"Fade"

by Ann K

For summary, disclaimers, etc., see chapter one. Author's notes at the end of chapter six.

All chapters of “Fade” may be found at my website, www.geocities.com/annhkus

Chapter Six (6/6)

I.

The summer had become a ritual of marking off great chunks of time. The time between breakfast and lunch, the time between Will’s riding lessons and a weekend barbeque, the minutes between when her alarm went off and when she left the house for work, and the hours after she ate dinner with Will, before it seemed alright to go to bed.

In that time, the signs of summer diminished. Will grew resigned to starting school again, not having the endless hours to spend at the stable. She watered her lawn less and less, the cooler weather decreasing the fears of dead spots of grass. The neighborhood children traded their shorts and bicycles for backpacks and the school bus. And Scully’s impressions of Texas became blurry, a mixture of open fields and cattle and miles of fencing along the highway.

But she held the image of Mulder, his hat propped rakishly on his head and his worn Levis dusty from his work, close to her, refusing to let it wither away with the remains of the summer.

He was coming back to her. She had run through the gauntlet of emotions: overwhelming sadness, when she awoke that gray morning to find the room empty; furious anger, that he ditched her once again, proving that certain Mulder qualities would never be abated; loneliness, sleeping alone at night when she was accustomed to his warm body, even after their short time together; and finally, acceptance. She found him, and gave him the key to unlock the puzzle of his past, his true identity. She did not follow him that day, sensing somehow his personal quest. And when he found his answers, their answers, he would come home to her.

Scully held onto that belief as passionately as she did her image of Mulder, and it sustained her.

“Food’s ready!” Walter shouted, and she reined in her thoughts to the present, her mother and Walter setting the patio table with plates. Will ran in large circles in the backyard, flapping his arms wildly around him, shouting at the top of his lungs, the dogs at his heels.

Scully told all of them the truth, even Will. That she found Mulder. That he was physically okay, but somehow changed. That his memories were different. That he would come home to them when he could. And, to Will, that he loved the idea of being a father to a boy who loved horses. Will smiled at that, a knowing smile, and asked surprisingly few questions.

But he did start sleeping with Mulder’s old basketball jersey every night, and he moved the picture of Mulder that was on the hallway table into his room, on the small bookcase by his bed. Scully would stand there long after Will had gone to sleep, when even the dogs were snoring in the front hallway, and watch her son. Now, it all seemed so real, Mulder watching over him. Instead of bringing forth tears, it brought a smile.

She was ready to call Will to the table when her mother stopped her. “Let him play some more, Dana,” she said, resting her hand lightly on Scully’s arm and motioning to the open chair next to Walter. “He’ll eat when he’s hungry. He’s fine.”

She sat without argument, knowing her mother was right. “Thanks for grilling, Walter. It smells delicious.” And it did. Walter’s specialty was grilled chicken, with some sort of sauce that he zealously guarded in the kitchen. Scully grinned everytime she saw him in there, peeking out from behind the refrigerator as he mixed together his secret ingredients.

“Only the best from Chef Skinner,” he said, and she laughed, loving him for everything he had done for her family, and for Mulder. Especially for Mulder.

She was blessed, and she knew it. She was loved, and she knew it. Just as she knew Mulder would be coming home, and everything might just be okay.

The conversation was small talk, mindless chatter between bites of chicken and potato salad and corn on the cob. When she returned from Texas, Walter had endless questions, but she never answered them. Not only was she not sure how to answer, but she felt like Mulder should be given the opportunity to explain what happened over the past nine years. If he even could.

Giving up that opportunity would be giving up hope, and she wasn’t willing to do that.

She had not been able to resist doing some investigation of her own, into Will Lyon and his history. Although his records were sparse, they seemed legitimate. She finally had to stop looking, because everytime she saw Lyon’s name, she saw Mulder that morning in the loft, standing beside the open door, the sunrise a backdrop to their day. The day he remembered something, however small, and the day she absolutely knew it was Mulder, the man she always loved. It caused an ache inside, one she would rather live without if she could.

“Will starts school next week, huh?” Walter spoke casually between bites of her mother’s potato salad.

She nodded in response. “He does,” she said. “And he’s not too happy about it either. Seems that Billy has been assigned to a different teacher, so they won’t be in the same classroom.” Will had been temporarily devastated, as Billy was his best friend and this was the first year they had not been given the same teacher.

As she wiped his tears away that night, trying to convince him with the argument that Billy only lived right down the road, and Will could see him anytime he wanted, her thoughts naturally drifted to Mulder. How would he handle Will’s crisis? God only knew there were enough of them. She tried to imagine Mulder sitting with Will on his lap, the two of them with their heads nestled closely together, Mulder whispering softly to Will. She was reminded of the way Mulder gently saddled his horse, the innate quality in his hands and his voice that calmed the gelding.

As sure as she was that it was Mulder who walked away from her that night in the motel, she also saw the changes in the man he had become. For his abundance of wariness, he was also tired, and took greater comfort in the simple things in life. Sitting in the grass with her, eating ice cream. Pointing out constellations in the heavens. Kissing her gently in a musty motel room.

All of these were traits of the man she loved, and she catalogued them with a desperate tenacity.

Just as being a mother had given her the gift of patience, and she drew on it daily, every hour, every minute. She saw Mulder everywhere: in front of her at the bank, checking out a book from the library, throwing a ball to a small black dog in the park. Everywhere he couldn’t be, yet she saw him.

“This has been an eventful summer, for everyone,” her mother said, and she saw her mother and Walter exchange a quick glance across the table before looking at her. She wanted to give a sarcastic laugh, as “eventful” seemed unable to capture everything that had happened. “Yes, it has,” she simply answered instead.

Will galloped up to the table, his face flushed with exertion and his red hair sticking to his forehead. “Had enough?” she asked him with a laugh. He looked exhausted. He nodded his head and sighed, sitting beside her mother, who brushed the hair away from his forehead as she fixed his plate.

“Mom, Billy wants to know if he can go riding with me this weekend,” he stated, his mouth full of potato salad.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, please,” she gently chided him, “and yes, that’ll be fine, as long as it’s okay with Billy’s mother.” Will spent the past few years trying to convince Billy that riding horses might be the greatest pastime on earth. She wasn’t sure Billy was all that convinced, but he did go riding with Will on occasion, mostly, Scully figured, to make her son happy.

The doorbell rang, causing the dogs to bark, looking into the open patio door towards the foyer. “I’ll get it,” Will exclaimed, jumping to his feet and nearly toppling the table over.

“Sit,” she simply said, putting her napkin down on the table and getting to her feet. If Will got away from the table now, he might never finish supper. “I’ll get the door.”

The rush of cool air greeted her as she stepped inside, and she was aware of a strange sense of calm in the house, the light from the front porch window creating hazy shadows in the room. She felt almost lightheaded, and decided it must be from the heat outside, and Walter’s grilling.

As she opened the front door, she knew it was something else. At her feet, there lay a simple white notecard, folded over, with no envelope. Picking it up, she felt her stomach churn and the hairs on the back of her neck prickle, all the signs that something was happening.

“Come ride with me.”

Oh, god.

Her breath caught in her throat as she immediately recognized the distinctive scrawl. Stepping off the porch, she raised one hand to her eyes to block out the last of the afternoon sun, and scanned the street, looking for his familiar form. Mrs. Evans was knelt over her flowerbeds, her large-brimmed hat hiding her face from Scully. She saw two young boys playing basketball in the driveway across the street from her. A young child leapt through the sprinklers in the lawn next door.

Everything seemed normal, just as it did when she stepped onto her porch and looked out on the street on any other day, but it was different. She held the proof in her hands, proof that he had been standing on her front steps, proof that he existed.

She looked closer at the folded notecard, and, below Mulder’s invite, was an address, written almost as an afterthought, the slant making the words harder to decipher than the initial message. But she recognized it immediately, having spent the better part of her life for the past three years driving to it. It was the stable where Will rode, not far from their home.

It was the stable where Mulder was waiting for her, waiting to go for a ride.

“Dana?” It was her mother, holding onto her arm, her eyes anxious and concerned. “Are you okay? Is something wrong?”

She wanted to laugh with joy, to tell her mother that everything, for the first time in a very long time, might actually be okay. But she didn’t. Doing so would waste precious time. “Come ride with me,” he said. The words danced around her, tantalizing in their promise, and she could think of little else.

“Everything’s fine, Mom,” she answered, rushing past her mother, grabbing her purse and car keys off the table in the foyer. “I’ve got someplace I need to go. Will you and Walter stay with William until I get back?”

Her mother walked back inside, her brow wrinkled in confusion. “Of course, Dana. Are you sure there’s not a problem?” Her mother was a godsend, Scully knew. She loved Will unquestionably, and understood so much without being told. How her daughter felt about Mulder, and how special their relationship was. How they all believed everything could be okay again.

Yet her mother seemed to feel it was a personal affront that her daughter and Mulder were not living under the same roof, that Will grew up with a surrogate father in Walter while his biological father was missing. Maggie always maintained that Mulder was missing. He had not deserted them. He was not dead, nor lost. Just missing.

She stopped only long enough to kiss her mother gently on the cheek. Don’t think, were the words she chanted in her head. Just go. “Everything will be fine, Mom. I promise. Please don’t worry.”

And, with that, she pulled on her shoes and ran outside, feeling like the young child leaping through the sprinkler in the neighbor’s yard. She refused to think about what she was doing, about what might be happening, only knowing, with overwhelming assurance, that Mulder was waiting for her, wanting to go for a ride.

II.

He sat on an empty bench near the side of the barn, watching the sunset. He felt his age, like a tired, old man who was nearing the end of an exhausting ordeal. Lyon knew he was nearing the end of something. He hoped the ending would provide him with the courage he needed to make his life right again.  

Lyon waited for Scully to show. He knew he was a coward, putting that note on her doorstep and leaving before she answered the doorbell. Like a gawky teenager. He stood beside the garage across the street and watched her. When she stepped onto the porch, he felt the earth stand still. She looked gorgeous, radiant, like she had been waiting behind that door for him all summer.

He was such a bastard. A coward and a bastard. She probably had been waiting for him. He berated himself over and over again since he left her behind, wondering if he made the right decision, wondering if she would hate him for abandoning her. But it was the only one he could make at the time.

And it was the only decision he could make until he knew the truth, and she accepted him for that truth.

He recognized the sounds of a SUV rumbling up the stable drive, and knew it was Scully. It was late, and most of the other riders had gone home. He had struck up a friendship of sorts with the owner of the stable, mentioning Will. She rambled on and on about what a special boy Will was, about how he loved to ride, and he listened with rapt attention to every word. She easily agreed to let him rent a horse for an evening ride, provided he stay near the well-lit stable area.

He rose unsteadily to his feet, uncertain, and then he saw her, rounding the corner, nearly out of breath. She looked like she ran the distance to the barn instead of drove. Her hair was slightly disheveled, her lips parted as she drew in an unsteady breath. He thought she had never looked more beautiful.

“You’re here,” she said, stopping a few feet in front of him. She clasped her hands uncertainly, as if she wasn’t sure where she wanted to put them. He hoped she wanted to put them around him, for that was all he could think about. Holding her, touching her.

“I am,” he answered, and he closed the distance between them in an easy stride, and held her. He pressed her closely against his chest, his chin resting perfectly on her bowed head. Neither of them said a word. For the moment, there was nothing to say.

He had come back to her, just as he silently promised her he would that long-ago Texas night, and she met him at the stable, forgiving him.

“Where have you been?” she finally asked, pulling slightly away from him. He took advantage of the moment to kiss her, his touches frantic. One kiss simply wasn’t enough. Her lips were even softer than he remembered, and the way she faintly moaned beneath his touch made him want to kiss her even more.

When he was finally able to regain his bearings, he saw that the sun had almost slipped beneath the horizon, and they were standing beneath the large light on the side of the barn, its glare casting an uncertain circle around them. “We need to talk,” he said, stepping away from her with regret.

They began to walk, falling into an easy, even stride, and she reached over to hold onto his hand. He wasn’t sure if she was seeking an anchor, or if she was providing one for him.

He didn’t know what to tell her, where to begin. When he left her behind that morning, he did so with every intention of finding the truth, finding out what happened to him. That fleeting memory with Scully was so real, so tangible, that he was determined to uncover more, along with the truth regarding his life as Will Lyon.

The problem, he found, was that every memory he had was hazy. He couldn’t decide if Will Lyon had spent every summer riding on his father’s ranch, or if that was Mulder. Did he spend time vacationing on the East Coast as a child, or was that a moment from another man’s life? Who suffered the loss of a young girl named Samantha -- Mulder or Lyon? He was only able to distinguish between the two sets of memories by Scully’s presence. Looking into her shadowed eyes, he wondered how he could tell her that the moments he remembered between them, before she walked into Joe’s, were fleetingly few.

They continued to walk in silence, as he tried to decipher his thoughts. The organized speech he planned for this moment disappeared into the haze of emotion upon seeing her again. Finally, he spoke.

“You and I were standing in the cold rain, Scully, surrounded by trees. It was so cold, and dark, and we were talking about time, how it was a universal element that could never be changed. We were dancing, in Memphis, and I twirled you around and pulled you back into my arms. You were so sick, pale in a hospital bed, and all I could do is hold your hand and cry.”

As he spoke, he watched her. She paled, and then held onto his hand tighter, her eyes reflecting every emotion. She remembered these moments, too. They were real. They had shared something between them that was too perfect to be taken away.

“But I only remember a few things, Scully,” he admitted, speaking the words he dreaded, the words he feared would cause her such pain. He knew they did for him. He tried, spending hours staring into the evening sky, watching the sunrise from his truck, gazing into a black cup of coffee, trying to remember more. He tried to put together memories a different life from what he lived, and was only rewarded by bits and pieces. But all of them, the few he could remember, were with Scully.

“I have tried, Scully, so damn hard. I have tried to remember a life as Mulder, with you. But all I can remember are these snapshots, memories that are so brief that they are gone in a flash. I nearly drove myself crazy.” He thought about showing her his worn notebook, but then thought better of it. He picked it up that morning after he left the motel, and started writing, everything he thought, and everything he remembered. It was all too important to forget.

“What else did you find out?” she asked. It was as if she was trying to process everything at once, and understood nothing.

He valiantly struggled ahead, wanting her to believe. “I went through the Wilkins’ books after their son arrived, sorting through the records for him. Mr. Wilkins received several large payments about the time I started working there, from a company his son had never heard of before, a company here in DC. I did some checking, but couldn’t trace down anything about them. The address doesn't exist. These payments continued until the week you arrived.”

He thought he saw a passing expression of pain on her face. “I went back to my hometown, Scully, hoping to find some of the friends I had growing up. There were a few, one or two, and they seemed to remember me. But it was so damn long ago, that I don’t know if they really did or were only humoring me. I tried to track down people I worked for recently, places I stayed before I ended up with the Wilkins.”

She knew what he was telling her. “Let me guess,” she said, for the first time speaking in the clear tone he recognized as belonging to her. “You couldn’t find anyone.”

He was surprised, that she didn’t seem angry or hurt or defeated. He felt all of these things over the past weeks he was away from her, the weeks he spent searching for the truth, about Will Lyon and Mulder. “No,” he confirmed, not sure what she wanted to hear.

“Scully, my life is so fucked up. I have no idea who I am or where I really was six months ago, a year ago. But I had to come back to you, because you are the only one I give a damn about. I don’t care about Lyon or Mulder or anyone else, but I need to be here with you.”

She was silent for so long that he was scared, uncertain if he had said too much, too soon. He knew the connection between them, knew her absolute certainty that he was Mulder, but he also remembered the way she whispered his name, Lyon, beneath the evening sky, and the way she kissed him.

He was not wrong. Coming here was not a mistake.

“Who am I to you?” he asked, needing to hear her say the words that would make everything okay, that would keep him here next to her. Say it, he pleaded, begging her.

“Say something, Scully,” he finally said, unable to stand her silence any longer. And then she looked at him, and smiled. He was so surprised that he wasn’t sure at first if she was weeping, and then he recognized the smile on her face, and the light in her eyes.

She was staring at some distant spot over his head, near the trees, when she finally spoke. “Mulder and I didn’t fall in love instantly,” she said, speaking with a slow deliberateness, as if she were choosing her words with the utmost precision. “There was an instant respect, a mutual admiration, but mostly there was an incredible friendship. He was my best friend, and, as time passed, I loved him in every possible way.”

She paused, and reached out to hold his other hand.

He had an absurd thought, one that made him almost laugh out loud from a combination of joy and fear. Several weeks after he left Scully, when he was driving through the farmlands of Oklahoma, searching for answers to a question he could not ask, he spent the night in a small motel. As he lay in bed that night, thinking of Scully and their time together in a room very much the same, a black-and-white film began to flicker on television. He watched, fascinated, as the hero appeared, sweeping the young woman off her feet, and whisked her to safety. At the end, they stood with their hands clasped together, vowing an eternal devotion, the sort of love that would not fade.

He glanced down at Scully’s small hands holding onto his, and then looked up again into her eyes. Her tears were finally beginning to fall, but he could not make himself break their embrace to catch them.

“I love Mulder,” she said, one side of her mouth quirking up into a sad smile. “I love Lyon,” she continued, finally releasing his hand to wipe the tears away from her cheek. He didn’t know what to think, what to say, so he said nothing.

“And I love you,” she whispered, her voice nearly inaudible in the stillness of the evening air.

Somewhere close by, a horse whinnied, and he thought he heard a dog bark off in the distance. He processed those sounds, the sounds of the world around them, before he could process her words. She loved him. Whoever he was, whoever he might become, it was enough for her that he was standing here.

She loved and accepted him, and that was all he needed to know.

He kissed her with a delicate tenderness, a reverence for this beautiful woman who changed his life, who changed him in ways he knew he could never understand, could never possibly know. And for whatever might happen, it was enough for them both at that moment to be standing with each other, creating their own version of the truth.

She found her voice before he could speak. “Didn’t you promise me a ride?” she asked. He was lost, and he was found, and he knew he would never let this woman go.    

III.

It was morning when they awoke in yet another motel, a new day, and she felt it as she lay in Mulder’s arms. A glorious rebirth, a victory over an invisible enemy. Whatever force tried to take Mulder from her had failed. Although things would never be the same, she found him. Things would be better. 

When she met him last night at the stable, she was frightened at what he might say. The confusion in his eyes as he haltingly told her the truth, that he no longer knew who he was, broke her heart. She wanted to scream against the injustice, pursue the ones that hurt him. But, for the moment, she suppressed her instinctual response, instead finding acceptance in the man who stood before her.  

They pulled into her driveway, and, as she turned off the ignition, she heard Mulder clear his throat, shifting his feet nervously. He always had a nervous habit of bouncing his feet, chewing on a pencil, twirling his fingers, any sort of physical outlet for his anxiety. His uncertainty was touching, and she leaned over to kiss him lightly on the cheek. “This will be okay, Lyon. I promise.”

She made the silent decision sometime during the night that she would call him Lyon. In her heart, he was always Mulder, would always be Mulder. But she respected the changes in him, and the fact that he possessed this new side to his personality. It didn’t matter what name he was called. She knew who he was, and he was home.

“So, this is your house,” he said, leaning forward as if to get a better look.

“In theory, it is, but it actually belongs to the First National Bank. They are kind enough to take a large sum of money every month to let me live here.” He laughed at her before he spoke. “It looks like you, Scully. Neat, orderly. Much how I imagine your life is.”

She knew what he was trying to tell her, as this was so new to him, to all of them. How would he fit into her life, into Will’s life? After so long, after such changes, what would they find when they opened the door on their new life together? “Our life, Lyon. I hope you don’t think I am letting you go back to Texas.”

“I never want to leave you again, Scully,” he quickly answered. “Once, twice, however many times I’ve done it, they were enough.”

They walked up to the house, Mulder stopping at the sounds of a basketball thumping against the house in the backyard. She had called her mother the night before, telling her to get the guest bedroom ready for Walter, and asking them both to stay at the house, to watch William until the morning.

“What’s going on, Dana?” her mother asked, nervously, and she could hear Walter’s questions in the background. She smiled before she answered. “I’m fine, Mom,” she said, meaning it this time. “We’re fine.”

Now, as they stood in the driveway, she saw Mulder’s questioning glance. “It’s Will,” she confirmed, nodding her head. “The only thing he likes as much as riding horses is playing basketball. He’s pretty good at it, too.” When Will first showed an interest in the game, she knew how he inherited that trait. She saw images of Mulder in Will’s long fingers as he edged the ball towards the basket, the self-assured way he threw the ball over his head, his lanky gait as he ran around the court.

Mulder pulled open the squeaky gate, holding it for her, and she understood. He wanted to meet Will.

In the years after Mulder was taken, after Will was born, she imagined this scene a dozen times. It changed as Will grew, from Mulder returning to see her nursing a small newborn with flaming red hair and dark eyes, to Mulder watching his son riding from a distance. Now that it was real, that it was actually happening, she felt numb.

So much had changed for them both. “Are you sure?” she asked, not knowing why, thinking maybe this was too soon, that another few minutes might change things. “It’s been long enough,” he answered, so she walked into the backyard.

Will must have started playing ball right after breakfast. The dogs were stretched out on the side of the garage, watching him with a dull interest, and she could see the sweat trickling down his back. “He shoots, he scores,” Will shouted as she watched him, throwing his arms up in the air, the ball swooshing through the hoop.

Oh, god. Please let this be okay.

“William?” she called, her voice shaky. He turned in surprise, obviously so engrossed in his game that he did not hear her enter the yard. “Mom!” he shouted, leaping over to her, letting the ball bounce against the ground. She watched as the ball disappeared into the grass, re-emerging a few times before stopping by the hedge near the fence, as if in slow motion. Everything seemed so surreal.

“I missed you last night, Mom. Uncle Walter and Grandma let me stay up late to watch a movie, but not that late. I even got up to let the dogs out this morning…” Will’s voice trailed off, and she could sense Mulder walking up behind her.

Will’s eyes grew large, and he blinked, twice, as if not sure that Mulder was standing there, in the backyard. He looked back to Mulder, and then to her. “Mom?” he said, a questioning, plaintive tone in his voice. Oh, Will, she wanted to say. It’s so hard to comprehend this when you are only eight years old and can’t understand why you came into this world without your daddy there with you. I can’t tell you why, but I can tell you he is here. I found him for you, for all of us.

She didn’t say those words, not sure enough in her ability to form a coherent sentence.

Instead, Mulder walked up beside her, and knelt slightly so he was eye-level with Will. She stepped backwards, wanting to record this moment in her memory, wanting to always remember how green the grass was and how red the roses were, and how much Will looked like his father with their dark eyes and strong features.

“Hi, Will,” Mulder said, gently, and she realized with a jolt what was happening. Even if Mulder could never fully remember, could never know with certainty who he was nor what happened to him, he wanted to be Will’s father. He wanted to be in their life.

“Dad?” her son said, and she watched, one hand pressed against her mouth, as he walked the few steps to Mulder and brought his skinny arms up around Mulder’s neck. There was no hesitation on Will’s part, and she saw Mulder’s eyes close as he felt Will’s embrace.

If she could stop time forever, this might be the moment she would chose. This might be the perfect moment of all.

“I don’t understand,” Will said, looking over towards her with wide eyes. “You said that you found Dad in Texas, but now he’s here. Where have you been?” he asked Mulder, looking over at him with faintly accusatory eyes.

Mulder never flinched. He drew himself up to his full height, and tucked his hands into pockets. “There’s a lot to explain, Will, but a lot that I don’t understand myself. All I know is that I am so glad your mother found me, and glad to be here with you.”

A flicker of movement drew her attention to the back porch, and she saw her mother and Walter, watching the scene in the yard with quiet emotion. She thought she saw a flicker of recognition as Mulder looked at Walter, but she wasn’t sure. Scully felt a brief moment of panic. This is too much, she wanted to say, too soon. She wanted to grab Will, to take Will and Mulder away from this life, to allow them time to heal, to discover each other.

But then she felt Mulder’s hand pressing against her own, and looked up to see his soft smile. “This will be okay, Scully. I’m going to be okay.”

And, as Mulder held Will’s hand and walked to the porch, she understood that it was going to be all right. We are more than the sum of our memories. We are more than the recollections of our youth.

Author's notes:

Thank you to everyone who sent emails and feedback in response to "Fade." I was truly touched and nearly overwhelmed by the response. If feedback sustains the author, I have feasted on this story. When I first started writing "Fade," I could hardly imagine the story that Scully and Mulder wanted to tell. Writing it was an adventure for me, and I hope reading it is one for you.

Thanks as always to my wonderful beta Kayla. Without her initial enthusiasm and encouragement, "Fade" might still be languishing on my hard drive. A special thanks to my husband and son, who always seem to understand why Mommy stays up so late at night, wanting to tell a good story.

I'd love to hear what you thought of "Fade." You can email me at annhkus@yahoo.com.

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