NUMBER 34 (1/1, Birthday Challenge)
Date: 13 Oct 1995

I blush too much to have participated in the last dare, but I couldn't
pass up such fertile ground as Mulder's birthday. So, here's my
birthday story entry. As always, no copyright infringement intended.

Number 34
By Vickie Moseley

Mulder's Apartment
October 12, 1995
11:55 pm

The television set was turned to the SciFi channel, but Fox
Mulder wasn't paying attention. He was lying on his couch, staring at
the ceiling, occasionally he let his gaze fall to the small digital
alarm clock sitting on his desk. 11:55. Only five more minutes. He
sighed.

He remembered the first time it had happened. He had been six.
He ran in from the backyard where he had been playing with some other
kids from the neighborhood. One of them, he remembered his name was
Joey, had asked him where he had gotten the new bike in the driveway.

"It's my birthday," Fox had replied happily. His mother had
promised a cake for dessert, his father had kept the promise he had
made and Fox had awoke to the bright red bike. It had been a good
day, so far.

"You were born on Friday the Thirteen!" Joey exclaimed. His face
was a grimace and it made Fox feel like the kids at school who were
accused of having 'cooties'.

"So what," Fox retorted, in his most daring voice. "My
birthday's always been on the 13th! October 13, 1961. What's wrong
with that?" Almost as soon as the words left his mouth he had a
feeling he was going to regret asking that question.

"Well, smarty pants, it means you're bad luck! You were born on
a bad luck day! My mom says the thirteen is evil. That's why they
don't have 13th floors in buildings. Stay away from Fox, he's bad
luck!" Suddenly, it bacame a chant, everyone standing around and when
ever Fox would move they would immediately jump out of his way. In
anger and frustration, (and before he could be accused of crying, too)
he ran into his house.

"Fox, don't bang that door!" his mother's voice ordered as he ran
through the kitchen. His baby sister Samantha was sitting on the
floor, playing with some Tupperware bowls that were kept in the lower
cabinets just for her amusement. His mother noticed that Fox hadn't
even said hello, and went to find out what was the matter.

"Fox, what happened?" she asked gently. "Did you fall down
again?"

Her son had thrown himself on his bed and refused to look at his
mother. He shook his head no.

His mother put her hand on his back, rubbing it slowly. It
always felt good when she did that, he thought. "Sweetie, what's the
matter? Did one of the boys hurt you?" her voice was gentle, but
demanding. He had always bowed before her able skills as an
interrogator. Slowly, he raised up, rubbing his sleeve across a runny
nose. He sniffed loudly, ignoring the faint look of distain on his
mother's face.

"What day was I born on?" he asked. The question took her by
surprise.

"Why, the thirteenth, Fox, you know that," she replied, confusion
in her hazel eyes.

"No, momma. What day of the week. What day of the week was I
born on?" his voice was rising each time he asked the question.

Suddenly, realization dawned on his mother's face. She smiled
indulgently at her only son and ruffled his thick brown hair. "You
were born on Saturday, honey. I remember it well because Daddy didn't
have to go to work and he got to come home and get some sleep. We had
gone to the hospital at about 2 oclock in the morning and you were
born at 5. You were all wrinkly and pink and you looked at me and
cried so loud, I thought I'd die from shock!" Her son laughed at the
image. "I thought, how will I ever get used to that cry, it's so
loud?" It evoked another gigle. "But then you settled down and you
fell asleep in my arms and I was so happy. I was so happy just to
hold you and watch you sleep." Her voice trailed off in sweet
memories.

"'Saturday's child has far to go'," he announced, quite proud
that he could remember the poem. He had no problem remembering
everything he read or heard.

"That's right, Fox. You have 'far to go'," she smiled. "And if
I don't get back downstairs, you'll have to go there on an empty
stomach, because I won't have dinner done _or_ your cake iced," she
added, leaning over and giving the boy a hug. "Come on down and play
with your sister for awhile, Fox. She's underfoot in the kitchen.
I'm afraid I'll step on her."

"OK, momma," he promised. He pulled himself off the bed, wiping
the last trace of anquish from his face. "I have far to go," he
whispered to himself. Somehow the prospect both frightened and
excited him.

Mulder was startled out of his thoughts by the ringing of the
phone right by his ear. A little annoyed, he glanced over at the
clock, it was 12:03 am. "Mulder," he answered in a voice gruff from
lack of use for a few hours.

"Did I wake you up, Birthday Boy?" the woman's voice teased.

"Nah, Scully. I was just watching SciFi. Ed Wood Festival.
Great stuff." He smiled. She must have set her alarm clock to wake
up and call him.

"Well, I just wanted to be the first to call you an old man,
Mulder. How does it feel, being 34, I mean?" she asked, and he could
hear the mischief in her voice.

"Oh no you don't, Scully. I'm not spilling the beans. You'll
just have to wait the four years and find out for yourself! So, what
did you get me for my birthday?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Hey, you won't tell me, I'm not telling you. You'll have to
wait until you get to the office. But you are coming over for dinner,
remember. 'Friday the thirteenth' triple feature is on USA." Even as
sleepy as she was, her voice was seductive. He brushed away the
thought.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world. Better get some sleep, Scully.
G'night," he whispered.

"G'night, Mulder. Happy Birthday," she said and hung up.

He put the phone back on the desk. He still had far to go. But
at least he was no longer alone in the journey.

The end.