, if I'd stayed home… with you. "I don't think I can stay married, right now… don't think I should be married, to anyone… I can only say how sorry I am to have dragged you into a situation that I wasn't able to handle… was not mature enough, yet… to handle. Right now, my work is pushing itself to the forefront of my life… and I can't let go of it… not yet. Something else has got to give… and it's going to have to be the personal side of me." Scully's jaw dropped open in shock; whatever she'd been expecting to hear… this wasn't it. His eyes, wet with misery, gazed sorrowfully into hers; shoulders slumped, defeat in every line of his body… while she sat frozen yet again, knocked for a loop yet again, by his words. Less than three hours, babe, she thought inanely… knock me over flat dead like road-kill, once again, in record time… he was getting quite talented at this. She took a deep breath and tried to gather her thoughts, before she let him have it, right between the eyes. "Mulder… do you mean to tell me you've suddenly decided that after less than six months of marriage, after everything we've become to each other… after all that, you're letting a goddam job come between us, for the flimsiest reason I have ever heard in my entire life!!" She jumped off the bed and faced him down, breathing erratically. "How about the truth this time, huh? Tell me you've got cold feet; tell me you're fucking somebody else… but don't blame it on something as inconsequential and stupid as a job!" Mulder stared up at her, numb with the virulence of her words… then he was on his feet as well, and shouting right back at her. "My 'stupid' job is very important, and not only to me, Scully… I'm sorry I hurt you, sorry I strung you along with me, when I should have left well enough alone… but I thought I could handle it, thought I was ready to take on all the marbles. Well, I'm not!" He paced a tight circle around the room, hard and fast…then faced her again, eyes boring down on her white face. "Until I have matured to the level where I can do it all… I think we'd be better off apart…" His voice gentled, and he laid a hand along her tightly-held cheek. "I really am sorry, Scully… I do love you, you've got to know that! But I don't have enough of myself to give… not right now…" His words trailed off at the sudden blazing of her blue gaze, as she ripped her face from his hands and stepped back. "Love, Mulder? Maybe you should look it up in a dictionary, because you haven't got a clue." She turned on her heel and walked out of the room, tossing over her shoulder, "You can keep this place – I always wanted to live in Georgetown, anyway…" Her last words stung worse than hailstones on his tender ears - and were just as icy. He sank down onto the bed in a fetal heap, as the resounding slam of the front door echoed through the silent apartment. With all his waning strength, he fought to keep himself from running after her… from falling down on his knees in front of her, begging her forgiveness and telling her everything - but he couldn't do that to her; couldn't suck her down to his level. He wouldn't… wouldn't ever tell her, never… because, if she knew… she would never let him go. And he needed to be let go, at this point in his sorry life… he needed to be alone. His life had a new direction, a new purpose… and her shiny, clean future would only become as rusted and spent as his past had become… if she stayed. He leaned his weary head on his folded hands, and finally gave in to the urge to cry… Now, in his basement office at FBI headquarters, Mulder remembered that awful night; the night Scully left him. He'd only seen her briefly, maybe once or twice, as they both waited for the divorce to become final. She had called him on the day she'd been served the papers - for he'd initiated the proceedings, unwilling to garnish any kind of false hopes, that this untenable situation could be worked out. She'd called, and begged him to see a counselor with her, hoping he'd at least think about it… but he'd declined, albeit gently. "No, Scully… no counseling. It won't help, anyway. What's a counselor gonna say, anyhow? I already know I'm doing an unspeakable injustice to you… even though I'm also doing what's best for you - letting you go, so you can find someone who can share everything with you instead of just little pieces, here and there…" Her angry reply had cut him off… and cut him to the quick. "Knock off the "This'll hurt me more than it hurts you" routine, for God's sake, Mulder… it doesn't wash, not anymore. It all comes down to this: I loved you, enough to share every nuance of my soul with you… and you wouldn't return the favor. That's it… that's all there is to it. Nothing more… a real no-brainer, if you ask me. If you loved me, half as much as you claim… you would have let me help you deal with whatever you seem to be going through… you would never have pushed me away, never." She was crying openly now, her breath hitching with sobs… each hoarse intake of air slicing at him like a dull knife. His eyes filled with tears of his own and slid down his face in icy heat, as she sniffled on the other end of the phone, and fought to regain control of her voice. When she spoke again, it was steady and cool. "The papers will be signed and sent back today, Mulder - I trust we won't have to speak again. I'm not contesting anything… I don' t want anything. I'll be looking for a new place…" And with that final, softly-spoken statement… she hung up. He held onto his phone for the longest time, listening to the empty sound of a dead connection… then he slowly laid the phone down in the bed, curled into a little ball… and cried… Part Three: "Endings" With a sigh of utter weariness, Mulder got to his feet, there in his office… reached out a hand to replace a thumbtack on his "I Want to Believe" poster, and gathered up discarded slides to put away. He'd kept a vital handful out, knowing when his new partner got there, he would need to show them once more, anyhow. He re-filled a coffee mug with lukewarm coffee and leaned on the corner of the desk, staring at the poster. "I Want to Believe"… how very appropriate those words seemed now… for that was exactly what he'd heard himself say, almost four years ago, in a small office in a small town in upstate New York… where a psychoanalyst sat facing him, and with soothing, sing-song words, had put him under… and had regressed him, back into his childhood… back into dark days filled with an unspeakable horror, so terrible that the only way he'd survived it had been to block it so completely from his mind that he would barely recall anything about it… would barely recall having a sister named Samantha. Samantha, whom he'd thought had been kidnapped and most likely murdered… at least, that's what his parents had been telling him, for over twenty-odd years… Samantha, whose fate had been better than death… but also so much more terrifying. And he'd had that goddamn kidnapping case in upstate New York, to thank for it… for the knowledge which ripped apart the tenuous relationship he'd had with his parents, and had cost him a wife. That knowledge had morphed him into a relentless seeker, so determined to find the truth of one fateful night in his young life that he'd turned his back on everyone, and everything… had turned his back on love… to get what he was so positive he'd needed - and still needed to this very day - to continue validating a reason to exist in the world. He sank back into his chair, the coffee forgotten, as he replayed it again, in his mind - as if he'd not already done so many times… When he'd arrived in Saratoga Springs, and had checked into the Robin Hood Motel and Cabins, he had found several messages from a Sheriff Ron Pritchard, and had hurried to check into the cabin he'd been assigned and return the messages. Sheriff Pritchard was an amiable enough voice over the phone, but Mulder had heard the worry, and the weariness, behind the pleasant tone. "Agent Mulder, can we meet as soon as possible? I know you just got in, and you'd probably like to get settled, but - " Mulder had interrupted him politely, and had assured him it was no trouble. The sheriff guaranteed he could be there at the cabin in ten fast minutes. Actually, he made it in eight. The sheriff was tall and extremely thin, as if he'd been on the hunt for food for years and had never found it. Thinning pale brown hair, sharply-focused gray eyes and a firm handshake which bordered on pain, he'd shaken Mulder's hand until it felt numb and made his bony ass comfortable in the only armchair in the room, while Mulder sat on the bed and sipped at the latte which Pritchard had insisted was for him. "Never drink the stuff myself," he'd declared, in a surprisingly deep voice, "But I know you agents need your caffeine…" At Mulder's puzzled look, the sheriff expounded a bit on that rather strange statement. "My brother's an FBI agent, down in Texas - drinks a gallon of this stuff when he's out in the field working a case." Mulder smiled and nodded, as if the explanation really made sense to him. Abruptly, Pritchard changed gears and became the cop again, handing Mulder a file and filling him in on the basic case. "Lucy Esposito, aged ten - lives with her divorced mother in south Saratoga, over on Milton Road. In a trailer with rather flimsy doors, although both are deadbolted to the skies… Mary, her mother, has been having problems with the ex-husband and had extra locks installed just a week before Lucy was taken. "Lucy was reported missing at about one o'clock in the morning, exactly five days ago - her mother was out on a date, had left Lucy with her regular babysitter, Cathie Franklin… Cathie'd been taking care of Lucy for about three years and according to Mary, is completely trustworthy." Both men looked down at the color photo in the file… Lucy was a lovely child, with long dark brown hair braided into two plaits on either side of her head, and pale green eyes. Mulder had stared intently at the photo… the dark hair and those braids.. an image of a young, thin little girl in a flowered nightgown… childish voice gleefully calling him "Butt-Munch"…he'd shaken his head, hard… and focused in on Pritchard's narrative again. "According to Cathie, Lucy'd gone to bed at ten o'clock and she'd stayed in the living room, watching TV. About eleven she ordered a pizza, which was delivered by her boyfriend Mike Haskins, who works at the local Pizza Inn here in town. They ate the pizza and watched TV and swapped some spit, I suppose… then around one o'clock, the dog started barking its fool head off and Mike went outside to check… and Cathie went into Lucy's room to make sure she was OK. She said the bed was torn up, sheets all over the floor… and Lucy was gone. No blood, nothing out of the ordinary, except for the torn-up sheets, something a little girl wouldn't be able to do even if she was a wild sleeper. She called Mary immediately and Mary called me." Pritchard paused and flipped through some more photos, showing Mulder a shot of the room, with its sheets flung everywhere. And for some reason, Mulder found himself focusing in on the window, visible in the shot… the open window… but that light… the blinding light behind the sheer curtains… he shook his head again, and looked at the photo again - and the window in that photo was closed, and there were only blinds… no curtains. He was confused; what the hell was wrong with him? He forced himself to concentrate on Pritchard's voice. "Mr. Mulder… Mr. Mulder?" Pritchard was looking at him strangely; Mulder rubbed at his eyes, and apologized for his lapse into the ozone layer. "I was just saying… why don't I take you over to the Esposito place now, so you can talk with Mary and see for yourself?" Mulder nodded and stood up, stretching hugely, then met the sheriff's amused eyes wryly. "Sorry, Sheriff - postponed jet lag from my last field trip… I'm ready when you are." Northern Pines Trailer Park was nestled so far off Milton Road it wasn't even visible from the highway. Mulder wasn't familiar with these places, but this particular park was huge, and laid out in actual streets. The Espositos lived at Lot 23, in a spacious trailer with two doors, as Pritchard had stated, each door sporting about six deadbolts. Mulder made a mental note to ask the mother about the father and his supposed harassment. Mary Esposito had answered the door; a small woman, dark-haired like her daughter; pale and weary to the bone she looked, standing there at the entrance to Lucy's room, trying not to break down yet again. In a soft voice, she'd gone over the night in question again, only sobbing once, when asked to describe what Lucy had been wearing. "A pink flowered nightgown, Mr. Mulder… just a little thin nightgown, and no panties either! Oh, God… no panties. Lucy hates sleeping with panties on…" she'd buried her face in her shaking hands and had sobbed against the sheriff's chest. Mulder turned to look further into the room… And saw her, pale and screaming, against the windows, tangled in the lace curtains; nightgown fluttering in the open frame, floating on her back, hair streaming down in a dark cloud, wide scared eyes and tears falling fast and hot down her cheeks, crying for help, so, so frightened, beyond anything a child so young should have to face… crying, screaming louder, for him… "FOX…!" Lucy Esposito… no, not her. Mulder looked again, almost squinting in his effort to see the child… and slid to the floor, against the wall in a boneless heap, as he recognized the little face, with horrifying clarity… His sister, Samantha… Slumped in his chair, numbed mind re-hashing it all, every detail of that month from hell… Mulder again searched for answers that had never seen a question assigned to them, almost four years ago. The eagerness with which the Esposito family had accepted their child's kidnapping, as just that… without asking themselves for any alternatives… was very worrisome - much the same way Mulder's own mother had accepted Samantha's disappearance. Or, at least, the little façade she'd presented to him, every time he'd asked her… God, he could still hear himself asking her. "Mom, why can't I remember the night when Sam was kidnapped? Why can't I remember seeing it happen? I was right in the room with her…" his young voice was always in plead-mode… and his mother's brusque answer was always the same. "I have already told you, Fox, many times… you were so devastated by what had happened that you blocked out much of the memory, as a way of protecting yourself from the pain of remembering... that's the way the human mind works…" The young Mulder had not given up the need for an answer… not quite yet. "Mom… I want to be hypnotized… I've heard you can remember buried stuff, in your head, if someone hypnotizes you… I want to do it…" "No… absolutely not. Let it go, Fox… please. I can't bear it anymore… just let it go, for me…" Her tears had stopped him from asking, for a very long time. He'd never mentioned it to her again, but he'd tried to do some digging, on his own, never coming up with anything concrete… until the day he'd watched in horrified fascination as his sister floated through the window of a mobile home, in broad daylight, in the middle of the woods in upstate New York… screaming his name. That very afternoon, he'd contacted a psychoanalyst at Saratoga Springs Memorial Hospital… and made an appointment. A few days later, he'd sat on a sofa in Dr. Edwin Carmelita's office, listening to the soothing, sing-song voice lulling him into a place of past security… taking him back, further back from that fateful night… establishing a relationship, in his mind, with his sister, and his parents, the better to understand his grief. He'd relived again the sibling bickering between them, the silly name-calling and the petty fighting… saw the showdown in their living room that night, for control of the TV remote… experienced once more the utter terror of the lights, flashing outside the window, the shaking room, knocking over pieces of the board game on the floor… and the screams of his sister as she was lifted by unseen hands, and taken through the open window… felt his own frozen inability to save her, to summon the strength to reach out even one hand, to stop her from being taken… and once more Mulder collapsed, in tears which wrenched at his soul, his very sanity… and screamed for his sister, even as her terrified cries filled his ears… once more. When the session was over, and Mulder listened to the tape that had been recorded… he'd scarcely been able to believe what he was hearing. Abduction… alien abduction. It made sense… finally, something made sense. He'd listened to the entire thing, tears flowing endlessly down his drawn cheeks… right up to the final answer he'd given Dr. Carmelita, as he'd been asked, "Do you believe…?" He'd heard his soft, unhesitant reply to that question… and the surety of his answer bit at him, hard… and he'd suddenly and with utter certainty, known which path his life would now have to follow… he'd known. He'd reached out a finger, to press the rewind button of the recorder – to hear his answer, one more time… to reaffirm… "I want to believe…" Mulder leaned back in his chair, in his basement office, and wiped the lingering moisture from his face. He'd wanted to believe, almost four years ago… and that need had not lessened any, not at all – in spite of everything it had cost him, in friendships, family ties… lovers. No, he amended in his mind, just one lover… just one wife. The biggest sacrifice of all, because he'd been so consumed with it; with the need to find his sister, to unravel the mystery shrouding her abduction; so consumed he'd felt himself saturated in it. Too frenetic in his new passion to even call home, when deep down inside he'd known what he was doing to Scully… how his behavior was tearing at her soul. He knew – and he never did a thing to stop it. Like watching someone else saying those hurtful things to her, not him, never him – just some other Mulder, telling Scully he couldn't be married… though he'd continued to wear his ring, for a very long time, after the divorce was final. He wasn't sure why; somehow the warm gold banding his finger gave him comfort… A way of saying sorry for the pain he'd caused her, after he'd come home from am month of tearing at his own past, in the midst of trying to discover Lucy Espositio's fate… Home, after a month of searching for answers, both to the Esposito girl's kidnapping as well as his sister's. Sad to say, Lucy's fate was eventually easier to figure, for her father had taken her, in the middle of the night – and in his crazed need to hurt his ex-wife for leaving him, he'd killed his daughter, suffocated her with a pillow as she lay sleeping in the unmade bed of a motel room in Maryland, where he'd been holed up. Suffocated the child, and then he'd hung himself, leaving behind a short note of regrets for his actions, and his wedding ring, on the nightstand next to the dead body of his child. Mary Esposito had suffered a full mental and physical collapse when she'd been informed, by Mulder and Sheriff Pritchard, their eyes bleary with exhaustion and sorrow – and she'd subsequently been sent to the Utica State Mental Hospital, for observation and treatment. Mulder had packed up his gear and left the Robin Hood Motel, without leaving any kind of forwarding phone number – and had flown out to the Vineyard, to confront his mother and father about Samantha. The results of that confrontation were too painful to even reminisce about… so he firmly clamped down on the little VHS unit in his head, and slowly pushed himself to his feet, glancing at his watch as he did so. An hour… He had an hour to compose himself and get his shit together, in more ways than one… an hour before his new partner was due to arrive; the partner he was dreading, even more than any other partner who'd been unfortunate enough to be paired with him, for his single-minded quest for the truth drove them all away, one by one… A new partner that he didn't want, couldn't have, couldn't contemplate the next God-only-knew-how-many years of working beside… and somehow, some way, they would have to find a way to work side by side, giving and receiving the utmost trust in each other, for that was the way of a partnership… at least that's what all his past partners had always told him, at about the fourth or fifth time he'd go off and ditch them, off on his own, hunting down a lead. He sat down at the desk and flicked the switch on the slide viewer, pushed his glasses on his nose again, and prepared to run through the slides once more… And the knock on the door caused him to jump and drop three slides on the floor; he hurriedly scooped them up and took refuge from his nervous stomach to call out, "Sorry, nobody down here but the FBI's most unwanted…" Helplessly wondering how to handle this most difficult newest portion of his life… deciding he'd play it by what he observed; by being the profiler for himself… by watching, and waiting… On the other side of the door, already starting to turn the doorknob, his new partner smiled to herself, albeit a bit grimly, muttered under her breath, "Oh, but I want you, Mulder… you have no idea…" Thinking she'd been in such a panic, since she'd discovered exactly what her new position within the FBI was going to be… having to make a split-second decision about the way she'd proceed from here – finally vowing to just start anew, as if they'd never had a history… wondering how long he'd let her get away with it. We shall see, she thought, fighting down the last of the panic - and then pasting a more genuine smile on her face, she opened the door and walked through and up to her ex-husband with a hand stuck out to shake his, looking directly into eyes she'd not seen in almost four years, as she said, just a trifle mockingly, "Agent Mulder? I'm Dana Scully; I've been assigned to work with you…" The End… or, the Beginning… of a beautiful partnership…? You Decide… Feedback is treasured and allowed to snuggle on satin pillows and will be hand-fed peeled grapes… at char@chaffin.com, or fncbc@uaf.edu