By Christine Leigh
leighchristine@hotmail.com
 

RATING: G
CATEGORY: V
KEYWORDS: Angst
SPOILERS: Pilot, Detour, Existence

SUMMARY: Post-series.

DISCLAIMER: All characters are the products of
Chris Carter. They also belong to Ten-Thirteen
Productions and the Fox Network. No copyright
infringement intended.
 

The Girl Who Laughed at the Rain
By Christine Leigh

There are mornings when Mulder is reluctant to get
up, or when he doesn't want to awaken Scully (so he
tells himself) and on these occasions he finds
himself becoming increasingly indulgent.  The man
who used to be at his desk by 7:00 a.m. now allows
himself to dream, or half-dream as he contemplates
starting his day.  He never returns to sleep
completely, but if he is diligent his mind will
travel to places he long ago left behind.  The
greater his distance grows from the world he knew,
the more frequent are his visits there.  In a way
it's like having his own twilight zone.

"Agent Mulder . . . "

As she spoke those two words, he'd turned to look
at her.  This was their first meeting, and it is
difficult for him now to recall that there was ever
a time that he didn't listen for the sound of her
voice.  If it is not in his actual presence, it is
always just around the corner.  Their years
together have all but obliterated what came before,
and he sometimes will have the most vivid dreams
that depict conversations with her during times of
his life that occurred long before she was in it.
He would once again be at the junior prom with
Carol Leland in his arms, but it was *her* voice
that whispered in his ear.

Recently in these reveries he has taken to hearing
the sound of her laughter.  That night in the rain
at the cemetery they had both laughed like a couple
of crazy people, and while an argument could be
made that it was borderline hysteria that drove
them to it, this is one of his dearest moments to
recall.  It was as though she had been freed from
everything and was letting all that she held inside
of her loose as she became one with the water that
was pouring down upon her face.  This was no longer
an adult woman before him or a fellow agent, but a
girl -- a girl who laughed at the rain as though
she hadn't a worry in the world.  He remembers how
amazed he felt while witnessing this.

She doesn't laugh anymore.  Gentle smiles on
occasion, never wistful.  She is careful.  Her
broken heart quota has been met.  There are times
he would like to talk about their loss, but he
knows that doing so might break her.  It might
break him.  Yet, he often thinks of the infant boy
he held intermittently over the course of a day,
and who is never far from his heart.

*What are you going to call him?*

*William.*

Their life is not one that either of them wants.
They work when they can find employment, and when
neither can do that, they become regular customers
at the nearest food bank.  They live in dwellings
that cause them to long for the apartments that
they apparently took for granted.  They are thinner
and older looking.  She's still beautiful -- that
will never change in his eyes.  Her hair hasn't
been red for three years, and he misses it
terribly.  Her voice, though, is the same, and he
takes selfish comfort in that.  To hear her speak
is his favorite music.  She says she can't sing,
but he would listen to her all night if she ever
were to change her mind.  He knows that the chance
of that happening is slim, though.  It isn't the
recollection of the forest that night and her arms
around him as she caved to his request and sang to
him that is holding her back -- no, that memory is
a good one.  He guesses that she sang to William.
It tears him up to even think about it, but he's
fairly certain that this is the barrier.  So he
understands why he hasn't heard her sing since that
night so long past.

Were they lullabies -- her songs to their son, he
wonders?

It cannot be said that William was never part of
their plan since they'd never had one.  He was
their most beloved surprise, and his absence has
left a space in their lives that will never be
filled.  One night, some days after Scully had
explained to him how she came to bear his child and
he had acknowledged fully what was happening to the
two of them, she'd told him of the joy she'd felt
upon learning she was pregnant.  She'd had a few
hours, give or take, of pure happiness, she had
said.  Then Skinner had arrived.

They were in bed and the room was dark as she
relayed the story, and he'd cried upon hearing it.
It was a cleansing of a sort and the morning
following had brought a fresh start to them.  Now,
as he thinks of this time, he remembers it as their
happiest.  They were filled with awe, wonder, and
anticipation -- all the things he'd observed in
other prospective parents.  For lack of a better
word, he thinks of this as their 'normal' period.
 
*****

It had been an unremarkable day for the most part.
Mulder arrived home first -- his shift at Lucky's
Diner cut short. Business had really been down
lately and he is certain that his days there are
numbered.  Frankly, he doesn't care.  He has a cold
that has been trying to escalate into some sort of
bronchial thing for nearly two weeks, and today had
been bad.  However, he was able to bring dinner
home with him, so it hadn't been a complete waste
of time.  He shoved the food into the refrigerator
and then fell onto the couch in the tiny living
area.  He just needed a nap.  Soon, or so it
seemed, he heard her.

"Mulder.  Mulder, wake up."

She is tapping his shoulder.  He is freezing.  He
struggles and then finally opens his eyes.

"Mulder, you're burning up, and you were breathing
quite heavily."

"I'm sorry, Scully.  I just wanted a nap."  His
words sounded fuzzy.

"Mulder, we need to get you to bed.  Can you
stand?"

"Yeah."  Scully gripped him with both arms and
together they got him upright.  She held him tight
as they walked to the bedroom.  She helped him to
sit on the bed.

"Let me take your shirt off."  She unbuttoned and
removed the garment, and then helped him up so that
she could turn down the bed.

"Scully, I just need to sleep."

"Mulder, have you eaten anything since this
morning?"

He shook his head.

"I'm going to get you a glass of juice and some
acetaminophen."  He nodded again and watched as she
left the room.  Then he took his shoes off and
crawled under the covers.  If she would just hurry
back, he'd be all right.  It was getting dark
outside, he noticed.  He must have slept longer
than he'd intended.

"Can you sit up once more, please, Mulder?"

She'd brought juice, some saltine crackers, and two
Tylenol tablets.  He pulled himself up and she
handed him the juice first.

"Just sip it and then try to eat a cracker."

They sat in silence as he drank and bit off half of
a cracker.  He handed the other half back to Scully
and then set the glass down on the bedside table.

"No, you need to take these."  She handed him the
pills and he picked the glass back up.  She handed
him the two small white tablets and he dropped them
into the glass, and drained the remainder of its
contents.  Scully placed her hand beneath his head
as he lowered himself to the pillow once more.

"Mulder, I'm worried.  This cold isn't abating."

"I thought I was getting better, but I'm so tired."

"If you can sleep, I'll watch you.  And if I hear
anything I don't like, we're headed to the clinic,
no arguments."

"Just stay with me, Scully.  I'll be fine."

She kicked her shoes off and crawled onto the bed
next to him.  Then she sat up and laid her hand
against his cheek.  They didn't speak, and she
hoped he would sleep.  She'd been so concerned
about him over the last two weeks, but he'd kept
insisting it was nothing.  He opened his eyes.  She
saw this and bent down close to his face.

"Scully, do you remember the time in the woods in
Florida?"

Did she remember?  Of course she did.  Leaving off
subsequent events in her life that were tied to the
memory, this was one of her happier moments with
Mulder -- the night she had sung.  She had not
wanted to at all, but something odd had happened
once she'd started.  She'd always been a very self-
conscious singer, but suddenly after a few lyrics,
she'd been fine.  As she sat there with his upper
body in her lap and listening to his breathing, she
had been downright giddy inside.  Part of it was
due to the aftermath of her remission, but the rest
came from the pleasure she felt in holding him.
She remembers thinking the next day that she would
sing for him anytime.  She remembers the joy.  She
remembers the song.  And, she remembers the other
times she sang it.

"Mulder, would I ever forget?"

"No, I suppose you wouldn't."  Her hand felt so
soothing upon his cheek.  "I felt like a warrior
was protecting me that night, Scully."

"A warrior with an off-key alto."

"I loved hearing you sing.  You weren't that off-
key."

"You were injured at the time, remember?"

"My ears were fine.  I love your voice, Scully."

"Mulder, you need to try to sleep."  Her tone was
gentle.

"Scully, tell me a story."

"I'm a lousy storyteller, Mulder, and besides I
don't know any stories.  Honestly, given a choice,
I'd rather sing."

"Okay."

"Mulder, I don't have a large repertoire."

"I like the song you sang in Florida."

Something inside her gave way at hearing him say
this.  She didn't want to cry, but couldn't help
herself.  She turned away for a moment but there
was no escaping his notice.

"Scully, I'm sorry.  What's wrong?  Forget about
the singing."  He reached for her and she turned to
him.  She pulled him onto her lap.  They were in
the woods again.  He heard her sniffle and draw a
deep breath, while holding him tight.

"No, Mulder.  I'm sorry.  I can't let myself do
this."

"It's all right."  It wasn't, but he didn't know
what else to say.

"It's been awhile since it hit me like that.  And
you don't need this now.  You're sick and you need
to rest."

"Scully, I need you to cry, if that's what you want
to do."

"But I don't want to.  I want to be able to think
about him without tears."

"You do that, Scully.  Most of the time we both do
that.  But there will always be the other times
when we won't be able to do that, and it's all
right."  He felt her squeeze him even tighter as he
spoke.  And then almost imperceptibly, he felt her
rocking him.  Seconds later she stopped, and he
sensed that she'd moved beyond the crises, at least
for now.  Then he heard her.  Her voice was low and
beautiful, just as it had been in Florida:

"Jeremiah was a bullfrog . . . "

Soon, he slept.  In the arms of the girl who had
laughed at the rain.
 

- end  -
 

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