Title: for all the times you saved my life

Author: Gillian

E-mail: blue_cerulean@hotmail.com

Rating: gentle

Keywords: MSR, Scully POV

Spoilers: some reference to dod kalm, the
unnatural, all things, and up to an including
trust no 1.

Disclaimer: These characters and all things X-
Files are the property of CC and 1013. Story
created out of respect for that amazing gift.

Story: Scully has the day to herself to
contemplate turning 38.

Dedication: to all those responsible for deciding
to bring him back.
 
 

for all the times you saved my life
by Gillian

February 23, 2002

Scully woke early.  As she did each morning, her
hand instinctively reached for him.  It seemed so
strange to her as she rolled onto her back, that
it had only been two nights.  "The truth we both
know," he had said.  That night he had moved into
her apartment, so that they could begin their life
together, the three of them.  Yet it was only two
nights before it became apparent to both of them,
that the only choice they had was for him to
leave.

Somehow, those two nights had seemed like a
lifetime.  So much so that each morning now, and
it had been months, she moved her hand into the
hollow of the bed beside her.  And each morning
felt anew the ache of disappointment that he
wasn't there.

Some nights she couldn't even bear the idea that
he wouldn't be there in the morning.  The feeling
was so intense that she would sleep on the couch
in the living room, in order to avoid the
inevitable emptiness that morning would bring.
And somehow, sleeping on the couch brought him
closer.  A sweet reminder of the many times she
had opened the door of his apartment to find him
asleep on his black leather couch.

William had grown so much in his absence.  And
each day she found something else in him that
reminded her of Mulder.  His wide-eyed curiosity.
His tenacity.  His hunger.  And, his
protectiveness of her.  Whenever anyone else was
around, this tiny child made her feel like she was
the only person in the world that mattered.  It
wasn't until William was in her world that she
realized that Mulder had done that for her since
the first day they had met each other, so many
years ago.

Sitting on the edge of the bed she glanced over at
the hollow, at the two-night indent he had made in
her bed, the one that so neatly matched the 9 year
indent he had made on her soul.  She so wanted to
curl into him, and spend this day talking to him
about what their life together could be like.
They had come through so much, and now, just on
the threshold of having an existence as close to
normal as their lives could possibly offer, each
other, their child, a movement away from this
internal search, their story had taken an
unexpected twist.  Instead of ending, the search
continued, yet another unexplained and unanswered
question.  Who was their son?

Scully glanced over at the empty bassinnette.  Her
mother had come last night to take William for the
night and for the day.  It was the first night
that they had been separated.  Scully had resisted
at first, but it was her mother's birthday gift.
Scully could get a decent night's sleep and then
spend the day on her own.  Sleep in, and then take
advantage of the freedom a day without William
could afford her.  And, at the end of the day,
Maggie had promised a special meal.  It would just
be the three of them, grandmother, mother and
child.

Scully stood and padded into the bathroom.  She
looked longingly into the mirror at her own image.
38 years old today.  The last year had taken a
toll on her and she could see it reflected back in
her own face.  Losing him.  The difficulties of
her pregnancy.  His return and his struggle to
find his way back into his own life, let alone her
life.  William's birth, and the anxiety of not
knowing whether she would lose him or not.  The
decision to ask Mulder to leave.  Living as a
single-mother.  The pre-arranged date of his
return being compromised, and now, 6 weeks with no
e-mail contact whatsoever.  Not a word.  She
smiled.  She may have been left at the end of this
year with a few more grey hairs and a few
unexpected lines around her eyes, but the rest was
a miracle.  The most beautiful son.  And
ultimately, the love of the man she cared for more
than life itself.

Despite having known for a week she would have
this day to herself, she had made no plans.  She
just wanted to drink coffee, read the newspaper,
and take care of a few things around the house.
It was probably too cold for a run, but a nice
walk would feel good.  And, then, perhaps a long
bath and some personal attention, before heading
for her mother's in Baltimore.

She opened the door and reached down to pick up
the newspaper.  Instead of the paper, there was a
small square package, wrapped simply in brown
paper.  No address on the outside of the package,
no card, no note.  Instinctively she looked up and
down the hallway for some kind of indication of
who might have left the package and why.

It was clearly a book of some kind.  She ran her
fingers gently along its edges, suspicious of what
might be inside.  It was her birthday, but she was
also still an FBI Agent, and at times like this
her professional side took over the side of her
that used to squeal with glee at an unexpected
gift. She waved the present under her nose, and
could detect a faint smell of salt.  She gently
ran her fingernails under the tape and removed the
book from the paper.  It was an old blue journal,
the picture on the front of it barely familiar to
her.  It was stained with what looked like water
stains, although the stains were rusty in colour.
The pages had also been exposed to water.

She flipped open the book and was surprised to see
her own hand-writing.  As she flicked through the
pages it all came flooding back.  This was a
journal she had kept, years ago, when she and
Mulder had been trapped at sea on a vessel where
all the sailors had mysteriously aged and died.
And, she and Mulder, in their time there, had also
aged, coming mere hours from dying themselves.
This book, and her chronicle of what they had
experienced, had been used to save their lives,
and in particular his.

Who was giving her this book?  She tried to
reflect back on what would have happened to it.
It would have been evidence, but then ultimately
returned to them at the X-Files.  The case had
remained unsolved, because the ship had sunk and
there had been no further evidence to support
their story.  The miracle of their illnesses and
recovery had perplexed doctors for ages.  And, she
remembered that her words had been the source of
much medical discussion.  She couldn't remember
having seen the journal since then.

She thumbed through the pages, hoping to find
something other than her own writing that might
help her to understand who had given her this book
and why.  Had the ship been salvaged?  Was one of
those sailors trying to reach her?

At the very last page of the journal where her
words had trailed off when she too had lost
consciousness she found a small folded piece of
paper.  Opening it she read, in his most distinct
handwriting,

"I have kept this all these years.  It reminds me
of all the times your courage and belief in me
saved my life.   I can't imagine what my life
might have been like without you.  All my love,
Mulder."

It was from him.  She held the book up and shook
it to see if there were any other pieces of paper
hidden within its pages.  And, then, the
realization struck her, that he might have been
the one that had come and left the package on her
doorstep.  That, while she slept, he might have
been right outside her door.  He had a key to her
apartment, but she had been sleeping with the
chain on her door now ever since he left.

She ran to the door, and pulled it open.  Hoping,
beyond hope that he would be there.  Instead, she
found a second package, also in brown paper, this
one larger than the first.  She stepped over it
and ran down the hallway, hoping she would find
him.  But not a person was to be seen.  She ran
into the stairwell and then down to the front door
and outside of her apartment.  Still, no sign of
him, or of any other messenger.

Returning to her apartment she picked up the
package from her doorstep.  More urgently and less
cautiously than the first gift, she opened the
second.  Inside she found what looked like a
baseball jersey.  Turning it over she saw the name
on back of the jersey in big white letters,
"Gibson."  She ran her fingers over the letters.
It was the jersey he had worn the first night they
had made love to each other.  He had invited her
to meet "Fox Mantle" for an evening of hitting
baseballs.  She closed her eyes and remembered the
feeling of his arms around her, and the words he
had whispered in her ear.  "Hips before hands."
She remembered the complete abandon she had felt
with him that night, and how the evening had
progressed from the park, back to his apartment,
and finally into his bed.  It had been the most
freedom either of them had ever had with each
other.

She also remembered that the next day the way they
had woken up together as if they had been doing
this their whole lives. No embarrassment.  No
regret.  No fervent conversations about what this
might mean for them in their partnership, or their
careers at the F.B.I.  Instead he asked her to
come with him somewhere special.  And, without a
second thought they had driven to Cooperstown.  He
wanted to show her the tribute there to Josh
Gibson, the name that had adorned his jersey.
Gibson, he had told her, was inducted post-
humously into the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1972,
having died unexpectedly at the age of 35.
Rumoured to be one of the greatest baseball
players ever, his entire career was spent in the
Negro leagues.  Dying before Jackie Robinson
entered the league.  Dying before his talents
could be discovered beyond those who had ever gone
to seem him play.

She remembered the look in Mulder's eyes as he
told her the story of Josh Gibson on their trip to
Cooperstown.  And she remembered the tears in
Mulder's eyes as he walked like a mesmerized child
through the Baseball Hall of Fame.

She shook the jersey out, hoping that it too would
contain a small message similar to the last.  And,
to her great pleasure, a small folded piece of
paper fell out from the shirt,

"I have kept this jersey all these years.  When I
wear it I can hear the careless abandon of your
laughter that night as together we hit baseballs
at the stars.  And, it reminds me that being with
you gives me the freedom to be more fully who I
am.  Thank you.  All my love, Mulder."

It had to be him that had left these packages on
her doorstep.  Who else would he have met and
trusted?  Who else would have known that she would
find them?  And, why would he have just left these
things lying outside where anyone could have taken
them?  Where they might not have gotten to her?
He had to be there.  Again she ran to the door and
flung it wide open.  Again, she held her breath
hoping that she would just find him standing
there.  And again, a small package in brown paper.

This time, she just sat down where she was.  The
door wide open.  She ripped the package open and
found a tiny square box.  Opening the box she
found two small pieces of paper. The first was a
note in her hand-writing.  The note was fragile
from being what looked like folded and refolded
thousands of times.  She opened it gently, feeling
that with each unfolding that the paper would fall
apart.

"I have gone to my place to change.  See you in a
few hours, don't be late.  And, bring bagels."

What could be the significance of this note, she
wondered.  Wracking her brain she tried to imagine
when she had written this note to him, and why he
might have kept it.  Surely, she had written a
note like that a thousand times.  And, it didn't
have anything in it that seemed remotely personal,
or loving.

She opened the second piece of paper.

"I love this note, Scully.  You left it for me the
morning that I am certain we conceived William.
It reminds me that in the midst of the most
momentous of events, you have remained my
constant, my touchstone, my home.  All my love,
always, Mulder."

She looked at the other piece of paper, and the
night came flooding back to her.  It was the
weekend he had been in England, and she had seen
Daniel for the first time.  It was the weekend
where she realized that all the paths she had
taken in life felt like they had lead to that
moment.  She too had done the math and traced it
back to that night, although she had never
realized that he might of as well.   She also
remembered stealing out of his bed that morning
and heading off to work as if it was any other
day.  Little had either of them realized that the
love of that evening might bring them both the
greatest of love.  William.

She stood up from the door frame where she had
been sitting and moved back into the living room.
She spread the three gifts and the three notes out
on the coffee table and looked over each one, her
eyes filled with tears.  It meant the world to her
that he had found a way to reach out to her today.
But, somehow seeing them there troubled her.  She
wanted to feel the pure joy that each note
conveyed, but instead she felt worried.  Why was
he parting now with these things that he said
meant so much to him?  Why run the risk of
returning them to her?  Why do that today?

She readied herself to go to Maggie's.  Having the
day to herself had been a wonderful idea, but the
unease she felt now with Mulder's notes just made
her want to be close to William.  She could have
this day to herself some other time.

She got into her car and began the drive to
Baltimore, playing over and over the beauty and
significance of each one of those gifts.  She had
wondered how he reflected back on the many times
she has stayed with the science as she had those
unending hours at sea.  Something paranormal was
forcing them to age against their will, but in the
end, it was her calm science that had enabled the
doctors to save his life.

She also reflected on the few times that they had
really had together where they both could just
laugh and be free with each other.  So much of
their relationship had been about the work.  And
yet, as she thought back on that night hitting
baseballs, and then the days they had taken,
absent from the FBI without permission to go to
Cooperstown she began to smile herself.  A flood
of similar memories returned.  A night out at the
movies.  Bureau credit-cards.  Bubble baths.

And finally she thought about that night.  The
night where they had let themselves love each
other in a way that has surprised them both.  And,
she remembered the moment the doctors told her she
was pregnant, mere hours after learning that
Mulder was gone.  She remembered each of the times
that they had sought comfort in each others'
bodies, and how it had always felt to her like
home.  She remembered the moment when she could
finally tell him, and he could finally accept her
answer, that the life she carried inside of her
was a life they had created together.  That
William was the product of their incredible nine
year love.

William.  As she pulled up to Maggie's she could
hardly wait a moment longer to hold her son.  To
see in his eyes the look of love that can only
come from a child to a parent.  The look that
William had for her.  The look that he would one
day have for Mulder, when he would finally come to
know his father.

She opened the door and without words headed for
the room that Maggie had set aside for William on
what she hoped would be many visits.  So ready to
see her most amazing miracle of a child.   But as
she entered his room she saw a sight that took her
breath away.  There in the rocking chair holding
William was Mulder.  Father and child.  Mulder was
looking down at William and was so intent on his
son, that had not even noticed that Scully was in
the room.  The room was filled with candles, that
he had clearly intended to light.  He was talking
gently to William, words she couldn't make out,
but words that brought tears to her eyes.  After
an excruciating moment of virtual silence, she
found herself stifling a small cry.  Mulder slowly
looked up at her, and then smiled a smile that
took her remaining breath away.

"It's about time you got here," he whispered.
"Happy birthday."

the end.
 

Please read my other stories, archived at
gossamer, I think:

"Which is what?"
"You are always here"
"4 weeks, 3 days, 7 hours"
"Thank you for coming back to us"
"I will come home, I promise"
"Partners in all other senses of the word"
"A Small, Brightly Wrapped Parcel"
"this place, this bed, this woman, this child"
"she"
"one lonely night"