RevalationsVI.Memories.html

MEMORIES - An X Files story (Part 1/3)
By Susan S. Esty
AKA Windsinger@aol.com
Original release date 3/28/95, revision released 7/31/95

Teaser: Mulder has been gone for two weeks on a case. As a
homecoming, Scully arranges a romantic dinner at his apartment but
has an unexpected visitor.

Rated: PG-13. No graphic sex, no violence, just pathos.

This story is a sequel to THE ABDUCTEE and MILE HIGH but was
completed before either of them and can be read alone. This version
was revised from the original for consistency with Abductee and
Mile High, for punctuation, and because I can never leave anything
alone. This story takes place late in first season but before
Erlenmeyer Flask. (See series information at the end.) Distribution
is permitted as long as no profit is made and as long as the author
is credited.

Note: There is another story on some FTP sites in one part with the
same name. Sorry for the duplication, it was not intentional.

This story is based on the characters created by Chris Carter, Ten
Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. Used without permission
and no infringement is intended. Thanks guys (unisex personal
pronoun intended), for creating this marvelous stuff.

MEMORIES
by S. Esty
AKA WINDSINGER@AOL.COM
Revised 7/31/95

Dana Scully looked at her reflection in the mirror for the
tenth time. She was as excited and edgy as if she were going on a
first date, not just having dinner with Fox Mulder. Yes, make up
fine, a little heavier than day wear, a little more eye liner, the
lipstick a little more luscious. She tugged at her new dress. She
thought it flattered her trim figure well, not the sort of thing
she would wear to the office, but not too daring. She wanted to
encourage the poor man, not scare him to death.

Coming out of the small bathroom, she looked over Mulder's
living room. She hoped he would not mind that she had cleaned.
Having nothing to do while dinner cooked and unable to sit still,
she had tried to straighten up without getting the piles of papers
out of their particular Mulderesque order.

After excavating the small table in front of the window, she
had set it with her grandmother's Irish linen table cloth, china
and silver which she had brought over from her own place. There
were even flowers she had bought herself, though it would be nice
if he appeared at the door with some as well. Dana had learned from
long experience, however, not to expect too much from Mulder and
this time she was willing to forgive him just about anything. His
flight from Denver was due to arrive late in the day and he would
be tired. Besides, from the way he had sounded the night before, he
was eager to see her, hopefully too eager to waste time buying
flowers.

His voice over the phone had sounded so good, unusually rested
and healthy, but also lonely. He had been gone two weeks,
investigating some white collar crime in a small Colorado town and
recuperating from his last trip to the hospital. The case had not
been excruciatingly draining, which was why this project was
selected, but she could tell it had not been particularly exciting
either.

"I feel like a miner," he moaned. "Dig, dig, dig."

"Did you find anything?" she asked with a smile.

"Oh, sixteen tons." The voice that came to her from the
receiver had a whimsical tone to it. "But I'm not sure what it all
means. Since all my sources have dried up here, I might as well
come on back and finish in the comfort of my own home." Then there
was a long pause on his end of the line. "I've missed you, Scully."
The tightness in his voice indicated that he had to drag that out.
Dana knew, in fact, that he had, for always before he had let his
eyes speak for him. Over the phone that was not an option.

Dana felt a wave of pleasure wriggle through her. She knew how
hard it was for him to voice his emotions and this was not the
'I've missed you, Scully, because I've really messed up and I need
you to hold my hand' kind of 'I miss you'. This was the heartfelt
expression of his feelings for her as his friend and confidant,
which, for once, were not clouded by exhaustion or depression.
"I've missed you, too," she said, putting as much emotion into her
words as he had. "It's been boring here," she added with a lighter
touch.

"Well," he replied and she could almost see the roguish smile
come to his lips, "I'll just have to see what I can do about that."

She almost gasped as a wave of blissful desire washed over
her. She swallowed to steady her voice. "Tell me when your plane's
due in and I'll have dinner ready at your place."

"You don't have to do that," his voice said but his tone said,
'I'd like that.'

"No trouble."

"I'm taking a commuter plane out of here tomorrow morning at
eight. I've got a long layover in Denver but I've got to stop by
the field office there and give them a preliminary briefing. I'm
booked on American flight 405 arriving at National at eight fifty-
two."

"I could meet you," she offered.

"No, just wait at the apartment," he suggested slowly. "I
wouldn't want to make a scene in public."

She sighed, probably too loudly that time, for she heard a
slight humming from the other end of the line. He would never
chuckle, but the humming high up in his sinuses served as well.

"I got you a present," he hinted.

"Oh, another video of football highlights or one of those, 'My
parents went to Colorado and all I got was this lousy T-shirt' T-
shirts?"

"You'll see," he teased. "Everything all right with you?"

"Nothing having you back won't solve." She had responded,
amazing herself by her daring.

"I'll be there unless the airline goes on strike. Got to go."
He paused. He did not say 'Love you' but rather, "See you soon,
Scully."

"Same here, Mulder."

Just remembering that conversation now gave her gooseflesh.
She lit the candles and turned down the lights, checked the dinner,
which was a casserole he actually liked and would keep if they did
not get around to eating right away. That thought made her feel
warm and tingling and a little moist way down deep. <You'd better
not disappoint me this time, Fox Mulder.>

Expectantly, she looked out the room's only window, though she
knew she could not see the street well from there. Finally she sat
down on the couch and looked at her watch. Nine-forty. Enough time
to get here from the airport if his flight was on time but she had
already checked that and the airline said it was. She waited.

***

At ten-thirty Dana Scully could not decide if she was worried
or angry. She had called at ten and confirmed that the flight had
arrived. <Where could that rascal be?> If Mulder had picked up some
flight attendant she would kill him. Six times she had lit the
candles, only to blow them out again. She had just blown out her
seventh match, the candle light again dancing upon the gleam from
china and crystal, when she heard a gentle tap at the door. She
leaped for it, not remembering that this was his own place and he
would not need to knock.

Assistant Director Walter Skinner stood at the door looking
troubled, a small brown box in his hand inked all over with what
she recognized as military routing stamps.

"Director Skinner, this is a surprise," she exclaimed. And it
was. She had never seen him at Mulder's apartment before. "Mulder's
not here." She let a playful little pout creep into her expression.
"In fact, he's late. But he's due any minute if you want to wait."
As soon as she made the offer, Dana regretted her words,
remembering that the preparations she had made were not 'normal'
for two partners just meeting over dinner to catch up on business.
"Of course," she added hastily, "it's so late, maybe I could just
tell him to see you at the office first thing in the morning."

Skinner did not seem to take the hint but came in and shut the
door behind him. His face was very grim. And troubled. "I came to
see you, Agent Scully. When I couldn't find you at your apartment,
I thought you'd be here." His glance traveled over her dress, the
candle lit table, and he closed his eyes as if he were almost in
pain.

Something about that look made Dana begin to tremble and it
was not simply anxiety because Skinner was seeing evidence that two
of his agents were acting very un-agent-like. Thunder rumbled
somewhere far away, or was she imagining that? She took a step
backward then felt him guide her gently down onto the couch before
he sat down next to her.

"Agent Scully - Dana, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I have some
bad news." She said nothing, only stared into his eyes refusing to
read what she knew she saw there. He looked away from that
penetrating gaze, stiffening visibly before turning back. "The
commuter plane Agent Mulder was taking from Tuccon, Colorado to
Denver crashed into a mountain in a storm this morning. It exploded
and burned on impact." He didn't have to complete the litany, she
knew what the words would be. "Agent Scully, I cannot tell you how
sorry I am. There were no survivors. "

Dana felt her jaw begin to quiver. Her world crumbled as the
meaning of the words sank in and burst about her. Mountain...
plane... fire. Fire? No, not that... anything but that... Mulder
was terrified of fire. The flames, the heat, death reaching for
him... The fear.

Only then did the truth, like a knife, strike home... Gone?
His bright spark no longer part of the world, part of her life. And
she... she would never see his beautiful face again. His sad eyes.
Never. Never... "No. God, no," she whispered, "Not Mulder." Her
brain turned off. Grief and despair descended, smothering her.

Skinner hesitantly touched her shoulder as she began to cry.
When her small body began to convulse with the wrenching sobs, he
took her up in a halting embrace as he would have taken one of his
own children. He did not realize his touch was worse than no touch,
for his were not the arms she longed for.

As the first wave passed, a part of Dana fought back the
tears, cringing that she had allowed Skinner to see so much. This
was her boss, Mulder her partner, not her... her what? <Damn the
pretense!> she cried within her own mind while her hands clutched
at her hair. <Damn, the show, the fiction, all for the sake of the
*job*.> For now it was gone, all gone. Their restraint had cost her
even memories of what they might have had.

The anger released some of her natural skepticism from the
paralysis. She looked up hopefully, but with no hope, into
Skinner's stone face. "How can they know for sure?" she managed to
choke out.

Skinner had been a Marine in Vietnam and afterwards. He had
told terrible things to good people before, but this was the worst.
This was such a waste, so utterly meaningless.

"Don't you think I had doubts?" He was battling his own pain.
Even through her distress Dana could see that. "The bodies were
burned beyond recognition. Agent Scully, I checked. I had our
people out there within the hour. Agent Mulder's name is on the
manifest. He is also rather 'distinctive' looking and the passenger
list was small, so the terminal boarding crew clearly remembers
seeing him board."

At that Dana seemed to collapse into herself. Her eyes became
bleak as the realization sank in. No hope. Skinner sat and could
think of nothing to say. Instead, he took from the box he had
brought, a plastic evidence bag. Slowly, he opened it and held out
a brightly colored object which smelled of smoke and fuel. "Some of
the luggage was thrown clear. The friend of mine Agent Mulder had
been working with investigated the site himself." Skinner paused,
pulled in a slow breath, steadying himself. "He asked the military
to send -" He stopped himself. "Anyway, he found these. The package
just arrived."

She accepted the cloth from his hand. She would have
recognized those colors, that pattern anywhere. It was one of his
favorite ties, a little food stained, a little ragged, the one she
hated the most from his collection so he only wore it on days when
they would not be seeing each other unless he particularly wanted
to annoy her. She held it up to her face. Beneath the smoke and
fuel smell was his smell. She fought down the tears that threatened
to erupt once more.

"There's something else," Skinner said gently. From another of
the plastic bags, he pulled out a small box. It was a jewelry store
box and gift-wrapped, but the wrapping paper was mussed and
slightly singed. Obviously wrapped at a store, the paper had a
Western theme and a rust colored ribbon. No hearts and flowers for
Mulder. There was a card of cream paper and on it in Mulder's
manageable scrawl was written 'To Dana.' Not 'To Scully', 'To
Dana'.

"It must have been with his luggage," Skinner explained as she
began to unwrap it slowly, automatically. She opened the small box.
Inside nestled in the white cotton was a bracelet made of a montage
of minerals and semiprecious stones - cat's eye, lapis, amethyst,
rose quartz, malachite, garnet, yellow jade, turquoise and amber -
all strung together with silver wire. It was gaudy, it was awful -
it was all Mulder.

A picture of him standing at the counter picking it out came
unbidden to her mind. He always looked so cute when he shopped,
like a child in a candy store. She envisioned him flirting with the
salesgirl or, more likely, she flirting with him and he, as always,
totally oblivious to his effect upon women. He shopped so seldom he
was completely naive about prices. He probably paid twice what it
was worth. She held it in her hands, envisioned his long slender
fingers touching it and thinking of her, thinking of coming home to
her. Maybe finally. . . Dana gasped as the wave of anguish burst
the dam she thought she had built around it. She dropped the
bracelet to the floor as if it burned her fingers, fled from
Skinner to the bathroom, slamming the door violently behind her.
Even through the closed door, Skinner could hear her crying. He sat
for a long time his face buried in his hands.

***

Some time later, when Dana refused to leave Mulder's apartment
and return to her own, Walter Skinner called Margaret Scully,
gently broke the news, and asked her to come down from Baltimore to
get her daughter. While they waited, Dana attacked the kitchen. She
scraped the dried casserole into the garbage, uneaten. Dumped the
wine down the sink, untasted. She threw out everything in the tiny
refrigerator that might spoil and washed the dishes. And all the
while the silent tears did not cease.

When Maggie finally arrived, Skinner met her at the door. Dana
was still in the kitchen so it was just the two of them for the
moment, facing each other. Swollen eyes searched Skinner's face,
hoping there had been a terrible mistake. They had dated a couple
of times so she had no trouble reading his strong, closed features.
There was no reprieve. When he saw her eyes fall upon the candle
lit table, take in the meaning of those intimate preparations for
two and its horrible uselessness, he opened his arms and she buried
herself against his chest and wept again as she had wept so many
times during the drive down.

Maggie had already accepted Fox Mulder into her family. He was
almost like one of her own, and though she felt the loss of his
special person in her own way, she could not help but be more
concerned about how Dana would handle this. Badly, she knew. Worse
than badly. Worse than Maggie had felt when her own husband had
died for Dana would have so many more regrets. At least Maggie and
her captain had had years together, years of memories to relive and
cherish: wild nights of passion, days of companionship, nights of
snuggling, the birth of children, the pain of separation when he
went to sea and the happiness of reunion. Dana and Fox had never
had a chance. Their lives together had been only in its infancy.
For this Maggie mourned, as much for the tragedy of their lost
happiness, as for his death.

Margaret went into the kitchen to find Dana. In case he might
be needed, Skinner did not leave but huddled on the couch, looking
tired and miserable.

Maggie also tried to get Dana to go home, but, meeting
resistance, Maggie knew to let her stubborn daughter alone. Maggie
did insist, however, that Dana try to rest, try to sleep, to find
release from the grief for at least a few hours. The young woman
was exhausted, her body drained of life, her eyes dead within her
face.

On numb feet, Dana stepped into the dark bedroom and lay down
across his bed. But there was no comfort here. Her burning eyes, so
full of questions with no answers and no one to ask, strayed to the
window. How many times had he awakened from uneasy sleep to stare
at that same window? How many times to see it was still night? How
many times had he staggered to the living room from this restless
bed to lay on his couch with only the blue light of the television
for company? How was it that some nights never seem to end?

Dana lay fully clothed. Her new dress was wrinkled and stained
with tears and water spots from her frenzied cleaning in the
kitchen, but the damage did not matter. Nothing mattered. She
rolled onto her stomach. The sheets felt odd against her face. They
were crisp and new. Even through her clogged head, she could smell
a sterile, plastic scent. Something tore deep inside as she
remembered why these felt so odd. She had bought them herself and
put them on only that afternoon. She had had such hopes for this
night. She had read so much in the tone of his voice over the
phone. Slowly she traced the blue edging on the simple design she
had picked out just for him.

Suddenly frantic, Dana crawled off the bed, and from the
corner of the room where she had thrown them for the laundry, took
into her arms the well-used sheets she had taken off for the new
ones. Falling back onto the bed, she buried her face in their well-
worn fabric... Soft, so soft. And softly to her mind came a vision
of him. A strange peace crept over her. Yes, there he was. She
could sense him. If she opened her eyes he would be there, lying
stretched out long and lean and nearly naked by her side. To see
her better, he was propped up on one elbow, one hand on that smooth
cheek, the muscles of his chest standing out clearly in the
shadows. His lips were smiling gently, playfully, matching the
warmth and welcome in his soft, hazel eyes. She could even hear his
breathing.

Oh, the dreams she had of kissing his cheekbones, nose and
chin, kissing the full, sensuous mouth, running her hand over the
firm strong muscles of his chest, his back, glorying in the soft
hair at the back of his neck and at his groin, appreciating the
long sexiness of his body... Remembering, she felt the tears rise
up again, the anguish, knowing she would now have only such dreams
of him, and that with time even those dreams would fade, that she
had never slept with him here. Fallen asleep, exhausted, yes. Slept
next to him when one of them was hurting, yes. But never 'slept'
with him, not in that way. Never. Never felt him love her that way.
And now she never would. And neither would he. Nothing more for him
either, no sorrow, but no joy either, no final release from all the
years of loneliness.

Dana opened her eyes and found the place on the mattress
beside her was empty and not even warm.

Sometime later, unable to endure the muffled sound of weeping
any longer, Maggie Scully came into the room, now lit with greyest
dawn, and put her arm around her daughter, felt the shudders
lashing the small body. "You can't stay here, honey," Maggie told
her sorrowfully.

Dana sat up, still clutching the sheets in her arms. Finally,
she pushed them aside and raised her empty arms to her mother.

In the end Dana made the decision herself. She could not
surround herself with all these memories of him. Not now. She
carried enough within her. She hugged her mother, but her arms
still ached for him, would never stop aching for him. "Take me
home, Mom."

As she was leaving, Dana looked back, one last time, to look
upon the quiet, still room that had always seemed too small for his
prowling intellect, his physical restlessness, now forever empty of
the one person who should be there. She noticed the candles had
burned down very low. She blew them out.

***

Scully did not come back to Washington until the day of the
funeral. Her family came with her, all of them, her brothers and
their wives and her sister, Melissa. It was an unusually mild day
for early December. The sky was clear blue and there was no hint of
the city haze. The purple and white flowering cabbages and those
flame-red broom plants they planted around Washington in the fall
were set out in intricate patterns within the well-tended beds of
Arlington Cemetery. As a Federal officer killed in the line of
duty, Agent Fox Mulder was permitted burial at Arlington in a
special area reserved for the FBI. Since there was no body, a
simple brass plaque would be set into the wall of the classic
marble memorial.

Dana moved up the path like a sleepwalker, numb to the ebb and
flow of the living around her and their muttered words of sympathy.
She could sense him walking at her side. He was, as always,
slightly behind her, his hand ghost-light against the small of her
back, like her, sorrowing for so much left undone, so many dreams
and desires left unspoken and unfulfilled. But if she turned she
knew he would not be there. Dana felt as if half of herself had
been cut away, like an amputated limb forever present and yet
forever beyond her reach.

Dana has expected very few people. Mulder's mother had gone
into the hospital at the news and could not come. His father
refused to come which was just as well because he was the last
person Dana wanted to see. No other family came. Mulder had very
few friends, but she was surprised by the number of FBI who
attended. Agents, who had publicly tormented Mulder cruelly with
his nickname and about his special 'cases', stood sheepishly
staring at the ground. After they had passed and given her their
condolences, Dana realized that Mulder would have been surprised to
know how much many of them had respected his talent, even while
ridiculing his methods.

Only towards the end of the brief memorial service did she
recall that she had not contacted the Lone Gunman, but then she saw
Frohike standing in the back. Of course, they would have their ways
of knowing, they always did. The little gnome looked so devastated
that he did not even come up to speak to her. Dana sent her mother
to bring him to her.

"A few of us are going to offer our private farewells after
this -" she felt her throat constrict and had to struggle to get
the words out, "- show. Would you come? He'd like that."

"I'd be honored," the small man tried to say but only
'honored' came out intelligibly.

Upon leaving Arlington, Dana and her family, Skinner and
Frohike went to a spot on the Tidal Basin where Mulder would go to
think, and in the shadow of the Jefferson Memorial Skinner brought
forth a vial of dust from the wreckage. There was no way of knowing
the true origin of the ashes, but Scully hoped, as she pressed her
hand around the cool glass, that some molecules that had once been
Mulder had made their way back to her.

Without a word, Dana passed the vial to Frohike. Reverently,
he took a few grains and sprinkled them upon the water. "You were
always one of a kind, Mulder," he reflected. "Certainly, the
magnetic fields of the earth could not support another like you.
Course, maybe now I have a chance with Scully." He tried to smile
at the last part, tried to catch her eye, but his lips quivered and
he failed. His irreverence, nevertheless, made Dana smile. Mulder
would have appreciated the effort.

Frohike passed the vial to Maggie who, after taking a little
of the dust into her hand, began, "Fox, I had hoped -" Then she saw
the stricken expression on her daughter's face. 'Mom, don't say
it, please,' those eyes begged. <Very well, my darling.> And so
Margaret Scully began again. "Fox, you were a man any mother could
have been proud of." She sifted the fine dust through her fingers,
watched it fall upon the waters. "*I* would have been happy to call
you 'son'."

A breath of wind blew a shower of tiny, late-turning yellow
leaves over them like a cool, golden snow as Maggie Scully handed
the vial to her daughter, Melissa. Melissa accepted it with
hesitation, almost as if she expected it to burn her, but once it
was in her hand, she grew thoughtful. She tossed her small handful
of dark grain into the air as if trying to feed a passing bird.
"Remember, Fox - If you keep your back to the darkness and your
face turned to the light, you will always find your way home."

Skinner shook some of the ashes from the vial into his hand
and stared at them, saying nothing before he let them begin to fall
through his fingers. He had spoken for the Bureau at Arlington, but
those had been but officious words and shadows. In this place he
could say more. "You were a brave man, Agent Mulder, and you shook
the towers of the great more than you will ever know. I hope you
have found your truth."

Dana was last. Slowly, she took the vial from Skinner's hand
and poured the remainder of fine ashes and dust into her palm and
held her hand out over the gently, lapping water. "I will never
forget you, Fox Mulder." She blinked back tears surprised there
were any left to shed. "And I promise... I promise I won't stop
looking for Samantha ... and when I find her .... I'll tell her how
hard you looked for her, how much you ... loved her." She raised
her trembling voice, almost angry, "And if there is a God in this
universe," her voice broke, "I p-pray he will let me know you
again."

At this she upturned her hand and let the ashes float onto the
wind and out over the water. The others did likewise with the last
of their grains of memory and after a few minutes the dust and the
sorrowing people drifted away.

===========================================================================

From: windsinger@aol.com (Windsinger)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: repost: revised MEMORIES 2/3
Date: 2 Aug 1995 22:24:02 -0400

MEMORIES - An X Files story Part 2/3
By S. Esty
AKA Windsinger@aol.com
3/28/95, Revised 7/31/95

The character of Evan Byers was introduced in The ABDUCTEE.

Dana took time off but only because Skinner insisted on it.
She would have preferred to keep busy, but then she found that as
the executer of Mulder's will, she was busy enough. There were so
may details to attend to, lawyers to see, papers to sign. On the
second day after the funeral, not being able to stand the people
and their impersonal sympathy any longer, she elected to spend the
afternoon beginning to pack up his apartment. At least she could be
alone there. For the past four days, her well-meaning family and
her friends had not let her be alone. But first, she stopped at
the post office and showed the papers which would gave her the
authority to collect his mail. She put the bundle in a canvas bag,
already containing her own mail which had collected while she was
at her mother's. Together there was a surprising pile, but she did
not feel in the mood to look through it just then. She headed to
his apartment and let herself in with the key he had given her
months before.

The room was exactly as she had left it four days earlier.
The candles were still on the table, as was the china... dusty and
unused. Dana took the garbage down to the trash room and opened the
window to let in the unexpectedly mild air. She fed the ravenous
fish which had not quite turned cannibalistic as she had expected.

The packing did not go well. Dana had brought a couple of
boxes to pack remembrances she wanted to keep or things she thought
his mother would want, but she found so many things which reminded
her of him and she wanted to keep them all. Certainly, the afghan
her mother had given Mulder for his birthday, which he kept at the
end of his couch and rolled in at night when the chill settled in,
she would keep for herself. That and the picture of his sister, his
dearest possession.

Most painful of all, she found in the top drawer of the night
stand beside his bed, as if he kept it close at hand, a small,
framed picture of herself and Mulder, both looking very serious and
professional. Heaven only knew when it was taken. She gazed down on
it for a long time, imagining him staring at it as he lay in his
bed, sleepless and alone and haunted by nightmares. She missed him
so much at that moment. "Stupid, stupid, Mulder," she whispered,
lips trembling. "What a stupid way to die. Why did you have to go
without me and leave me all alone." Only within the close confining
walls of his shower did she finally surrender all control and allow
herself to shriek and sob without shame.

It was late in the afternoon before she sat down on the couch
with the bag of mail, unable to face the idea of packing any
longer, of unearthing all those memories, although the couch
probably had the most memories of all. She lay down. The scent of
leather, the scent of him, was so strong here. She decided then and
there that she would keep the ugly, worn thing. So what if it did
not go with the rest of her furniture.

Sorting the mail turned out to be a welcome diversion. There
were bills, several overdue, lots of junk mail. Not surprisingly,
nothing like a personal letter. There were, however, several large,
thin brown envelopes which she found with pained amusement were
adult magazines. She almost lost control again when she thought of
how cruelly life had treated him, that he had been driven to become
almost a voyeur, seeking to find in these poor things some
substitute for the human contact that had always been denied him.
She had hoped to take him away from all this, to exchange his
dreams and fantasies for reality.

Finally, she came to a large, padded brown envelope. It was
thick. She had laid it aside and almost tossed it into the trash
unopened because she was afraid it contained something he had
ordered through one of his magazines. Opening it, however, she
found a file, an FBI file, a case file such as they carried for any
investigation. She looked back at the envelope and was surprised to
see it had been addressed to her, not to him, and in a shaky,
unsophisticated and unfamiliar hand. The return address was
Mulder's apartment, but the cancellation stamp was Colorado. Two
days before, two days *after* the accident.

Dana went back and examined the file again. She had not been
involved in Mulder's last case but this looked like it.
Interestingly, most of the pages were copies. In addition to the
original background material, there were lots of his cryptic,
handwritten notes which she found herself touching almost
reverently. She also found one original document, a preliminary
report intended for the Denver field office. Her brow wrinkled. As
this packet contained the preliminary report, this looked like the
file Mulder should have had with him on the plane. Then how could
it have gotten sent to her? Curiously, she looked into the padded
envelope again and found a wrinkled piece of brown page which had
been hastily torn from a paper bag. On it was scrawled a message in
a blunt pencil in handwriting she *did* recognize. It was dated the
day of the accident.

"7:45am: Scully, I think I'm being followed and I don't dare
use the phone. This case may have a final kick in it yet. I'm still
coming home, but I think this would travel more safely on its own.
I'm giving this to a migrant worker who is working on the grounds
here at the airpark. I've given him enough money, but he doesn't
understand 'Federal Express' so I guess I'll be lucky if it even
manages to come Snail Mail. If it's lost, no problem, the original
I sent off to Denver yesterday except for the report and I have a
copy of that in my head, anyway. Sorry, it's later than I thought.
Got to run or I'll miss my flight and I don't want to risk that, do
I? Think I'm being paranoid with all these precautions?

If I was late arriving, I apologize again. I hope we had a
nice homecoming. - Mulder."

Dana stared at the note and at the folder again. Reread the
note except for the last part which she could not bear to read
again. Suddenly, she jumped off the couch, scattering the carefully
sorted piles of paper in all directions and whirled around the
apartment.

Skinner... She had to tell Skinner, but after frantically
dialing his number, she found he was in a meeting and his
secretary, the witch, would not forward her call. Okay then, car.
No, she hadn't a prayer of finding a parking space downtown, not at
this time of day. After phoning for a cab, she grabbed her purse,
her ID and the file and raced down the steps to wait for the taxi
in front of his apartment building. She sat on the top step and
hugged the knees of her jeans, wanting to sing, wanting to laugh.
She stared at the barren winter trees that did not seem so dead
anymore. Not dead, just waiting, waiting for rebirth. Finally, her
joy became overwhelming and she did laugh and the laughter sounded
strange to her ears as it echoed from building to building.

Dana had the fare ready even before the cab slowed in front of
Bureau headquarters. She leaped out before the car stopped. To the
security guard who knew her, she flashed her ID and returned his
look of surprise with a wink. The guard stood and stared after the
retreating figure of the normally impeccably dressed and demure
Agent Scully.

On sneakered feet she ran down corridors and up four flights
of stairs, unmindful of the startled looks and whispered comments
from the other agents in the building, who stared at the small
woman with the huge smile on her face, dressed in faded jeans and
a man's sweatshirt. She knew she must look crazy with her cleaning
clothes, Mulder's shirt and her hair just as it had come from the
shower, but she didn't care. With a spurt of speed she raced by the
startled secretary outside Skinner's office, threw open the door
over the woman's protests, and with eyes glowing announced to
Skinner, as well as to the rest of the attendants at his meeting,
"He's alive!"

***

Dana woke from the most satisfying sleep she had had in days.
She could hear the drone of the jet's engine. The cabin bell went
off again, signalling that the plane was preparing to land. She
stretched and from the little pains here and there realized she had
been asleep for a long time. Usually she slept fitfully on planes.
Languidly turning her head, she looked up into the face of the man
whose shoulder she had pillowed her head on. And stared into
unexpected blue eyes.

Dana jerked upright in her seat, instantly awake, aware of
the hurt look that flashed over the handsome features of Evan
Byers. "Sorry," he said softly.

Dana fussed with her hair. "My fault. I was dreaming."
Dreaming of Mulder, she realized. The dream of him sitting beside
her was so vivid that she had expected him to be there.

Evan was a tall, muscular man with an open surfer's gorgeous
face and blond hair. When he and Scully had worked together before
she had found not only that his investigatory technique was
flawless but that she could trust him. Skinner turned to him now to
accompany Agent Scully to Denver, because even though she did not
want company, Skinner would absolutely not allow her to go alone.
Evan had been at his job with the Food and Drug Administration when
the request came, but on an hour's notice he managed to get leave.
No one had called and told him of the accident, and, feeling so
badly about not having been there for her at the time, he
appreciated being given the opportunity to help.

Evan admitted that despite the fact that he was occasionally
dating one of doctors from Mulder's last horrible trip to the
hospital, his interest in Dana Scully, the woman, was still strong.
This was readily apparent to anyone who saw him looking at her, but
he knew where that line was drawn. He had come in second to Fox
Mulder before. Over the weeks he had come to accept his position as
her friend.

"Skinner asked me to remind you," Evan began uncomfortably,
"that this development only raises the possibility that Mulder is
still alive."

Dana was quickly correcting the damage to her hair. She was
a little sad, a lot wary. "I know," she admitted, abashed now when
she remembered her reaction when she had opened the envelope and
read Mulder's note. "I got carried away. But Skinner agrees any
possibility is worth investigating." She paused. "I got a call from
my sister before I left." He looked at her questioningly. "Mom told
her where I was going and why. I told you about my sister; she's -
sensitive."

He made an 'oh' shape with his lips. He remembered. "You mean
psychic?"

She nodded. "Some anyway. The day of the funeral, she says
she didn't feel his 'essence' in the ashes they sent back but
didn't tell me at the time because she didn't want to raise my
hopes." Scully tightened her jaw. "It's not exactly 'hard
evidence'."

"But it helps," he said quietly.

She stared out the window so he could not see her eyes. "It
helps," she admitted in a strained, muffled voice.

After a few long, uncomfortable moments, he asked, "So where
do we start?"

He saw her take a single, long breath. When she turned back
to him, she was pale and her eyes were swollen. "First to the
airport, to find out who says they positively saw Mulder board the
plane. Then we'll look into any leads in the documents he sent.
Whoever was after that file has to be our prime suspect.
Unfortunately," she said, lifting the folder that had been mailed
to her, "if Mulder couldn't find a pattern, I don't know who else
can."

Evan put his hand over hers. "I hope you don't mind my
tagging along."

She laughed gently. "Skinner wouldn't have it any other way.
Besides," she was serious now, "I know it's a long shot. I know we
may not find anything. If that happens, I'll be happy you're there
to give me a hand." She stared down into her lap. "I'll probably
need it."
***

The next morning, a flight on a commuter plane, a twin to the
one that had crashed, took them from Denver into tiny Tuccon County
Municipal airpark by eight-thirty. Scully had refused to take the
window seat and had averted her eyes from seeing anything of the
rough, majestic landscape. Once on land, she quickly found the
grounds keeper whom Mulder had mentioned in his note.
Unfortunately, the quiet little Mexican remembered perfectly where
Mulder had gone after giving him the package to mail. To the
terminal.

Scully scrutinized the boarding manifest and closely
questioned the airline staff about the passengers and boarding
procedures for the ill-fated flight. For Scully, it was anguish to
maintain her professional calm and still listen to their stories.
They were all very clear about seeing the tall, good looking man
run into the waiting room at the last minute. He had been smiling,
relieved to be making his flight. They were all very sorry, and,
Scully noted, all very scared. They had probably already been
questioned too many times since the accident.

"Anything at all unusual happen during boarding or take off?"
Scully asked automatically. The deadness was creeping back into her
soul and she suddenly felt very tired.

The woman at the desk thought for a moment. "I overheard
Jackson, the baggage handler, bragging about seeing something odd
happen out on the tarmac that day, but Jackson's always talking and
no one pays him very much attention. Still, if you want to be
thorough I'd check with him."

Numbly, Dana spoke the obligatory words of thanks and they
went in search of the baggage handler. Evan kept a steadying hand
on her elbow and prayed she would be able to keep it together
through the rest of the interviews.

They found Herbert Jackson on his back underneath one of the
oil tanker trucks which were used to fuel the planes. Obviously,
the man was more than a baggage handler. The walk outside in the
crisp air had helped Dana revive a little. She found that her
experience in being forced to function in the midst of the hell
surrounding some of the worst of the X-Files investigations, gave
her the strength now to push her own misery aside. She introduced
herself and Evan.

"Maria at the ticket counter says you might have seen
something unusual when flight 332 took off Tuesday." The questions
were coming without any conscious planning any more, but at least
she was speaking coherently. <Dot the i's, cross the t's, Dana.>
Her world could come to an end again later.

The man made an eager little sound. "I did. I did. The only
reason I remember is because of what happened to that plane." He
looked uncomfortable and wiped his greasy hands on a oily towel.
"You know ...later... up there." He waved his arm southeast,
towards a range of glistening white mountains.

As Dana was staring sorrowfully in the direction the man was
pointing, clearly distracted, Evan asked. "What did you see?" He
had caught the light of interest in the man's eyes even if Dana had
not.

"The plane had loaded and was pulling away from the
terminal," the man said." It was taxiing way out at the end of the
runway," he nodded towards a long strip of cracked grey asphalt,
"when this big black car comes screeching towards it out of
nowhere."

Scully started and glanced meaningfully at Evan before
turning her attention back to Jackson. "What did it do?"

"Stopped in front of the plane so it couldn't take off. Then
four men got out. All in black suits. 'Those are Feds,' I thought,
probably after a drug trafficker or something."

If this had not been so serious, Scully would have rolled her
eyes. "So you think these men in the black car were FBI?"

"Yeah, or maybe narcs. Anyway, they got the plane to lower
its emergency access steps and three of the men went on board. A
few minutes later they come off with a fourth man."

Scully's eyes's glittered. "Can you describe the fourth man?"
she asked eagerly.

The baggage man shrugged. "He was wearing a lighter-colored
suit than the others. And he was younger, and not so," Jackson made
a pose like an old side show strong man, "bulky. But tall. I was
too far away to see more but he wasn't happy about going along.
There was a fair amount of shoving. I figure he was a drug
smuggler, maybe."

Seeing Dana fighting to deal with a dozen overpowering
emotions at once, Evan stepped in. "Then what happened?"

"The four original men and this new one, they got in the big
black car and drove away. Gee, man, - " he smiled at his own pun,
"- just like in the movies." He sobered. "The reason I remember is
because of the accident. I got to thinking that man they pulled off
the plane? He was one lucky stiff."

Dana took in the information like she was starving and it was
food. Absorb it in little bits, she warned herself, or she was
afraid she would not be able to speak. She was experiencing both
incredible exhilaration and intense fury. She tried to keep her
voice even, professional, but the anger came out anyway. "Didn't
you think of mentioning this to anyone official? The man's...
relatives probably thought he'd been killed."

The man shrugged and turned back toward the tanker. "Not my
job. I figured the tower had seen, but maybe not. We're pretty
casual out here. Anyway, hey, he was with the authorities so
somebody already knew he wasn't dead."

Seething, Dana turned on her heel, but she easily fought down
the anger and allowed overwhelming relief to replace it. Before she
had gone far, her eyes were shining. Now she knew without a doubt
that Mulder had not been on that plane. Special Agent Dana Scully's
step was firm as she headed back towards the terminal. She was hell
bent on finding who had taken Mulder off the plane, where they had
taken him and why.

Evan's face reflected many emotions as he picked up his
normal pace to keep up with her. "Dana, I'm really happy for you."

She slowed and looked up at him knowing she should try to
hide at least some of her relief and happiness from him, but one
look at his face showed that he knew already. "Evan, don't think
I'm unaware of how you feel. Thanks for being so understanding."

"Yeah," he said, taking her arm and walking her back to their
rental car, "that's me, Mr. Understanding."

***

In Dana's motel room that night they compared notes.

Evan threw aside the case portfolio he had just gone through
for the fourth time. "Beyond the analysis Mulder wrote, I can't
find anything which ties all these bits and pieces together. But
mostly I don't understand how a plane can just stop and allow
anyone, even people they think are FBI, to drag off a paying
passenger without *someone* being informed!"

"The Tower certainly denies knowing anything. Unless," Dana
began to wonder, "the tower crew or the pilot were in on it. There
are advantages and disadvantages to small towns. Their closeness
will encourage them to stick together, through both thick *and*
thin."

"Legal and illegal, eh?" Evan picked up the portfolio again
wonderingly. "And this is what all the fuss is about? It's
gibberish."

Dana took it from him. "I don't know why but there are
definitely people here who want this and they want to keep their
wanting quiet. Beyond what's in Mulder's report, I can't find any
pattern which can help to unravel this mess and find these people."

"What about Mulder?" Evan asked hesitantly. "He can't give
anyone the file even if they ask. He doesn't have it. He doesn't
have either copy. They certainly can't get the one he sent to the
Denver office."

"And," Dana added fearfully, "Mulder's too stubborn to let
them know he sent a copy to me."

"How do you know they can't *make* him tell?"

Dana's eyes were like flint, unwavering. "Because I know
Mulder. He would die first."

Evan evaded those eyes and whatever the woman behind them was
thinking, and rolled off the bed to sit on the floor. "So," he
mused, "as long as they believe Mulder is able to tell them what
they want to know, he's likely to stay alive and well."

Scully ruffled through the pages of the portfolio. "Maybe not
*too* well, but at least alive."

"And what happens when their patience wears out? Will
they...?" Evan hesitated.

"Kill him?" Scully said. Funny that she felt no qualms about
talking about the possibility when a few days before the certainly
had devastated her. They had gotten out of worse spots. "Mulder may
not always get out of these situations in one piece but he's always
managed somehow. Besides, murder, outside of its being a crime of
passion, is actually very rare," she mused. "It's blown all out of
proportion by the media. If this were happening in a big Eastern
city like New York or Washington, I wouldn't be this optimistic.
But this is Colorado! I'm betting life is not treated so cheaply
out here."

"What do you want me to do?" Evan asked.

She sighed. "These are not big time hoods. The whole
operation is too slipshod. That's one reason it's so hard to make
any sense out of the pieces we've got. I agree with Mulder's
analysis. A well-run organization would act in a more logical
manner. Logical for the criminal mind anyway and, therefore, easier
for us to make sense of it all. If someone does lose their cool,
and certainly Mulder can be absolutely infuriating at times,
especially if he tries to play with their heads, then I think we
have more than an even chance he's been beaten and dumped." She
shivered. "Funny sort of wish. And if he's been found, he was not
carrying ID and still is not able to communicate or we would have
heard something. I'd like you to contact all the clinics and
hospitals in the area and ask about John Doe's with Mulder's
description. I know Skinner filed a missing persons report after
the package was received and these places should have been alerted,
but I don't want anything slipping through the cracks."

He nodded. "Certainly up my alley. Will do, 'Natasha'." He
added softly, "Dana, I know how much he means to you. I *think* I
know how much you mean to him. I hope we find him. I really do."

A darkness blew across her good mood. The darkness that had
trapped her in its horrible grip for five days, but she refused to
let it get its hold on her now. She had too much to do.

***

The next two days were frustrating. Dana was getting nowhere
in her investigation and she sat on the bed in her motel room,
discouraged and depressed. She kept trying to interview people
Mulder had already talked to and none of the information she was
getting was new.

Being a small rural area, there were also not that many
places where Evan could look for unidentified men. He had contacted
all the local clinics, hospitals, morgues, drunk tanks, and
sheriff's offices. He and Scully had gone to visit a mortuary in a
nearby town to check out a nameless vagrant who had died. That was
tough on Dana, but the unidentified man was not Mulder. Evan kept
looking farther afield.

"I think I need to move my operations to Denver," he said
after returning from spending three hours on the road hunting down
a possible lead. "I'm practically looking that far now anyway and
it's not efficient. I do find I get better cooperation if I drop in
on these places."

Dana put down the well-worn case file. Her eyes were red with
strain. She had read it so many times she felt, like Mulder, that
she could remember every grease spot on every page. Looking at Evan
relaxed her eyes. It was not surprising he got more cooperation in
person. He was a very handsome man and with the abundance of women
in the health care field that probably did him very well indeed,
but, even with his 'advantage', his line of investigation had been
as fruitless as hers.

"Why not?" Dana agreed, listlessly. "I can't think of
anything more to do here."

Evan sat down in front of her, on the opposite bed, and
leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Dana, the Denver area is
huge. It will take us weeks to look personally into all the
possible places. Most of the facilities I've called have already
received the missing person's description from the police, anyway.
Skinner's going to tell us to come home soon."

Scully evaded his ernest eyes. The dark cloud was closing in.
Each hour with no news brought it closer. She was beginning to
understand how Mulder felt the times she had been held hostage. And
all those years he had spent looking for Samantha. Death simple and
horrible, but straight forward and definitive, was far easier to
deal with than not knowing. During her phoned report to Skinner
that morning he had indeed hinted about their heading back and
letting the local officials continue the search.

Evan changed positions and went and sat down beside her. He
draped a brotherly arm around her bowed shoulders. "Dana, you did
everything you could." She leaned into him and for the first time
since finding the package Mulder had sent to her, she wept.

===========================================================================

Scully was packing the next morning when Evan softly knocked
on the door of their connecting rooms. "Come on in," she said. Her
voice was hoarse. She had done more crying that morning.

He came in, still unshaved, suit rumpled, reading something
from his stenographer's pad. "I got a nibble last night. I called
a few more places after you went to sleep." From the look of him,
Scully thought, he had stayed up half the night calling a 'few'
more places. She felt warm knowing that, attracted as he was to
her, he would go to such trouble to find his rival. "I didn't wake
you because it's far from being a given. A convalescent center
halfway to Denver has a John Doe. His description sounds a little
too tall for Mulder, a little too heavy and a little too old, but
do you want to check it out? We could take the rental car rather
than the commuter. They say it should take about two hours. I'll
drive. Even without snow down here yet this year, I know how you
hate mountain roads."

She thought about it. "As long as you don't mind driving.
It's a couple of extra hours but I'm not too fond of that airline
right now anyway."

***

The drive took quite a bit longer than two hours. <The local
people must drive these roads like lunatics,> Scully thought.
Ravensworth Convalescent Center was actually a fairly large place.
It was also private and obviously expensive. As they parked and
headed towards the office, Scully was not encouraged. Patients who
have no identification, and, therefore, no insurance, are not put
up in places like this.

The man they had come to see was, as expected, not Mulder. He
was a least forty and built like a longshoreman. He was in a coma
following a near drowning.

"I'm surprised you care for unidentified persons here,"
Scully said conversationally to the administrator as they headed
back to the lobby. "I would think the police would take them to a
state run facility."

The administrator was friendly and impressed by having the
FBI visit her institution. "The local police captain is the state
senator's brother. It saves him paperwork to drop them off here for
a while. We get reimbursed by the state eventually. Most are
identified anyway within a few weeks. Probably would be sooner, but
as I said, Morris hates paperwork."

They had reached the receptionist desk. Scully began
extending her hand to the woman. "Well, thank you for your time..."

"Oh, don't you also want to see Sam?" the woman asked.

"Sam?" Scully asked, the hairs on the back of her neck
beginning to prick.

"Didn't they tell you? Head wound. Blunt trauma. Been with us
about five days. Matches your description, too. The doctors working
on his memory think he's in law enforcement because of some of the
associations he's made. They are making real progress and expect a
break through in a couple of days. We did contact all the official
agencies when he first came in but no one answering his description
was reported missing."

Scully swallowed, feeling the stirrings of hope and
expectation, emotions she thought she had lost, start to flicker at
the edge of her consciousness. She fought them down. She would not
allow herself to be disappointed again. "Why do you call him
'Sam'?" she croaked.

"That's the name he was murmuring when he was found. We
assumed it was his name. You called last night? That's probably why
the night nurse didn't think to mention him to you. She probably
didn't realize he was unidentified because everyone calls him Sam."

Distantly, Dana felt Evan's hand on her shoulder, lending her
strength. She had sensed him earlier, staring at her, trying to
read her face. "Where is he?" she asked, almost too frightened to
know.

The woman indicated a door at the far end of the lobby. "In
the garden, I think."

Dana was already on her way as the administrator continued,
raising her voice to be heard, "The nurses will be really sorry if
you take him away. He's the prettiest thing we've seen around here
in years."

Dana's controlled walk was a run by the time she blasted
through the door with Evan close behind to stand on the sidewalk in
the shadow of a low hanging tree. In an open space filled with
bright sunshine, two nurses were playing catch with a tall young
man wearing green scrubs and an obviously borrowed, cable knit
sweater which was too short for his long arms. He had a bandage on
the left side of his head but, otherwise, looked healthy, more than
healthy. He had a big grin on his face and was playing and teasing
the young nurses shamelessly. He moved with the effortless grace of
a physically active man and looked far younger than Dana remembered
ever seeing him.

"Mulder," she whispered, but she did not go forward. She
wanted to soak up the very beautiful sight of him. She felt a happy
weakness and sat down on a rock wall bordering the sidewalk and
watched him, taking positive pleasure in listening to his laughter.

"Aren't you going to go to him?" Evan asked.

"In a few minutes. My God, Evan, he's happy," she said
wonderingly. And that seemed incredible to her. She felt the
familiar burning start up in her eyes again. <He doesn't remember,>
she realized, <Doesn't remember any of the terrible things.> She
shut her eyes. She was relieved that she had come in time to be
with him. She did not want to think about his facing this alone.

After a few minutes, one of the nurses called out to her two
companions about needing to go back to work. She waved, laughing,
and trotted towards the building, taking the path that led her by
the tree where Dana and Evan watched.

"Your place does good work," Dana called, as the young woman
went by. She glanced up to where the lanky man was still tossing
the ball and baiting the other nurse.

The young woman smiled, her face still flushed from the
exercise. "Oh, we didn't have to do much for *him*. Sam's just
naturally boisterous. Especially today."

"Why today?" Dana asked.

The young nurse smiled broadly. It felt wonderful to have
some good news to relate for a change. "He's an amnesia case and he
remembered something today."

Dana's expression showed real interest so the girl continued.

"A woman's eyes." The girl almost blushed which made Dana
notice this girl's eyes which were what some people called blue,
and other people called sea green. "Yes, like mine. Today was the
first time I was assigned to change the dressing on his head. I had
been working for a while when suddenly he reached up and put his
hand on my temple and stared so into my eyes I thought I would melt
right there. The doctors figure there's someone significant in his
life who has eyes this color. Probably his wife or a long time
lover. With that and being relieved to find he is probably in law
*enforcement*, and not a criminal, something he was worried about,
we thought we'd better take him out and get him some exercise
before he started tearing up the furniture."

Out in the yard the other girl dropped the ball he tossed her
and went searching for it under the bushes on her hands and knees.
He dropped down and began to search for it also.

"He's such an adorable puppy," the young nurse told Dana,
obviously enjoying the sight of him. "I can't imagine anybody just
losing *him*."

Dana cocked an eyebrow. "He wasn't wearing his tags," she
told the girl with a ghost of a smile. "That made him hard to
find."

The meaning of that took a moment to sink in. The young woman
pointed to Mulder and then to Dana questioningly. "You mean he's
yours?" Dana saw the nurse searching her eyes, which were the same
color as the girl's own, as variable as the colors of the sea.

Dana smiled. "Well, he's not *mine* exactly. Like any
mongrel, he's his own. But I'll claim him today."

The girl squeezed Dana's hand, genuinely pleased. "I'm so
glad he has found his way home," she said sincerely.

"So am I," Dana agreed in all seriousness. <So am I.> She
looked back over to the pair and saw they were getting a little too
physical for Dana's comfort. Dana gave Evan an appreciative glance
and walked over to where Mulder was threatening to nuzzle the
pretty young thing up one side and down the other.

"Fox, what do you think you're doing?"

The young man stopped in mid smile and looked up at this
woman coolly standing over him with her hands on her hips, her hair
moving about her face like red-gold fire in the sun. He had to
shield his eyes to see her. As he rose slowly up onto his knees,
she bent down to meet him, placing one hand on each side of his
face. "Do you remember me, Fox?"

She gave him time. She could see his mind working. His body
began to tremble. "N-Not Fox," he said, hesitantly and Scully could
almost hear the first thrown switch click back into its rightful
place.

<Click> Recognition as refreshing as a splash of cold water
in the desert...the certainty that what was lost was found. His jaw
dropped and he stared at the vision of her in stunned awe.

<Click> Over-powering emotion, welling up ... Affection for
this woman enveloped his whole being... mind and body and soul. He
reached up, grabbed her face, pulled it down to him and kissed her
madly, passionately, with a carefree abandon she had never known
from him, and she returned his with a kiss of equal joy.

<Click> Wait...A kiss like this... with her... felt
strange...wrong.... WRONG! Forbidden. His chest constricted,
stopping his breath.

<Click> Side by side with her. Bright minds fencing hot and
cold, trust complete and unfathomable. Back to back... weapons
drawn, rushing into danger. Everything that made life worth living
was connected to her .... all but this... this kiss! The kiss
faltered. His lips turned stiff and no longer responded to her warm
and eager ones.

<Click> Horror... Bodies... Mangled limbs.... Murder unkind,
inhuman. A hundred images of death he could never get out of his
mind. Throw up the walls or go mad. He stopped the kiss and stared
with fear and confusion into her eyes.

<Click> A girl child, screaming his name, ripped from him in
a bright light... Guilt overpowering... Waking again and again,
trembling and sweating with the memory that would not let him go.
An agonizing wound in his soul never healed. He pushed this woman
<Scully!> away from him, unwilling to burden her with his grief.

<Click> A smell of tobacco and urine. Bound. Imprisoned.
Blinded. A message cruelly conveyed. The plane. Crashed, burned.
Anguish he could not reveal. Then pleading with them, the
animals...<Call her, just call her! For mercy's sake, she thinks
I'm dead!> Eyes tightly closed, he clutched at his stomach as he
knelt on the ground. He felt her concerned touch on his shoulder as
she knelt beside him.

<Click> <Documents...documents? Who cares?>... So
tired...<Stop asking me!>... Anger for their cruelty to her to let
her go on thinking - <You cretins! They were in the overhead
compartment! Incompetent fools! Burned to a crisp by now...> A
baton wielded by an arm as thick as tree. An explosion of pain. He
grabbed his head and crumpled onto the dry grass. Felt her arms
around him.

<Click> In that second of anguish a lifetime of memories
engulfed him... fear and betrayal, humiliation, stolen chances, a
woman's heartless laughter, duty and responsibility, infinite
loneliness ... flooding back ... too fast... too awful. He buried
his face in the sun-warmed earth with something with like a sob,
shuddering uncontrollably.

<Click> Oblivion closing in as deep and quiet as the ocean.
He felt her take his head in her lap... smoothing his hair
soothingly. Whispering his name... <Mulder.> The shuddering slowly
subsided... a moment of stillness.

<Click> Waking up...here...on this island of sweet and
blessed forgetfulness... a tear dropping onto his upturned face. He
opened his eyes and saw her beautiful face unashamedly wet...
loving him. A hospital ... her sweet face against a white pillow
... she returning to him from death...loving her.

"Would you have preferred not to remember?" she asked
sorrowfully.

A breath of peace crept into his quivering soul from her
gentle touch on his face. He shook his head briefly, his mind too
full of memories for the moment to speak. He stirred and stood up,
taking her hand to help her up also. That was when she realized he
looked ten years older, the care lines, the pain, were back. Then
he bent down and brushed his lips against her forehead, but the
kiss was distant, without either passion or joy.

The End

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Author's note: The idea for this story came to me in March. I had
just read two x-files fan fiction stories which dealt with
death and the idea intrigued me. That's where the initial idea came
from, only, as in THE BOX, the story progressed differently than I
expected and wondrously into something far more than I ever
envisioned at the onset. I bless the writing muse for this one.

At the time MEMORIES demanded to be written, THE ABDUCTEE was just
through its first draft and I had finished MEMORIES before I
thought of the possibility of connecting it to THE ABDUCTEE
somehow. Then I pulled in THE BOX and I had a series going. MILE
HIGH came much later.

This version of MEMORIES is revised from the original for
consistency with ABDUCTEE and MILE HIGH, because Youkneek taught me
so much about punctuation during the editing of THE ABDUCTEE... and
because I can never let anything alone.

About the series: REVELATIONS. The initial story of this series,
called REVELATIONS, takes place after episode 5 of the program. The
rest of the series takes place in the latter half of the first
season, after FIRE and after TOOMS ('I wouldn't put myself on the
line for anybody but you, Mulder.') and before the ERLENMEYER
FLASK.

1.    REVELATIONS: In process, due fall 1995.
2.    THE BOX (On Ftp.cs.nmt.edu)
3.    THE VACATION (FLASH! As of 7/31/95 I finally know what the
      VACATION is going to be about! Only took me 5 months just to
      get the idea. With all my other projects it will probably be
      spring before I have time to write it, or maybe I'll finish it
      first, who knows?)
4.    THE ABDUCTEE (Released late July 1995.)
5.    MILE HIGH (Released late July 1995.)
6.    MEMORIES (On ftp.cs.nmt.edt parts 01, 02, 03. Note: There is
      another story on this site with extension .TXT which is not
      mine. Sorry about the identical titles. I try to check these
      things out.)
7.    JUST THE TWO OF US: Under construction. (Unknown whether
      REVELATIONS, the story, or JTTOU will be completed first.)
8.    SKUNKED AGAIN: probably. Great title, though.

      Not in this series:
      DO NOT GO GENTLE (on ftp.cs.nmt.edu)
      DELIVER US FROM EVIL (posted 4/17)
      WEDDING, version B (The Action-Adventure Version) in
      MacSpooky's GENERATIONS series and with her spirit and
      support. (posted August 1995)
      WALKERS (working title: There's already a fan fiction called
      'Walker'. Probably late fall 1995.)

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             "Goodbye," said the fox,
             "And now here is my secret:
             It is only with the heart that one can see rightly;
             What is essential is invisible to the eye."
                  A. de Saint-Exupery