TITLE:  Crossroads in Time
AUTHOR:  Avalon (avalon@fuse.net)
RATING:  PG-13 for profanity and a hint of sex
SPOILERS: Set mid-FTF, then veers off into its own
  little AU.  References to things through
  season eight, but AU-ish.  Oh, it'll make
  more sense when you read it, I swear.
CATEGORY: Hints of Mulder/Diana, Scully/Other, but
  leads to MSR.  Angst.  Character death
  implied, but no one you wouldn't expect
  from the show itself.  Alternate Universe.
DISCLAIMER: I dearly love them, but no, they're not
  mine.  Great thanks to CC for creating them.
FEEDBACK: I respond to every piece.  I really do.  It's
  more divine than chocolate chip cookie dough,
  and that's truly saying a lot.
ARCHIVE: Spooky's, Gossamer, Ephemeral, all the usual
  suspects.  If you want it, you can have it,
  but please let me know so I can visit.
SUMMARY: How many different lives would we be leading
  if we made different choices?
WEBSITE: http://home.fuse.net/ktvanden/index.html
AUTHOR'S
NOTES:  At the end, please.

Crossroads in Time (1/3) by Avalon

She left him on a Friday.

It had been simple, easy.  She left him standing in his
apartment, his hands on his hips, his hazel eyes flashing
wildly as she turned to go.  She had been so tired she
wasn't even sure she would make it back down the hallway
to the elevator.  Part of her had hoped that he would come
after her, would convince her to stay, to fight with him, to
keep going...but he didn't follow her.  The elevator had
pinged its arrival, she had stepped into it as she had
thousands of times before, and she had sighed in a mixture
of frustration and relief as its doors slid shut.

She told herself she would give it the weekend.  She
wouldn't call him until Monday, or maybe Sunday night.
Somehow, she convinced herself it was just another
weekend, like all the other ones before.  In her mind, she
had said goodbye to him as she did every Friday, and she
would see him again soon, even though she knew she
wouldn't be walking into his basement office on Monday.
She couldn't.  She had resigned.

She half-expected there to be a phone message waiting
when she opened the door to her apartment.  There wasn't.
She lay awake that night until well after midnight,
anticipating one of his habitual late calls.  None ever came.
She wondered if he had gone back to Texas to dig some
more, or if he had perhaps enlisted the help of the Lone
Gunmen to chase down another half-baked lead.  She never
really found out what happened to the case they had been
investigating...their last case together.

She slept late on Saturday morning and then cleaned her
bathroom.  She made tea for herself and updated her
resume.  She called her mother and asked her to brunch
after church the next day, and she watched an old black and
white movie before falling asleep on the couch for the
night.

Her mother seemed surprised when she told her the news,
but she certainly didn't protest the decision.  She passed her
daughter the bulging Sunday newspaper from where it
nestled in her tote bag and sipped her coffee.  "I suppose
you will need to find another job."  She smiled tentatively
over the rim of her cup.

When she returned to her apartment, her answering
machine flashed a message at her.  She punched the button,
ready to hear his voice.  A higher female one greeted her.
"Dana!  It's Ellen.  I wanted to invite you..." She thumbed
the volume disc down so that she didn't have to listen to the
rest of it.

No call from him.  Nothing but silence.

The weekend passed.

*****

She phoned him every day for the next week.  She kept her
voice from sounding edgy or needy, simply asking how he
was, requesting a return call to assure her that he was all
right.  She licked envelopes and stamps with the cordless
within reach, sending out her resume for positions she
found listed on the Internet.

On Saturday, the worry overwhelmed her, and she dialed
Skinner's home number.  He answered in his usual gruff
manner, but his tone softened when he recognized her.  She
asked about Mulder, and Skinner sighed softly in her ear.

"He's taken a leave of absence."

"For how long?"

She could see Skinner in her mind's eye, removing his
glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose, his familiar
gesture of frustration.  "It's an indefinite leave.  He didn't
tell me where he was going.  I have no idea when, or if,
he'll be back."

"He wouldn't just leave. He wants the X-Files back."

"I don't know about that, Dana.  He--"  His voice became
even gentler.  "I don't know if he'll go on without you."

She squeezed her eyes shut.  How could she have been so
stupid, so thoughtless, to just leave him like that?  Mulder
could be damned exasperating, infuriating even...but he
would never desert her, not when she needed him most.
And that was exactly what she had done.

She would remedy this, somehow.  She would find him,
and make him understand.

"If you see him, sir, please tell him I need to speak with
him."  The silence on the line pricked at her throat, and she
spoke around the catch there.  "Please, sir?"

"I'll tell him, if I see him.  But Dana?"

"Yes?"

Skinner sighed again, and Scully felt her resolve melt with
that exhalation.  "Don't hold your breath."

The week was over, and she still heard nothing.

*****

She decided to practice again.  Several hospitals in the area
were looking for E.R. doctors, so she applied and was
called in for interviews at every one.  She smiled at the
human resource directors when they asked about her work
for the F.B.I., explaining that she had seen enough death to
last ten lifetimes.  They nodded knowingly, and each called
later to offer her a position on staff.  She accepted the one
closest to the Bureau, thinking that perhaps some night, he
would come through the emergency doors, nursing a head
injury or a sprained wrist.

Another fantasy.  He never came.

She sent him emails at his Bureau address, but no replies
appeared in her mailbox.  She stopped by his building one
evening after a particularly hairy day at the hospital,
wishing for nothing more than a trip to the pub with him for
a beer.  Disappointment pooled in her stomach as she stood
in his hallway for way too long, hoping he would answer
her knock.  She took a pen from her purse and scribbled a
note on her prescription pad, her vision blurring as she
wrote:

I miss you, Mulder.  Please get in touch.

  Scully

She shoved it under his door before she lost her nerve and
hurried home to her empty apartment.

Ellen kept calling, pestering her to go out as they had in
college.  She finally relented, hoping to take her mind off
Mulder.  She met Brian O'Meara at an upscale bar that
Ellen frequented.  He was a nice distraction, a burly, six-
foot blond with laughing blue eyes and an easy smile.  At
forty-five, he easily looked ten years younger, and he kept
in shape chasing his high school football charges around
the gridiron.  Divorced after only two years of marriage, his
children already attended college, and she found herself in
his company more and more often after work or on the
weekends.

She was shocked to glance at the wall calendar in her
kitchen one morning to find that three months had passed,
and no word had come.

*****

Her wedding day was very nearly a disaster.

It rained.  Her mother's dress was almost ruined when the
caterer bumped into her while delivering the cake.
Charlie's youngest daughter screamed that she didn't want
to walk down the aisle scattering rose petals.  Bill didn't
make it from the airport in time, so she marched to the altar
unaccompanied.  Brian's son patted his pockets, a panicked
look on his face, when asked to produce the ring during the
Mass.

If Mulder had been there, he probably would have smiled
and whispered something to her about bad omens.

She had written out an invitation for him and then decided
to drop it by his apartment personally.  Her knock was
promptly answered by a young man wearing a Tommy
Hilfiger pullover and leather pants.  He grinned at her
inquiry and told her that he had moved into the building
nearly two months before.  He thought the man who had
vacated the apartment had moved into a house with his
girlfriend, but he could be wrong.  She should check with
the building superintendent downstairs.  Mr. Mitchell might
also have his forwarding address.

The smile felt stiff and frozen on her lips as she took the
piece of paper the superintendent gave to her.  An address
in Falls Church, Virginia, and two names stared back at
her.

Fox Mulder.  Diana Fowley.

She took the invitation home and readdressed it, dropping it
into the mailbox on the corner.  Two weeks later, the reply
card was returned, filled out in a woman's elegant
handwriting, announcing that they would be unable to
attend.

When she and Brian returned from their two-week
honeymoon in Bermuda, she was surprised to find a gift
awaiting them.  Brian unwrapped it and nodded in approval
at the heavy cut-glass vase, handing her the card with a
smile.  She read the typed words with a sour taste in the
back of her throat:

Best wishes, Diana and Fox

When Brian went upstairs to begin unpacking, she put the
vase back in its box and shoved it into a corner of the
downstairs closet.  She told herself that it didn't match the
décor in their new home, but not before two silent tears
slipped down her cheeks.

Her watch displayed the date, six months since that Friday
when her world had morphed into something strange, not
unlike the Alien Bounty Hunter she had convinced herself
didn't really exist.  She took it off, laid it on her dressing
table, and went to find her new husband in their bedroom.

*****

He traced his tongue up her spine, fanning the hair at the
base of her neck with his warm breath.  She shivered and
smiled into her pillow, sinking further into the mattress as
he pressed his weight against her.  She felt the light scrape
of his fingertips along the chain of her necklace, and his
lips glazed her ear with kisses.

"You're so beautiful, Dana."  He sat back, and she could
sense his eyes drinking in the sight of her, a thought that
brought a hot rush of desire to her belly.  She turned her
head to look over her shoulder.  Brian stared at her, his chin
at a strange angle, his eyes narrowed as if to see something
better.

"What is it?"

"You have a tiny scar on the back of your neck.  I never
noticed it before."  His thumb slid over it, and the sensation
caused the hot hunger in her abdomen to roil into a
sickening coldness.  "What happened?"

She flinched away without thinking, realizing even as she
did that it would make him even more determined to hear
an answer.  "It's...it's nothing, really."

"Does it hurt?"

"No."

"Then how did it happen?  Were you with the F.B.I?"

"Yes."  She remembered the doctor pulling the original
from beneath her skin, kidding that she had probably been
wounded in the line of duty.

He hadn't known the absolute truth of that statement, even
when they discovered it was a computer chip.

Brian leaned over her and pressed a kiss to the spot.  "My
poor Dana."

She rolled onto her back and laced her arms around his
neck, pulling him closer.  She murmured against his lips,
"Make it better, Brian."  He smiled and kissed her deeply,
and the memory melted away.

But sleep eluded her that night.  She lay next to her sated
husband, watching the violet sky outside their window over
his bare shoulder, thinking of government conspiracies,
black oil, and little green men.

And of her ex-partner, the one who had opened her mind to
it all, the one who had brought cancer to her doorstep and
then somehow stopped it with a miraculous cure that hid
just below her skin.  She could almost feel the soft caress of
his hand as he held hers on her deathbed, his eyes rimmed
in red from shedding tears he would never let her see.  He
had been dead, too, and had resurrected, finding salvation
for her as well.

What happened to drive them apart?  The question twisted
in her heart, making her chest ache with longing.

Orion winked at her from his position in the heavens, and
she figured the time in her head.  One year, and a few
months.

She had never dreamed that she could live in a Mulderless
world.

*****

The Oregon where they bought a house was different than
the Oregon she recalled.  On her first X-File, it had rained
almost every day, a cold, steady shower that had turned her
hair into an unmanageable tangle of red curls and made her
sniffle like a schoolchild.  Mulder had constantly asked her
if she was getting a cold, honest concern and just a hint of
amusement apparent on his face.  So young, so cocky, so
brilliant and flawed then...it was one of the ways she best
liked to remember him.

Busy with his new responsibilities as a University football
coach, she spent most of her days away from Brian.  She
enjoyed her new position at St. Peter's Hospital, where she
supervised the incoming interns.  Saturdays were spent at
football games, and on Sundays, the O'Mearas went sailing
or hiking or dined with Brian's colleagues from the college.

It was a nice life, a life full of everyday things that she had
longed for, and dreamed of, when she was an F.B.I. agent
eight years before.  But deep in the night, when she would
sometimes creep down the stairs of her sprawling suburban
house for a glass of warm milk to ease her insomnia, she
would wonder how different her life could have been if she
had not walked away.

*****

Brian's heart attack came on the morning of his fifty-
seventh birthday.  She administered CPR until the life
squad arrived, but she knew she had lost him before he was
pronounced.  One EMT recognized her from the hospital
and touched her briefly, murmuring his regrets.  She turned
away and lifted the telephone receiver with shaking hands,
dialing Brian's son's number in Florida from memory.

The empty house was nothing compared to the yawning
gap in her heart.  She considered moving into a smaller
space, but she couldn't muster the energy to even begin
looking.  Everyone treated her as if she were made of
china, handling her with care, afraid she might shatter into
a million pieces.

In the lonely recesses of her heart, she wondered if perhaps
she was indeed breaking apart.  She found herself dwelling
more and more on her losses in life. She thought of her
father for the first time in years, and Melissa came close on
his heels.  Emily's shiny round face haunted her, and
Brian's memory loomed as large as the bulk of his
muscular body.  There was no escaping them, and they
circled around her, whispering to her as she sat up late into
the night.

The only memory that didn't torment her was Mulder's.

It comforted her to think of him.  She hoped for his
happiness, even if he had found it with a woman she had
never trusted.  She wondered if he had ever solved the
mystery of his sister's disappearance, and if he still worked
for the government.  It never occurred to her to try to
contact him again; she had given up hope of that years
before.

Still, she enjoyed those times, when her restless and cruel
mind would allow her to call up his face, his voice, those
mannerisms that were so distinctly Mulder.  And when she
peered in the mirror, noting the deepening creases around
her eyes and the tendrils of silver in her fiery hair, she
mused over what he must look like after almost eleven
years.
 

***End Part One***
 

Crossroads in Time (2/3) by Avalon

See Headers in Part One

"Dana?  Have you got a minute?"

She looked up to see Sallie Roget's head peering around
the door of her office.  She and Sallie had worked together
now for almost four years.  She had been a good friend to
her when Brian passed away, and Dana appreciated her
keen sense of humor.  Plus, Sallie was an excellent doctor,
and the two women had often discussed problem cases over
lattes at lunchtime.

She removed her glasses and smiled.  "Sure, Sal.  Come on
in."

The taller woman moved into the room, sliding her own
spectacles into the breast pocket of her white coat.  "I was
wondering if you could take a look at this unusual patient
that has come in.  We aren't really sure what to make of
him, and I know in the past you have worked on some
really strange cases."

Dana chuffed out a friendly breath.  "Yeah, that's me.
Weird Ones-R-Us."  She held out her hand.  "What have
you got?"

She flipped open the chart as Sallie began talking.
"Caucasian male, early fifties, ordinary in every sense of
the word.  He was found naked in the middle of a field
about ten miles from here three months ago."

She squinted at the words on the page as she fumbled for
her glasses again.  "Three months?  And he's just now
coming into the hospital?  Where's he been up until now?"

"In the ground, pushing up daisies."  She looked up,
startled, but Sallie's face was stony.  This was certainly not
a case of her famous sense of humor.  "By all outward
appearances, he was dead.  But someone dug him up last
night and brought him in here."

"You're saying this man is alive?  That he's been alive in
his coffin for three months?"

Sallie nodded.  "It would appear that way, yes."

She glanced back down at the chart.  "Who brought him
in?"

"We don't know.  It's a real mystery.  It's like he appeared
out of thin air."

An icy finger skated down her spine, and she shivered.
// Hold onto your hat, Scully, cause you're gonna love this. //
She pushed Mulder's gleeful voice from her mind and
stood up, ignoring the hateful way her knee joints protested
the sudden movement.  She despised getting old.  "Where
is he?"

"In the I.C.U.  He's on every machine imaginable, but he
seems to be holding his own."

The women walked quickly through the halls, and she
dodged bodies as she went, scanning the pages of the chart.
They paused outside the Intensive Care Unit door.  "This
man hasn't been identified?"

Sallie shrugged.  "They haven't given us his name.  The
admitting nurse is still on the phone with the cemetery.
They are trying to piece together exactly what happened."

She grunted in response and pushed open the door.  The
room was lined with hospital beds, many sectioned off
from their neighbors by circling curtains of drab blue.
Sallie waved her hand at the first partition on her right.

"Here he is."

She glanced up from the chart she still held in her hands as
Sallie swept the curtain aside.  She heard the familiar sound
of the hooks traveling over the track in the ceiling, a
metallic chime that reminded her of keys and change being
jostled in a pocket.  Her mind grabbed onto that for some
reason.

// Mulder used to do that.  Jingle his change that way. //

The tiny smile of remembrance the thought brought to her
face froze as her eyes locked onto the patient in the bed.
The clipboard clattered to the floor, ringing out a startled
sound similar to the one that escaped from her throat.

Her knees buckled, but she didn't fall.  She stumbled
instead into the foot of the bed, her hand brushing the
man's feet beneath the sheet.  The touch sent a jolt so
strong through her that it made her think of sticking her
finger in the outlet of her navy-base housing when she was
a tiny girl.  She felt dizzy and stupid, as if waking up from
a thick, black nightmare and greeting the full light of day.

She was vaguely aware of Sallie's voice, asking if she was
all right, if she was feeling faint, but she ignored her.  She
pawed her way up the side of the mattress toward the man's
head, flinging her glasses aside to assure herself it wasn't
just a trick of her aging eyes.  He was a mess of scars, and a
penetrating pallor whitened his skin, but the face, although
tinged with the signs of age, remained the same.  She
couldn't deny what she saw.

Sallie Roget watched, stunned, as Dana O'Meara slowly
lowered her head to the chest of the patient in the bed.
When her cheek turned and settled against the man's
hospital gown, Sallie could see trails of wetness glistening
on her friend's face.  Although she didn't understand what
the word meant, she heard Dana whisper it, like a prayer
uttered from the lips of the dying:

"Mulder."  His name hung in the air like the pendulum of a
stopped clock.

*****

She leaned further into the shower spray, her hands splayed
in front of her on the tile wall to prop her up, allowing the
water to beat into the aching muscles of her neck.  She had
been up for over twenty-five hours, and she wasn't
planning to sleep anytime soon.

She would stay with him until he awoke.  Nothing would
deter her.

The cemetery had finally verified that the man in the bed
was indeed Fox William Mulder, born October 13, 1961,
died May 10, 2010, buried May 14 of the same year.  This
year.  The coroner's report had listed Mulder's death as
unexplained, the only word she could summon to describe
his current condition.  He was somehow alive, but in every
other sense of the word, his body was dead.

Just like Mulder to become an X-File himself.

But her logical mind rejoiced at having a puzzle to solve,
just as her straining heart reveled in his reappearance in her
life.  Perhaps finally, she would be able to tell him she was
sorry.  That she had never meant to leave him the way she
did, that she still thought of him often, that she missed his
presence and his friendship and even the strangeness that
he had brought to her.

Yes, perhaps she could even tell him now that she loved
him.

She had finally realized it.  The thought had come to her
one day soon after Brian died, a morning not unlike the
ones that had passed before it.  She had been rearranging
the kitchen cabinets, stacking dinner plates from her old set
of Pfaltzcraft that she had decided to donate to the church
rummage sale.  She traced the tip of one fingernail around
the edging of blue wisps, and his voice had rocketed
through her mind as it was wont to do on occasion,
bringing with it a blinding and shocking result:

"Should we be picking out china patterns or what, Scully?"

She had managed to cling to the plate as it started to slip
from her hand, saving it from shattering on the floor*but
she had burst into tears.

She had loved him.  She still did.  Her marriage to Brian
had been good and solid, like an old oak door...but her love
had remained with a man she hadn't seen in twelve years.
The man who had changed her life in so many ways, both
good and bad.  The man who would forever be branded into
her heart, a sensation that both stung and soothed her.

And now he was here with her again.  She had been given a
second chance, and she wasn't about to waste it.

First things first, though.  Make him well.  Then, she would
go one step at a time.

She dried quickly and hurried into her clothes, stuffing her
drooping outfit from the day before into her hospital locker.
She pulled her damp hair into a short ponytail, touched up
her face, and then headed down to I.C.U.  Her lab coat
flapped about her as she opened the unit door and abruptly
settled into stillness as she paused, astonished, ten feet from
his bed.

A young woman sat in the chair she had occupied.  Her
shoulder-length hair gleamed like burnished walnut, and
her arm stretched across the thin blanket to clasp Mulder's
hand.  She turned reddened eyes to her, her mouth a thin
line of worry.  She barely looked old enough to drive a car.

The words tumbled out of her, even though she didn't
really understand why she felt she should apologize.  "I'm
sorry.  I didn't mean to intrude--"

The young woman stood up, dragging Mulder's hand with
her.  She clutched it to her like a child with a favorite doll.
"Are you his doctor?  Can you please tell me what
happened to him?"

"I'm Dana Sc--" She checked herself, surprise surfacing in
her mind.  Why had she started to introduce herself that
way?  She hadn't been Dana Scully in years.  "I'm Doctor
Dana O'Meara.  I was asked by a colleague to consult on
this man's case.  And you are?"

"I'm his daughter."

The words chased themselves around in her head.
"His...daughter?" she finally repeated, hoping she didn't
sound as stunned as she felt.

"Yes.  I had to fly in from Washington, or I would have
been here sooner."  The young woman squeezed his hand
tighter, and she squelched the urge to reprimand her.  "Can
you please tell me what happened?  I can't quite believe
I'm here...that he's actually alive..."  She looked at her
imploringly, a tear trickling down her smooth cheek.

Her professional decorum took over, driving away the
emotional lurch in her stomach.  "We're not sure what
happened.  We understand that he was presumed dead and
buried, but he somehow turned up here at the hospital
yesterday morning.  Quite a bit of his medical history from
the last year is incomplete.  Can you give me any
information?  What happened to him before he was
interred?"

The girl sank back down into her chair.  "He was missing
for almost eight months.  When they finally found him,
they told me...they told me he was dead!"  She was crying
hard now, and Dana laid her hand on the girl's shoulder,
hoping to deliver some comfort.

"How did he end up missing?  Can you tell me anything
about that?"

Her young voice choked through her tears, but she sounded
quite sure of herself.  "We believe he was abducted."

The word sounded strange to her now, a word that Mulder
himself had used so often in their work together, a word
that sent a tremor through her entire body.  Her own tone
was soft and steady when she asked, "You mean, by
extraterrestrials?"

The girl nodded, her wet face set in a look of defiance.  "I
know it is hard to believe--"

"No, no."  She waved her hand in dismissal.  "I
understand."

Her gaze drifted over to Mulder.  His chest rose and fell in
the rhythm of the respirator, and the heart monitor blipped
his readout in ridges across the screen.  The tiny holes on
his cheeks and the ones she had examined in his wrists and
ankles told a story of captivity, and the ugly scar that split
his torso in two spoke of torture and tests.  She closed her
eyes against the frightening scene that played in her mind, a
scene that seemed to be a mirror to her own hazy
experience of lost time and painful sensations.

The girl's voice broke into her thoughts.  "You know him."

She opened her eyes and blinked at her.  The girl stared at
her for a moment, the blue of her gaze as penetrating as any
look Mulder had ever trained on her.  "You know him,
don't you?"  She stood up, dropping Mulder's hand back to
the bed in her excitement.  "You said your name was Dana.
Are you Dana Scully?"  She grabbed Dana's arm, her nails
biting through the thin fabric of her jacket.  "You were his
partner at the F.B.I!"

She couldn't help nodding at her enthusiasm.  "Yes, I--"

She cut her off.  "I can't believe it!  You have no
idea...he'll be so thrilled!  He talks about you all the time.
Scully this and Scully that.  I've heard about nothing but
Scully since I was a little girl!"  The young woman took a
deep breath and beamed.  "I just can't believe you're here."

A feeling as thick and sweet as warm honey seeped into her
chest.  She smiled back.  "I'm having a hard time believing
it myself."  She brushed her fingers over the back of
Mulder's hand, a brief movement that she just couldn't
help.  "It's been a long, long time since I've seen him."

"I know."  The young woman threw him an adoring gaze,
and Dana swallowed hard.  This girl was his daughter.
Some woman's child, and he was her father.  She and
Mulder hadn't been partners, hadn't been friends, for a very
long time.  It made the feelings of love she had
contemplated just fifteen minutes before seem like teasing,
cruel children, and she quieted them expertly, relegating
them to a dark corner of her brain.  But she felt compelled
to know the truth.

"May I ask you a personal question?"  The girl nodded, and
she pressed forward before she lost her nerve.  "Do I know
your mother?"

"I never knew my mother."  The brows above her eyes
knitted together.  "I don't remember her at all.  I don't
remember much of anything before he found me."

"Found you?"

"Yes.  He found me in New Mexico.  I was six years old.
He couldn't find any record of my birth mother or father, so
he adopted me."

An absurd wave of relief swept through her.  Mulder had
adopted a child.  She wasn't Diana Fowley's daughter, as
she had suspected...as she had feared.  "So you're sixteen
now?"

"I'll be seventeen in November."  She took Mulder's hand
once more.  "Now he can really teach me to drive.  He
promised last year, before he disappeared."  She pressed a
kiss to his knuckles, and Dana felt tears spring to her eyes.
"He is going to get better, isn't he?"

"We're doing everything we can.  And he's always been
strong."

"Thank you, Scully.  I know he's in good hands."  The girl
smiled again.  "Is it all right if I call you Scully?  I don't
know if I could call you anything else."

She took a deep breath and allowed her smile to shine, the
one that she reserved for special people in her life.  Mulder
would have recognized it had he been awake, having seen it
on rare occasions himself.  "I haven't been called Scully in
a very long time.  But I like hearing it again."  She turned
to go to the door, wanting to give the young woman some
time alone with Mulder, but she paused with her hand on
the knob.  "You haven't told me your name."

The girl settled back into the chair.  "It's Emily.  It's funny,
my name is one of the only things I remember from before
Dad found me."

No words would come out of her throat.  They seemed to
burn there as she fought for control, as her mind rolled over
and over like a snowball barreling downhill.  She finally
gave Emily a short nod and pushed her way out of the
room, heading quickly for the bathroom at the end of the
hall.

She threw up.  Becoming a mother often did that to people,
even if it happened nearly seventeen years after the fact.

***End Part Two***

Crossroads in Time (3/3) by Avalon

See Headers in Part One

Time had slipped by so quickly before he returned to her
life.  Now, as she waited for him to regain consciousness, it
moved as slowly as a dying slug on hot cement.

She sat sometimes alone, and sometimes with Emily, at his
bedside.  He had grown stronger, and most of the wires and
tubes keeping him alive had been removed.  The staff
delivered him to a private room, and Emily brought photos
in frames to dress up the space.  She had waited that first
day until Emily had fallen asleep in her chair, and then
moved to the pictures, her curiosity burning bright and hot.

There were three of them.  Two showed Emily as she
looked now, one with a boy at a formal dance, and the other
an obvious school picture taken against a plain blue
background.  But she gazed at the last one for quite a long
time.

It was Mulder as she remembered him best, wearing one of
his infernal gray t-shirts and a pair of straight-legged blue
jeans.  He crouched on the beach next to a tiny girl in a
pink print sundress, holding an ice cream cone between
them.  Both of them sported a smear of chocolate on their
chins, both were laughing, and the child clutched at his
arm, trying to pull the treat closer to her.  The expression
on her face riveted Dana to the spot.

Emily.  Just like <her> Emily.  Identical to her sister
Melissa.

Mulder had found her.  Somewhere in New Mexico.  He
had adopted her, and she had grown into a beautiful young
woman.

Her daughter.  Their daughter.  The idea of it sent her mind
reeling.

But she didn't speak to Emily about it.  She didn't ask any
more questions about their past, and she didn't pry into
their private lives.  She locked her emotions away, keeping
her voice and face as neutral as possible whenever Emily
came to visit.

But in the night, she cried at his bedside, pleading with God
to allow her to know the truth.

The days ticked by, one after another, like silent virgins
walking an uphill path toward a waiting sacrificial volcano.

*****

She shook open the front page of The New York Times and
scanned through her glasses for something of interest.  She
had taken to reading the newspaper to him every morning,
hoping that her voice would somehow lead him to
consciousness, like the breadcrumb trail for Hansel and
Gretel.  Emily usually arrived around noon, and she would
settle at his bedside to eat her lunch and chatter while Dana
donned her doctor's scrubs for the afternoon shift.  After
her hours were up, she returned, and Emily went to sleep in
her office...and then the routine began again.  Thirteen
days so far.  She wondered often what the magical number
in this equation would be.

She found an article about the impending election and read
the first couple of lines to him.  "Senator Hilary Rodham
Clinton announced yesterday at a Democratic Party dinner
that there was absolutely no truth to the allegations of
campaign funding fraud that the Republican Party recently
leveled at her.  She and her husband, former President Bill
Clinton, spent the long Labor Day weekend campaigning
for her re-election."   She smiled slightly.  "Honestly,
Mulder, you haven't missed much.  Nothing ever seems to
change."

"Does that mean I should just stay asleep?"

Her head jerked up so violently to follow his whisper that
she heard an audible snap.  The newspaper fluttered from
her hands as she scrambled forward, her fingers fumbling
for his.  The eyes that met hers were a bright green-gold,
snapping with an amusement that was completely different
from what she'd expected.  She'd anticipated nothing but
strained silence from him when he finally woke up, and she
had steeled herself to receive it.  But although his color had
not changed, and he still seemed exhausted, his gaze held
none of the contempt that she had feared.

She blinked back a tear and coughed out a laugh.  Her
fingers closed around his, and she noted with a leaping
heart when he squeezed hers back weakly.  She opened her
mouth to speak, but he was already ahead of her.

"I've been waiting for you to read all morning.  What took
you so long?"

Her heart was beating fast, as if she had just run a mile, and
it was difficult to say anything around the clutching
sensation in her throat, but she forced the words out.
"You've been playing possum? I should have figured you
would."

He licked his dry lips.  "After all this time, you still know
me pretty well, Scully."

It was not an admonishment, she knew, but her cheeks
burned with a crimson flush all the same.  She tried to
sidestep that issue, knowing sooner or later they would
come to it.  "How are you feeling?"

"Like Rip Van Winkle.  Everything's still the same, but I
know I've missed something."

He stared at her, and she tried to read his look, but she was
out of practice.  The nervousness and excitement in her
stomach propelled her to her feet.  "I should go and wake
Emily.  She'll want to see you right away, I know."

He cut off her turn with a clutch of her hand.  "No, wait,
Scully.  Stay a minute."

"Mulder--"

"Sit down.  We need to talk."

She reached out her free hand and brushed her fingers
across his brow, noting the sweat that had broken across his
forehead.  "We have plenty of time for that.  I don't want
you getting overly excited.  It's too much too soon for you.
Let me get Emily.  She'll kill me if she doesn't get to see
you."

His voice, stronger but edged in emotion, stopped her cold
a few steps away.  "I know you're wondering, Scully."

She didn't face him. "Don't, Mulder --"  The breaking note
was bright and sharp in her tone.

"She is your daughter, Scully."

She put out her hand to catch herself on the side rail of the
bed.  Damn him, she thought hotly as the tears spilled down
her cheeks.  Always so goddamned relentless, he never
could stop when he should...

Her hitching breath cut off her thoughts, the sobs pouring
forth like an unexpected thunderstorm.  In her peripheral
vision, she saw him jerk forward, even though she knew he
was weak and incapable of offering her any physical help.
Somehow, their hands touched, and his fingers laced
through hers, pulling her toward him.  She let herself go,
finding her head once again resting in the hollow of his
shoulder where it met his chest.  Beneath her cheek, his
hospital gown dampened from her onslaught, but the dim
sound of his heart beating seemed to soothe her.

"I found her in 2000, in a research facility in New Mexico.
She looked so much like...like your Emily that I took her
back to Washington with me.  I had a doctor the Gunmen
trusted run her PCRs, just like you did with your Emily in
San Diego."  He paused, and his low voice fell to a
whisper.  "They matched, Scully.  They matched yours, and
they matched Emily's.  I think they were born at the same
time, possibly even twins...but it's the damnedest thing,
Scully.  She's never been sick a day in her life.  Whatever
was wrong with your Emily...there's nothing wrong with
her.  She's perfectly healthy."   She opened her eyes, and
the look of gentle love that graced his mangled features
speared her soul.  "She's strong, Scully.  Like mother, like
daughter."

"I didn't dare to hope when I saw the pictures she brought,
Mulder.  It just seemed too much like a fairy tale.  I thought
maybe she was...Diana's daughter."

He grimaced.  "No.  Diana's been dead for a long time."

She could see pain on his face, a signal to tread lightly.
"I'm sorry, Mulder.  What happened?"

He swallowed and licked his lips again.  "You were right
not to trust her, Scully.  I should have never let her back
into my life.  She was...sent...to keep me distracted.  It
worked for a while."  He smiled wanly.  "She gave me the
tip about the facility in New Mexico.  Apparently the
Consortium wanted Emily for some reason.  But she must
have had a change of heart, and she somehow thwarted
their plans.  I think they killed her for that."  He sighed.
"But before then, I knew she was working against me, and
we had split up.  After she was murdered, it was just Emily
and me"

"You kept her safe."

"I never understood it, Scully.  I still don't.  They never
tried to touch her after that.  Perhaps she wasn't what they
thought she was."

A hint of a smile tugged at her lips.  "She's a beautiful
young woman, Mulder.  You did a good job.  You're a
good dad."

"Except when I get myself abducted by aliens."  His voice
was nothing more than a croak now, and she straightened
up, still keeping her hand in his.

"You need to rest."  She hesitated for a mere second and
then pressed a brief kiss to his hairline.  "I'll be back later,
and we can talk more."

He nodded and allowed her to slip out of the room as he
closed his eyes and drifted into sleep.  But she lingered in
the corridor, watching from the tiny square window as the
sun slanted its rays across the new morning, afraid to let
him out of her sight, afraid to lose any more precious time.

*****

"Did she make it OK?"  He sat in the chair next to the
window, his back straight beneath his colorless bathrobe.
His hair was combed from his forehead in a wave,
reminding her of the way he used to wear it when they first
met.  Clean-shaven and sweet-smelling, she was pleased to
see he was able to do more and more for himself every day.
She slapped the morning edition of the Times next to his
ravaged breakfast tray and smiled.

"You mean, aside from the fact that she's terribly
disappointed you're not with her?"  His lips curled into a
grin, and she noted the healthy pink beneath the fading
scars on his cheeks.  "She's on her plane, heading back to
Washington.  And really, you shouldn't be far behind her."

She crossed and sat in the chair opposite him.  He pushed
the rolling bed table from between them and looked at her.
He was waiting, she knew, for something, and she wasn't
entirely sure what it was he expected.  But she knew what
she needed to say.

"You're recovering very well, Mulder.  Another week,
maybe less, and you can go home."  She kept her tone as
light as possible, even though the weight of that reality was
heavy in her heart.  "You always were a fast healer."

"I always had a good doctor.  I still do."  Her smile
widened and she looked away quickly.  He continued, his
next words extraordinary and unexpected.  "I'm glad you
were able to practice, Scully.  I know you've helped a lot of
people over the years with your work."

It was time.  The moment had come, and she couldn't back
away from it.  They hadn't spoken of anything from the
past besides hints and fleeting comments about old times.
He had opened up the door now, and she knew he was
waiting to follow her through it.

"I've thought a great deal about that decision, Mulder.  The
choice I made that Friday after we came back from Dallas."
She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye.  "I'm
sorry if I hurt you.  I didn't mean to leave you that way.  I
never imagined I wouldn't see you after that day."

His face softened.  "Scully, it was my decision, too.  My
choice.  I've relived that moment more times than I can
count.  I could have gone after you, tried to convince you to
stay...I could have returned your calls.  I could have gone
back to the F.B.I., tried to get the X-Files back--"

This surprised her.  "But I thought...I thought you and
Diana were at the Bureau, working on the X-Files
together..."

"No."  He shook his head.  "I never went back.  I still
searched on my own, following an occasional lead from
Skinner or the Gunmen.  But it just wasn't the same."  His
gaze penetrated to the depths of her.  "Not without you."

"But your sister...your quest for the truth..."

His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and in that instant,
she understood.  "Oh, Mulder.  I'm so sorry."

"I'm not, Scully.  I wouldn't have wanted her to live a life
of lies and pain."  He collected himself swiftly.  "But I
don't think we can know.  I mean, how many different lives
would we be leading if we made different choices?  We
don't know."

"What if there was only one choice?  And all the other ones
were wrong?  And there were signs along the way to pay
attention to..."  Her voice trailed off as she realized she had
finally asked the one question that her mind had turned
over for twelve long years, like a pirate contemplating a
glittering bauble buried in the sand.

She wondered now if she had discovered a treasure or a
curse.

Mulder hummed deep in his throat, obviously tumbling the
idea through the passages of his own mind.  "And what if
you missed some of the signs along the way?"

"Exactly."

He sat forward in his chair, and she felt his fingers brush
hers.  Her hand opened reflexively, seeking the heat and the
pressure of his touch, and she tucked hers inside of his
gentle fist.  "Then I think, Scully, you have to recognize
that maybe the lessons that don't get learned are presented
in another way.  Maybe you come to the crossroads again,
and you get another chance to choose a different path."

His comment struck her hard, and shaking, she squeezed
his hand.  The words that she spoke shook, too.  "I...I want
to make the right choice this time, Mulder."

"I do, too."  His eyes glittered wet green.  "I'm sorry,
Scully, for not telling you about Emily.  But when I found
her, you were already married, and...I didn't know how we
could fit into your life.  If you would want us to fit in.  You
had what I thought you always wanted, and I couldn't upset
that."  The tears that threatened finally spilled from him,
breaking his voice as well.  "And she was so much like
you, Scully, I couldn't bear to give her up.  She was all of
you that I had left."

She pulled him closer, her arms around his neck, and they
cried softly together.  The moments slipped by as their
emotions drained through them, countless fears and the
unearthly burden of lost love washing out of them both.
When her heaving chest finally slowed and the tears
stopped flowing, she realized that she felt lighter than she
could ever remember feeling.

Finally she moved back, pressing her forehead against his.
"Mulder," she began, choosing her words carefully.  "You
are Emily's father.  Nothing will ever change that fact.  But
I--I would like to be a part of her life, somehow, if you
will allow me to be."

He lifted his head and peered at her.  He didn't speak for a
few moments, and her mind panicked, suddenly afraid that
she had misjudged his intentions.  "I have one condition,
Scully."

She gave a slow bob of her head to ask him to continue, not
trusting her voice.

"That you be a part of my life, too."

Still not sure she could speak, she gave him the only
answer she could.  She kissed him softly, her lips hesitating
slightly over his.  He responded immediately, and as the
moment spun out between them, she felt the dawn of a new
day in the gray space of her heart.

*****

The time on the courthouse clock read half past four, and
she adjusted the straps on her heels one more time.  He was
late, but it was raining in torrents, and the traffic was
atrocious.

She didn't mind waiting.  After all this time, it didn't seem
like much of a burden.

The door to the office banged open, and he strode in,
soaking wet from head to foot.  His dark hair stuck up from
his head in tufts like overgrown grass, and she laughed,
rising to meet him.  He gestured helplessly at her, and she
slowed him with a hand on his arm.

"It's fine, don't worry.  They're behind, too."

He huffed out an impatient breath and stilled as she
smoothed his hair and blotted his face with a tissue from
her handbag.  "It's raining like a son of a bitch," he said, as
if her powers of observation had left her.

"I know, Mulder."  She raised herself on tiptoes and kissed
him, and she felt the tension drain from his body as he
melted into her.  When their lips parted, she smiled at him.
"Isn't it a beautiful day?"

It rained on her wedding day, again.  She couldn't have
cared less.
 

***End***

AUTHOR'S NOTES:  I started this story so long ago that I
completely forgot it existed.  I ended up sending out the
snippet I had to the I Want to Believe List to see if anyone
recognized it.  We finally determined that it was mine, and
something stirred me to finish it.  But I have to give the most
credit for this story actually being written to the support
and encouragement of sallie.  If it hadn't been for her, I would
never have finished it.  Thanks, doll, for your unwavering
enthusiasm and your quick, fantastic beta.  This one truly is
just for you.

Also, special thanks to Jenna, who made a lovely mix CD of MSR
songs for some of us IWTBers.  The song "Crossroads" by Don
McLean was on there, and while I was finishing up this story,
I realized how appropriate that song was to this piece.  It also
inspired me with the title, so here are the words:

"Crossroads" by Don McLean

I've got nothing on my mind, nothing to remember,
Nothing to forget, and I've got nothing to regret.
But I'm all tied up on the inside,
No one knows quite what I've got,
And I know that on the outside,
What I used to be, I'm not, anymore.

You know, I've heard about people like me,
But I never made the connection.
They walk one road to set them free
And find they've gone the wrong direction.
But there's no need for turning back
Cause all roads lead to where I stand,
And I believe I walk them all
No matter what I may have planned.

Can you remember who I was?
Can you still feel it?
Can you find my pain?
Can you heal it?
Then lay your hands upon me now
And cast this darkness from my soul.
You alone can light my way,
You alone can make me whole once again.

We've walked both sides of every street
Through all kinds of windy weather.
But that was never our defeat
As long as we could walk together.
So there's no need for turning back
Cause all roads lead to where we stand,
And I believe we walk them all
No matter what we may have planned.
 

Thanks for reading.  Although I haven't been
writing as much recently, perhaps I will see you
again.  And I'd love to hear what you think:
avalon@fuse.net.  Blessings!
--
 

"We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection."
   --Anais Nin