By dlynn
dlynn1550@my-deja.com

Category:               vignette, angst, MSR
Distribution:           I'll send to Gossamer. Others,
                        please link to my website if
                        you want to archive the story.
                        Drop me a line so I might know. :)
Spoilers:               Existence
Rating:                 PG
Summary:                "Yeah, Dad ... tell us how it was."
                        Scully raised her left eyebrow in the
                        way that she did when she knew she
                        had him. "I want to hear again about
                        how you chased away fifty aliens ...
                        it was fifty, wasn't it, Mulder?"
Disclaimers:            As always, I don't own them.
 
 

dlynn's novel-length, post-episode, and stand-alone
stories are found at
http://home.mpinet.net/laster
 

~*~*~*~*
Scully, NORAD called ...
~*~*~*~*

"Tell it again, Dad. About the night I was born."

"Yeah, Dad ... tell us how it was." Scully raised her left
eyebrow in the way that she did when she knew she had him.
"I want to hear again about how you chased away fifty
aliens ... it was fifty, wasn't it, Mulder?"

"Fifty! No, Mom ... it was sixty. Right, Dad?" Will's blue
eyes, the color of cornflowers, searched Mulder's face.
"Sixty ... and they all were after me. And Dad, he came
swooping-"

"-swooping?" Mulder mouthed over the top of his son's
tousled auburn hair.

"Beats me," Scully mouthed back.

"Swooping down in his helicopter! And then ... he lambasted
the whole bunch of them, right there in the ghost town.
Blew 'em all away. Laser cannons, Mom," Will said, the
pride and import of it all so evident on his small freckled
face.

"Lambasted?"

"Yeah, Mom ... clobbered 'em, sent their scaly, bumpy hides
heading for the hills."

"Mulder? What are you telling this child? Scaly hides-"

"The art of story telling, Scully. Realistic fabrication is
an art form. The storyteller always occupied a position of
great importance. Tribes would compete to see who could
tell the best stories. Exaggeration became as much of the
art form as telling the tale."

"But, Mulder, you are creating a myth - a new mythology
with these stories. How's he going to be able to tell
what's truth or not."

"Truth ... who's to say what truth is, Scully? From my point
of view, when I got off that helicopter and I couldn't find
you ... there were at least fifty aliens."

"Mulder ... laser cannons?"

"Scully, are you going to sit there and tell me that Paul
Bunyon actually walked around with a HUGE, blue ox named
Babe?"

"Nah, Dad, Babe's a pig. Right, Mom?"

"Bah-ram-ewe!" Mom and son chorused together.

Mulder grabbed one of the pillows beneath his head and
swatted Scully. When he reached to get his pillow back,
Scully plopped the feathered cushion underneath her arms
and glanced between her two men: Mulder, all rumpled and
lanky, lying across the faded quilt -- his shirt untucked
and sloppy, his jeans stained where Will's hands had wiped
worm guts on his father's pants. Mulder's bare feet slid
against each other as he rubbed the mosquito bites he'd
accumulated last night fishing off the pier with their son.
Will, the spitting image of his father, from the way he
said, 'Oh, Mom' in the same plaintive voice that Mulder
whined 'Sculleee' to the way he spit sunflower seeds with
all the finesse of a pro, lay curled on his side, butted up
against Mulder's chest. His wet hair stuck up like he'd
been hacked with a wild weedwacker. Definitely, a Scully-
Mulder.

Scully had just tussled Will into the bathtub where she
scrubbed an inch of dirt off his hide, applied calamine to
several bug bites and a bee sting, and pulled one splinter
that was at least 'a mile long' from a thumb no bigger than
her small toe. That had only been this evening's
ministrations. This morning she'd fished a hook out of the
fleshy pad of Mulder's palm when their son decided he could
cast his fishing line all by himself.

Scully spent the rest of the day deprogramming their five
year old son who couldn't figure out what was wrong with
'Shit! Shit! Shit!' since Mulder had said it - repeatedly
and with great passion.

Will loved words - all words, including those she'd rather
he didn't know.

"It really hurt, huh, Mom? When I was born I mean." Will
laid his small hand against her cheek. She placed her
fingers upon his and captured another priceless moment just
as she had so many others these past five years.

"Yeah, Willie-boy, it hurt but hardly as much as the bee
sting you got this afternoon." Scully kissed the offended
end of Will's index finger. Mulder had thrown him into a
leaf pile. Scully felt her son needed reinforcements so
she'd pushed Mulder into the pile after him. Will - never
one to miss an opportunity - had grabbed a handful of maple
and oak leaves to shove down his father's collar. The bee,
hiding in the fall detritus, took umbrage, and Will's
finger received the penalty.

Scully couldn't forget how her chest had constricted when
Will had howled and the tiny bee had fallen onto his blue
jeans, still twitching. Mulder's assurances that
'everything's okay, Scully' did little to bring her back to
rationality.

Will had finally looked at his mom, as though she was a
three headed horse. "It's just a bee, Mom. I'm fine ...
really. Hardly hurts at all," he'd said, sucking on his
finger to prove his point.

"Scully, it's just a sweat bee. See?" Mulder had held the
small insect within a crumpled Maple leaf. She'd breathed
again, and then run into the house for a baking soda
poltice and a good cry in the kitchen.

"There was a light, right, Dad? That's how you found us."

Will was obviously going to beat this horse well past its
prime as he'd heard this story so often he could tell it.

"Yeah, son ... a light pointed me in the direction." Mulder
encircled his son within his arms and pulled him tight
against his chest. "I followed the light."

Will, his voice touched with reverence and awe, whispered,
"Mom said the light was Aunt Samantha ... that she was in the
starlight, and that she led you to the house."

"Mom's always been the romantic, Will. Hard to believe that
I could get involved with a woman who puts stock in
starlight and miracles, isn't it?" Mulder leaned across his
son, squishing the small child for the briefest moment as
he placed a gentle kiss at the corner of Scully's mouth.
"But you know what I think, Will. I think the light was
your mom's love ... for you, and it just had to go somewhere,
so it burst outside the windows and lit up the whole sky."

"Mulder. Now who's the romantic?" Scully leaned forward and
laid her hand upon Mulder's left shoulder. With infinite
tenderness, she nibbled at his lower lip and swallowed his
exhale.

"I'm squashed!" Will's muffled voice roared into Mulder's
tee shirt.

Mulder and Scully broke apart and looked down at their son.
His smile stretched from freckle to freckle.

"You're squashed, huh, buddy?"

"Yeah, Dad. All that icky stuff-"

"Okay, I'll stop, but hey, Will?"

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Want to see me make your mother melt?" Mulder waggled his
eyebrows. "Smooth as butter she gets, want to see it?"

"Really?

"Mulder, I can't melt. You know that if the body combusts
you get a 'wick effect' and the inside fat of the body
would slowly melt and seep into the outer clothing, causing
the corpse to burn for hours. Anything more than that would
require such an intense heat, and frankly, lover, you don't
have it."

Mulder just stared at her, and then at their son, whose
mouth gaped. "Mom, that is so gross! But cool."

"Scully, you really know how to suck all the romance out of
a guy, don't you?" Mulder chuckled and leaned into Will. He
cupped his hands around the boy's ear and stage whispered.
Will's smile encompassed the earlier freckles and split for
the ears. He wiggled out of his father's arms and scrambled
across his mother, getting on the outside of the bed, where
his small hands fluttered at her shoulders - a gentle
restraint.

Scully eyed Mulder and the way he inched towards her. She
felt the small breaths of Will as he giggled in her ear.
Finally, Will backed up, and Mulder pounced, pinning Scully
against the bed.

"Watch, Will! Mommy's gonna melt!" Mulder bent his head to
her neck and began a tender journey to her ear. He lathed
the outer, fleshy ridge of her ear. He opened his mouth and
began to suck, and nibble, and then blow gentle kisses down
her jawline - finally reaching her mouth, where Scully
greeted him with a twisted leer.

"Mulder, you can't-"

The phone rang; its strident bell was a rude interruption
to their evening. Scully watched Mulder's eyes cloud over -
gone was his teasing spirit. His body tensed with every
ring.

"Daddy, Mom's not melted yet. Want me to get the phone?"
Will asked, puzzled by his parents' sudden change.

"No, Will, Daddy will get it. Why don't you go brush your
teeth, buddy. Okay? I'll tuck you in after I get off the
phone."

"Okay, Dad." Will hopped from the bed and ran into his
parents' bathroom.

Mulder mumbled against the phone's receiver, the hunch of
his shoulders bore evidence to his frustration. He slipped
the phone into the cradle and padded slowly back to
Scully.

"When do you leave, Mulder?"

"Tomorrow. Seems there's activity in Arizona." He settled
against her on the bed, and she butted up against him,
curled up on her side, just as Will had been earlier.
"Hopefully it won't be as long this time, Scully."

"I want to go with you. Last time ... I nearly died waiting
for word." Scully whispered, her voice thick and choked
with emotion.

"I know ... me, too."

Mulder and Scully listened to Will's enthusiastic spitting.
Scully imagined the mess she'd have to clean up later; he
always spattered the mirror.

"Please, be careful, Mulder."

"Always."

Scully rolled over into his arms. When Will came from the
bathroom, there was no doubt that she had melted.

###

Scully stood outside on the pier. The water beneath her was
placid, not a ripple ... not the merest whisper of movement.
The leaves no longer fluttered; too many had fallen to the
ground. She pulled her collar against her and felt the wool
scratch at her neck. It would be a cold night. She was glad
she'd brought Will's winter coat when they'd come up for the
weekend. She always felt closer to Mulder here than in
the city.

Mulder had been gone three weeks. She'd done her job and
helped keep the X-files open, while she'd secretly worked
with the resistance. Each, on separate fronts, but always ...
always together. As it had been for the last five years, as
it would be ... until it was over.

Scully jolted. The inky black water reflected a vibrant
luminescence. Scully looked to the sky, already worried what
it might mean. But nothing. Just a few stars that peeked from
somber clouds.

As the light blossomed, spreading into the water ... and
filling the night air, Scully turned toward the house.
Every window exploded in brilliance, from the upstairs to
the cellar. Even the porch lights had been turned on and
the floods leading out to the garage.

Scully ran. Her boots slapped against the wooden pier, and
she stumbled against the uneven ground as she hurried to
the house.

Will!

She pushed through the front door and grabbed the key from
her pocket, prepared to grab the lock box down from the
shelf to retrieve her weapon. She looked through the foyer
to the kitchen where Will huddled around a pile of candles.
He had the firestarter down from the mantle and stroked the
trigger with his thumb. His tongue edged out of the corner
of his mouth as every bit of concentration focused on
lighting the starter.

"Will!"

Will threw down the starter and backed away from
the table.

Scully scooped him up in her arms. "Will, what are you
doing?"

"I'm  ... I needed to get the lights going." He wriggled from
her grasp until he stood before her. All three foot nothing
of him in his slippered feet.

"What have I told you ... about playing with matches or
fire?" Scully asked.

"I'm not supposed to... but I wasn't playing."

"No, you aren't. Why did you get the firestarter out, Will?
And why are all the lights lit? Did you get scared? Did
something frighten you?"

Scully walked into the living room and reached up beneath a
lampshade. As she flicked the switch, Will cried out, "No
Mommy!"

"Will, what is it?"

"Just like Daddy said, Mommy. He followed the light. He
said that you loved me so much that it had to go somewhere
so it burst out all the windows, and that's how he found
us. Remember?"

Scully felt the tears prick the back of her eyelids.
"Honey, Daddy was using a metaphor. Love can't really light
up the night."

"Mine can. Watch!" Will ran towards the front of the house.
He planted himself on a window seat and stared out the bay
windows.

Scully paused; she had to talk to him. She would talk to
him, but right now ... she'd sit with him, for a little bit.
 

###

Two hours later:

Scully woke, her neck felt pinched like she'd slept in a
window seat. She pried open her eyelids and felt Will stir
in her lap. All the lights behind her still burned as
brightly as they did when they'd first sat down. She reached
beneath her sleeping boy, prepared to carry him up the
stairs, when she heard a crunch against the gravel. Holding
her heart in her throat, she waited.

The front door swung open. A disembodied voice greeted her
with a hushed whisper.

"Scully, NORAD called. Apparently, a bright star has
appeared in this vicinity."

Will stirred within her arms; his eyes twinkled as he
watched his parents. "Told you, Mom. He always follows the
love."
 
 

~~~ The End ~~~
 

Okay, I wasn't going to do this, but something came over me
after dinner tonight. I suppose it could have been heartburn,
but I thought it might be inspiration.

Goodnight, Mulder and Scully. I'll miss you.