-------- THE GIFT (1/2) By S. Esty (AKA Windsinger@aol.com) 12/21/95 (revised slightly 3/10/97) SYNOPSIS: Dana tries to buy Mulder a Christmas present but something is very, very, VERY wrong here. RATING: PG-13 for violence. M/S romance in a way but mostly 'D' for depressing. Angst EVERYWHERE! WARNING: do not read this in a public place or if you are feeling low. This story was printed in Property of the FBI, Vol 5: Discretionary Action Required. Before then it had only been distributed on the Xangst group. DISCLAIMER: No, the characters of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and Margaret Scully do not belong to me but I wish they did. My love to CC and company and the actors and writers of X-Files for the wonderful inspiration. AND CC: DON'T YOU DARE EVEN THINK ABOUT DOING ANYTHING LIKE THIS ON THE SERIES! AUTHOR'S NOTES: I got the idea of the opening scene when I walked into the mall through the men's department of one of the larger department stores to do some last minute Christmas shopping. But Wind can't write a nice NORMAL little domestic story about shopping. Oh, no. I had to twist it, and twist it and this is how it came out. (I apologize, I had a REALLY depressing Christmas in 1995. I'm much better now. Really I am.) THE GIFT By S. Esty (AKA Windsinger) 12/21/95 (revised 3/10/97) Over all there was a brightness sprayed with thousands of tiny white stars. Gold tinsel. Huge, shiny red balls on fake greenery. Music far off in the high ceiling. "...God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen..." Nat King Cole in those languid, velvet tones. Unhurried. Mellow. Warm. Dana was floating through that wonderland. No shadows today. She felt better than she had in weeks, she was in a big department store, and it was Christmas. The trim-a-tree shop. Suddenly she was encircled in lace and ribbons, tiny villages and fake snow. A red-theme tree full of chinese fans, a blue and gold one like the mantle of the Madonna. Another all white and silver, a rack of hand blown ornaments from the Old World in colors brighter than the rainbow. Nativities. Cows and sheep. Did Mary find human joy in Joseph's arms? The silly animated santa lying in his bed snoring. Silly thing. The chest going up and down... up and down... up and down.... That was all it did... relentlessly... without purpose. Dana's head began to hurt. She moved away, scanned the shining displays, the racks of beautiful clothes, the tables of useless 'holiday' gifts. Picked up a tiny wicker basket, smelled the potpourri remembering the drawer in Grandma's bedroom where, when she was nine or ten, she would go to sneak a peek at the old woman's thick bracelet of a hundred glass gems. At the time it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Caught sight of a counter of men's cologne and was drawn to it. Sampled all the tiny glass bottles. Musk and Sensation, Brut and Husky, Timber and Emotion. All wonderful and but none good enough for him. A busy saleslady whose smile was fixed, unfriendly. Could she help? the chilly voice asked. No, he was more man than any of these scents. Man. Male. Hers. Turning around to escape that woman, Dana spied that which made her breath catch, made the blood flow fast and sure in her veins. Flannel boxers. Tier upon tier of them. Red and black plaid, green and brown. Soft. Comfortable. Nice to put on. Better to take off. That waist band slipping over those firm, narrow hips. Sliding down to the floor. It was Christmas. She needed a gift for Mulder. No, more than one. It was been a tough year. A very tough year. The worse year. Only in one respect could it be considered good. The female center of her ached in memory and longing. Dana wandered deeper into the quiet elegance of the men's department. When she was young it had not meant much. Get a shirt for Dad. A belt. A somber tie. What's on sale? Now everywhere she saw - possibilities. It was all so sensual. A hat? Mulder in a hat? How droll. Like Humphrey Bogart. A camel hair sports coat? No, too light, not with his coloring. Black wool. So sexy. Cool pleated pants that moved as he did. Flat across his flat stomach, curved around his lovely ass. Accentuating those strong, slim legs. Socks... Long ones that went to the knee, pulling up without a wrinkle over those long, curving calves. And feet? Dana's eyes hunted over the shoes, came to rest on the black wing tips. His. Stared at them, then at her own small feet. Most different of all were these. Three times the size of one of hers. She lifted one. Ten times the weight. How could men even walk they were so heavy? How many times had she stumbled over them as she nearly sleepwalked into his room at night to hold him, sweating and shivering all at the same time through the nightmares. Shirts of all colors, all fabrics, ties fanciful and startling. Elegant wear... a tux with no need for a tie at all. He would wear it with suspenders, yes, ones with Christmas lights on them. His hazel eyes would gleam with mirth in her direction. Full of humor, full of love, and take her velvet and satin draped body in his arms. Maybe they would never make it to the party. Who cared? Dana moved among the racks, fingered the shirts, the coats, the sweaters and pants, seeing him, always him, in them. Mulder laughing as he tried each on for her, appalled that she considered him such a clothes horse. Dana tripped over a seam where the carpet yielded to golden wood. Her selections went everywhere, sliding over the polished floor. Kneeling she slowly began to pick up each article, but found they would not fit in her arms. There were so many... hats and scarves, one shoe, a coat, a sweater, silk and flannel boxers in seven colors. A little fear crept in as she bent, disoriented. Why were there so many? Where were the shopping bags? The Christmas ones with red handles she remembered from her childhood. The ones that only seemed to materialize at Christmas any more. Voluminous containers of green and red and gold which the smaller crackling bags fit into. But there were no smaller bags just all this ... this... From the place where she knelt and tried to hold the items in her arms, Dana looked up, tense and wary like a mouse when the owl is near. A man in a black suit stood an aisle away. Watching. A wire in his ear. He was leaning over a little box which even now he spoke into quietly. Store detective. What was he doing here? Did he know how out of place he looked? How obvious. Some detective, Dana grumbled. Why didn't he smile? This was Christmas. Why didn't anyone smile? They were all standing far, far away and none of them smiled. From a heavenly direction a voice sang "... Let nothing you dismay...." "Honey?" A woman had run to her, dropped down to kneel beside her. "M-Mom?" Dana raised her face as smooth as a child's to that of the new arrival's. "Honey, Honey, what are you doing here?" asked the soft voice, its owner beginning to take some of the items from Dana's arms, touching with reverence the texture of wool and silk and cable knit cotton. Dana felt her face begin to tighten, a pressure build in her chest. Oh, no, she was going to cry again. "M-Mom, it's Christmas." Dazed, she looked down and cradled in her arms was a black cashmere sweater, soft like the feel of his hair between her fingers. "I didn't have a present for Mulder." "Darling," Margaret soothed in practiced tones, "it's still two weeks before Christmas. I would have taken you. You only needed to ask. I've worried so." Margaret Scully looked forlornly at all the shirts and ties and sweaters. "You have a lot of beautiful things here." Dana beamed, through the confusion had settled like a heavy mist all around her. "But," Margaret patiently reminded her daughter, "these are really not very practical. Not for Fox." The beam shadowed. "Why not?" came the voice with a pout. "Don't you think he looks good in his clothes? Don't you think he's handsome." Shoulders shaking slightly, Margaret swallowed. "He's very beautiful. The most beautiful man I know, but maybe, this year, a nice plant would be better-" "A plant? No!" Dana's voice spiraled high and quickly. "How can you say that? Besides he kills plants, even more often than fish." Margaret finished folding a pile of shirts and sweater vests and got none too gracefully to her feet. The fatigue of months weighed her down. "Then I'll help you find something else." The older woman looked around, at a loss until a salesman came up on tip toe and took the pile from her hands. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "If there are any damages..." The trim, dapper little man shook his head. "No, no problem." He lowered his voice. "I'm so sorry, but do you really think she should be out alone?" Chilling the audacious man with one glance that a certain FBI agent at one time would have recognized well, Margaret took hold of one bare, thin arm and pulled her beautiful, disheveled daughter to her feet. Her features softened as she looked at what Dana was wearing. "Oh, Honey... you've lost your slipper. Let's see if we can find it. Aren't you cold?" As she led the younger woman in her worn, sleeveless summer dress through the department, her own head raised to spite the stares of the shoppers and sales staff, Margaret wished she had said to the man that this was one of Dana's better days, otherwise she never could have gotten so far by herself. ***** Her purchase clasped tightly in her arms, paid for, boxed, gift-wrapped, Dana settled into the passenger seat of her mother's car. Looked down at the ash tray as she always did. It was clean. No shells. "I want to see Mulder." Margaret turned on the engine, sensing her daughter's bare skin under Margaret's own coat, hoping the heater would warm quickly. "Honey, you saw him yesterday -" "I want to see Mulder," she demanded in a way the old Dana never would have. "I want to see him now!" Margaret sighed, put the car in gear. "All right. But first we go home. It's cold you need a coat and better clothes." She looked over at her auburn-haired daughter, eyes not quite focused again, hair hanging uncombed about her face, and gave her a sad smile. "You want to look nice for him, don't you?" At home Dana dressed herself for a change and with more care than she had since - well, since the incident. A teal-colored dress, a special one lovingly stored away, that was meant to hug her body. It had once but now hung on her wasted frame. It wasn't appropriate for this occasion, but there was really no reason for Margaret to expend the energy trying to get her to change. She was grateful that Dana had managed to brush her own hair, had actually done it so thoroughly that much of the old glow had come back. A small, gold-sequined bag was swung over one shoulder on a long strap. The now rare panty hose and heels had made an appearance. "You look lovely, Darling," Margaret told her sincerely. "Will you get your coat now?" Mindlessly, as if all her concentration were exhausted, Dana picked a ratty sweater from the hook by the back door, the one Margaret used when she took out the trash or fed the dogs. Gently, the older woman took it out of her daughter's limp hands and fetched the long dark coat from the old days. The steeple of the chapel could be seen above the barren trees that moved past the windows as she drove. Margaret turned her eyes from the road to study it. When she was young she had dismissed any personal attachment to the cemetery as being too far in the future to worry about. After the children came and Bill was gone so often and in danger, its presence was a frightening reminder of what might be. Then she recoiled from it. Please, God, not anytime soon. Too much to do. The steeple had become a symbol of her loss when Bill came to rest under the double memorial stone. Not his body, of course, his ashes were at sea where hers one day would be, but she had wanted something physical where her thoughts could come to rest, and, likewise, a place for her children's thoughts when she was gone. Now there were three more stones gathered around his. A single one - Melissa's. Another single one - Samantha's. Samantha had two, actually, another on the Vineyard. One near the District for Fox's sake and one in the family plot for his mother's. The terrible discovery of Samantha's fate had nearly killed the solemn young man but eventually had brought him some peace. There was consolation in knowing. Newly joining the group was the new double one that, blank but waiting. As executer of Mulder's estate after Samantha's passing and his mother's - too much death for that frail woman - Margaret was aware of the contents of Fox's will. She also knew her daughter's mind as well as anyone could these days. Margaret had bought the stone because she wanted them taken care of properly if anything happened to her. Life was too much of a gamble. No, not a gamble, a game with weighted dice. Who weighted them? And, damn it all, who decided in which way the dice would be fixed, anyway? "Bill," Margaret spoke silently, her eyes turning back to the road, "I'm so tired. I hope it is a better place you have gone to. It sure as hell has got to better than this." As the car drove slowly past the entrance, Dana's distracted eyes looked up the tree lined drive, lingering there. Margaret parked in her usual place in front of the long three- story, white stone building. She watched with sad amusement as her daughter emerged quickly from the car and started with purpose and some unsteadiness on the unaccustomed heels, clutching the brightly colored box. There were days when Dana needed help to get out of the car, her legs becoming suddenly weak. Sometimes she just needed a shoulder to lean on. Sometimes a wheelchair. Sometimes the young woman fought and cried and screamed that this was not the right place, that this could not be the right place and Margaret would drive her into D.C. to show that there was someone new living at his apartment now, at her old one, too, and at the one they had lived at for such a short time together. Today was a good day though - Dana remembered - though it made no sense to her any more than it made sense to any of them. "... to save us all from Satan's power when we have gone astray..." Margaret marveled how even elevator music standards could not destroy the power of the old carols for her. Dana stood restlessly, shifting her feet, impatient for the car to rise the two floors. Half way down the hall. Fifty steps. And Margaret knew every one. A class of student aides was just coming from his room. Margaret was surprised at the crowd, but then it was not their usual time for a visit. The supervisor had her back to the new arrivals as she spoke to her students. "Well, he's the prettiest worm in the place so you'll have to wait your turn, Ms. Samuel." One of the young people whom Margaret had met on a previous visit swung his head around as he suddenly recognized the visitors to give his supervisor a warning nudge. The woman turned around, questioning, and then her eyes fell about Margaret's pale, unhappy face. Neck and cheeks reddening with embarrassment, she pushed away from the group and came to meet the older woman. "M-Mrs. Scully," the nurse stammered, calm broken, humiliated, "I'm so sorry. I meant no disrespect. Just a little humor, to ease the tension, to help the new ones cope with all this -" Eyes shut, Margaret raised her hand to quiet the woman. She did understand. It did not mean, however, that it did not hurt. Dana's muffled angry voice pulled her away from more of the nurse's fervent apologies. Dana had thrown aside the beloved present in its shiny paper and was standing in the middle of his room, furious eyes on a young, pretty, and obviously inexperienced aide who was standing by his bed side, a sponge in her hand and her mouth open, not knowing how to react to this angry figure. Dana was frantically wringing her hands, trying to twist that diamond ring on her finger, the one he had given her, only it was not there today. She had twisted it like this so often that the stone had fallen out and gotten lost and Margaret had taken it to the jeweler's for a new setting, a much less expensive one, but a replacement. If they had to go to glass in the years to come, Dana would always have her ring, Margaret would see to that. "He's MY husband. If anyone washes him, it will be ME!" Dana yelled stamping her foot. Then she stepped forward and wrestled the sponge from the woman's hand. She may be thin now, but Dana was still strong. "Get out!" she screamed. Margaret took in the scene and nodded to the aide. "Yes, maybe it would be better if you went. We'll finish here." As always when Margaret walked in and saw him lying there, looking more vulnerable this time because he was stripped to the waist, she felt denial like a storm rise to choke her. To shout, to rave, to sob had to better than this blind acceptance. They were doing nothing. Nothing! There was no respirator, no IVs. A feeding tube a few times a days was what he got. A catheter. An enema every other day. That was all. Because there was nothing that could be done. A worm? Not such a bad analogy. Poor, beautiful Fox's mind had about as much processing power left as that, if that much. Enough to breath, to sneeze, to swallow, to respond to pain if there was enough of it, but that was all. The fire burning out as quickly as it had flared, Dana dipped the sponge in the basin, wrung it out, moved it with slow deliberate, caressing strokes over his well-defined chest. Not too many months, six. Thinner, the muscles not as taunt as they had been, but not gone entirely, not yet. His body was still handsome, still man. His face always would be. If only he would look at her. The head of the bed was raised only a little, not enough to bring those eternally staring eyes into a line where he at least appeared to be focused on her. "I want him home, Mom," Dana pleaded as she always did. The bed had been raised high for the washing and Dana was too short so could not kiss that immobile face. She ran the sponge over the bare shoulder, down the limp arm. "We've been over this. I'm trying, Honey," Margaret sighed. "I'm having trouble getting the insurance to pay for home care." Even if the company agreed, Margaret was not sure she could do it, physically, emotionally or financially. Dana needed enough of her energy. It had been a struggle to get Dana this far. At first Margaret had thought her daughter and Fox were as one in this horror, but Dana, within days of the tragedy, began to improve. Fox never had, never would. For Dana some threads to her past life, to herself, had not been cut. Frayed badly but largely intact. Over time Dana had found one, then another. Some days a handful. Other days they tangled and snapped and they would have to begin all over again. Slow but steady up to a point. Margaret knew Dana would never find them all for there were so many no longer there to be found. Dana was clinging to more than her normal share today. Standing at the bedside, she was meticulously studying his long hands as she washed them sensing something out of place. Blue eyes opened suddenly, stared, panicking. "Mom, his ring! Where's his ring?" she asked eyes searching wildly. "How will they know he's married if he's not wearing his ring?" Margaret came over and put her arm around Dana's shuddering shoulders. They had put the ring on his hand those first months, the band Dana and bought for their wedding. They had been as good as married in anyone's eyes except for the lawyers and the priests. They had looked for her band, too, had looked everywhere. Dana had a right to wear it, but where it had been hidden was never discovered. Fox Mulder had been nothing if not paranoid. "Honey, don't you remember? There were some thefts at that first place you were sent. We took it to keep it safe. He'll get it back when he comes home." Margaret touched the long lock of hair that fell down across his forehead. Then she tried as always, and as unsuccessfully, to catch something within those dark, empty depths of his eyes. As if someone had kicked her in the gut, Margaret remembered the nurse's comment. "And we will get him home. I promise." End of Part 1 From windsinger@aol.com Sat Mar 29 22:08:30 1997 Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW to ATXC: THE GIFT by Windsinger From: windsinger@aol.com (Windsinger) -------- THE GIFT (2/2) By S. Esty (AKA Windsinger@aol.com) 12/21/95 (revised slightly 3/10/97) Dana had taken off her coat before, now she put aside the basin and sponge and began to pull off her shoes. Margaret knew these preparations and picked up the remote for the bed. Before the bed had moved down even half way, Dana was crawling in next to him to lie snuggled up against his side, her arm across his chest. Margaret raised the bed rail, though she didn't know why she bothered. He never moved and Dana would not fall out. Not here, not when she was with him. At home Dana fell out of bed so often that Margaret had finally placed her daughter's mattress on the floor. Dana never fell out when she was with Fox. The door to the corridor which Margaret had closed, opened. The ward supervisor beckoned. Margaret looked with sad eyes again on the pair. This was how she had found them when she had come looking for Dana who had not shown up for her final fitting at the bridal shop. Margaret had thought Dana was late because they were just 'sleeping' in and had lost track of the time. Well, that was only natural, they had a lot of catching up to do. Only, some kind of devil walked the earth, an evil which did not like to lose, a demon determined to snatch away the final happiness from these two who had been through so much and waited so long. Margaret had found them like this, only not in as calm a scene as this. Then the air in the room around that silent tableau had been roaring with tragedy and outrage and betrayal. In the hall, the ward supervisor gestured with her head towards the room. "I noticed you brought a gift. Another robe?" The wrinkles deepened on the corner of Margaret's mouth. "She likes to buy him things." Gently, the woman reminded Margaret, "He has six, none of which he'll ever wear out." Anger flared up a little, though the anger was not at this. "Take the oldest three and give them to charity then, I don't care. I don't think you brought me out here to talk about the number of robes Fox has." The nurse accepted the wrath. There was reason to be angry. "I'm sorry. The results of those new tests are in. Dr. Holst would like you to stop in to see him." The expression on the woman's face was grave. Margaret frowned. "He knows I can't go, not with Dana here. Can't you tell me? Surely you know." The nurse's grip on the thick chart she carried tightened. She did not need to consult it. "He thought you'd ask that. He told me that I could." A deep breath followed. "Mrs. Scully, as you know we've been concerned about the increasing number of Agent Mulder's apnea episodes. You know we've had to put in a monitor to alert us to when he stops breathing. The conclusion is that the virus, the toxin, whatever it is, is still in his system. Still doing damage... to the brain stem now." The woman looked with sympathy into Margaret's pale eyes. "Mrs. Scully it's only a matter of time before we'll need to put him on a respirator." At Margaret's alarm, the woman continued, "at first only at night but we both know what that means. There will be increasing dependence. We need to know how to proceed." Margaret tried to breath, found she couldn't get her lungs to work right. She knew what his will said about that. So soon, oh, God, she had not expected it would come so soon. The nurse looked at the floor, to give the older woman some privacy. "Mrs. Scully, despite what you might think after this morning, I try to understand. I know your daughter has this, too, though less severely. I know that no one has been able to identify the active agent." The nurse stopped, obviously, wanting to ask something more but not able to. "How did this happen? That's what you want to know? " Margaret asked eyes drifting towards the window set in the closed door of the room. "It's not in his chart -" The supervisor opened her mouth to protest. Margaret continued speaking without haste, her attention more than half on the hall and the people moving along it, especially the people moving about in wheelchairs and walkers. The young patients swayed and sweated between the traces of their walkers as they worked on getting better. The old ones, with no hope of getting better, just drifted along further and further from life until there was no more life. Where did Fox belong? As when he was in the world, he existed in his own time and space. "They worked for the FBI. This you know. Afterwards, Skinner brought in the best to look for evidence, to try to figure it all out. No, he couldn't bring the best - Fox and Dana, THEY were the best - but as good as what was left. They reconstructed it. They know now how it was done but not by whom and not why - not for sure." Someone, however, Margaret thought, must have taken a good guess because the smoking bastard had died very painfully and very messily at the hands of a man who had all the knowledge but none of the evidence. Not so surprisingly the body was found two days after Walter Skinner resigned from the FBI. ***** 6 months previous They were sitting on the floor of the living room in their new apartment. Both had insisted on a three bedroom - one room that was all his, one hers, one theirs. They knew each other so well that the transition had not been as difficult as either had imagined. Now they were two days away from a commitment both had unconsciously been waiting for for years, years when life had been hard and so much had been lost. At least they now had each other. Doubts were gone, the final mysteries solved, but the time of revelation had been horrible. Mulder raised his eyebrows at the bread machine he had just unwrapped. Dana was rolling on the floor giggling at his expression. He never would have imagined that she could giggle. "Aunt Maude is about 200 years old, and loves all the modern gadgets," Dana managed to explained through her tears of laughter. "She can't imagine, though, why anyone would set up their bridal registry at a computer store." Mulder sulked and turned the bulky appliance upside down, the creases in his high forehead deepening. "Can this make color printouts?" "Doubt it." Still smiling broadly, Dana picked up a cube about ten inches on a side from the small remaining pile of unwrapped gifts. The paper was purple and shiny and crowned with a thick black bow. "What do you think? Frohike?" "In mourning for all the times you rejected him? Probably." Mulder's years of paranoia surfaced as Dana placed her first two fingers, one on each side of that big bow which crouched on that package like a black spider, and pulled. Something wrong in that sound, a slight metallic snap that touched Mulder's sharp ears followed by a scent like burning. "Nnooooooo!" Mulder launched himself at her, pulled the box out of her startled hands. His momentum threw him against the wall as he fought for balance on his feet. But run with it where? The window, the door.... Too late. The explosion was a little thing, almost like a firecracker. Did not even hurt his hands. Made only a small hole in the cardboard of the box. Mulder thought for one blissful moment that it had been a joke. A really bad joke. Then the acid taste hit his mouth. A gas, an aerosol? Somehow a reflex was triggered, for he found himself inhaling to clear it, bringing it in against his will into his throat, deep into his lungs. It hurt! It burned! Long deadly needles pushed outward from the membranes in the back of his mouth, reached into his neck, behind his eyes, into his skull, down his throat. Needles in his lungs stabbed out towards his chest, making his heart pound to the exclusion of all other sounds, almost all other feeling. It was then that the burning began, a blistering agony pumped at lightning speed all along the big arteries, a scorching hellfire consuming all before it. In the wake of the pain came a numbness, a spreading paralysis. But he could still feel when a pressure settled against his chest. His back was against the wall, she was keeping him upright. In desperation, he wrapped his arms around her, or tried to though there was no longer any sensation in his hands, none even in his forearms. Though his hearing was going he could still distinguish her voice as if from far, far away. "Dear God, Mulder, what's wrong?" Only seconds had passed, only seconds left. Dana began to cough as if trying to spit a taste from her mouth. Some was still left! His clothes! He tried to push her away, only managing to lose his balance on his rapidly numbing legs so that he slid down the wall. There was a weight in his lap. She had fallen with him, they lay crumpled together between the wall and the end of the couch, she in his lap, disoriented by her own pain, knowing nothing but that she would not be parted from him. Oh, it hurt! Hurt to breath. There was roaring in his ears, a blackening, rapidly eating at his sight. Only a sliver left, a glimpse of the top of her head. "D-Dana," he gasped, "L-Love... you." Tried to feel her weight in his lap and couldn't. In agony she raised her head and he found her blue eyes for a moment before the evil ate up the nerve between his eyes and his brain and the blackness closed in completely and forever. His thoughts followed soon after, flying away like birds into a darkening winter sky. "C-Can't see you," sputtered nearly inaudibly from his numbing lips. "Keep looking, Mulder," she whispered fiercely, her own body too numb to move. "Never stop looking." He never did. ***** As her mother left the room, Dana slid around to straddle her husband, her lover, her knees on either side of his thin waist. Sitting back, she felt his groin under her hips. This was the only position she had been able to find where she felt he had a chance of seeing her with those dim eyes. She ran her hands over his chest, feather light, enticing. His breathing did not change, his staring eyes refused to focus, to track on her. This was not the way it should ever be. Not for them. His cheek was smooth. One of the aides must have just shaved him. He smelled of soap. Not at all of ammonia or urine. He was a favorite. They kept him clean. A well tended plant. Dana fell forward to lie across him, to rub that cheek against her own, to wrap her fingers in that thick, dark hair, to kiss mouth and chin and forehead in desperation. "Oh, Fox," she whimpered, "I miss you so." One finger lingered, tracing the line of his strong jaw. "Do you miss me where you are? They say I'm crazy. Funny, huh? You were supposed to be the crazy one." She laid her head down for a moment and listened to the steady beat of his heart beneath her. "They tell me you've gone ahead. That only your body is here. I don't know whether to believe them, they confuse me, but wherever you've gone, I want to be there, too." Dana reached for the gold bag on its tiny shoulder strap and opened it. Took out the slender slip of metal that she could barely feel in her hands. ****** 6 months previous Dana ripped open the paper with hungry delight. Such a small box. Jewelry. Must be. Only the box was too heavy for that. Open mouthed, she drew it out the gift and stared at it, its metal and mother of pearl gleaming. "It's a joke, Mulder, right? A toy." He was sitting on the floor, legs splayed out in front of him, leaning back on his hands and grinning at her. "Oh, no, it's real." "But a little odd for a wedding present, don't you think? Wait, what am I saying? This is Fox Mulder I'm talking about." He laughed. It was so good to hear him laugh. In the weeks since he had finally allowed her to drag him out from the dark place that had almost taken him after Samantha's death, since he had accepted her proposal, accepted it without reservation, she had heard him laugh more than she had heard in all of the previous five years. "What would be more appropriate for the FBI's most unwanted Special Agent -" "Hey, that's how I like it - wanted only by me." "All right, then," he corrected. "What would be a more appropriate present for the FBI's ALMOST most unwanted Special Agent to give the FBI's MOST intelligent and incredibly beautiful Special Agent." She studied it, holding between two fingers at arm's length. "Maybe I could put it on a chain and wear it around my neck like a locket." "Oh, Scully, don't you think that would look a little... silly." She caught the challenge in those hazel eyes, as if the thought actually turned him on. Absently, she slipped the cool metal into the glittering evening bag a girl friend had given her as an shower present. "Silly?" That look of his certainly turned HER on. "I'll show you who's silly." Then she had attacked him - and they had done it, one last glorious time, right there on the floor surrounded by the gifts they had opened and the gifts they had not had time to get to yet. They had rolled in the paper and the ribbon and almost rolled into the pizza when he had flipped her over to devour her. ***** Present day "I hope you don't think THIS is silly, Mulder, but I think it's what you would want." Dana slowly placed the cool metal against his skin over his heart then wrapped a spare pillow around it. She barely felt the tiny recoil, hardly heard the sound. Certainly there no sound from him except for one long, slow exhalation. One last time she entwined the fingers of her left hand with those of his right. She tossed the pillow aside. How small the hole was... how much smaller than the one she had made in his shoulder years before, the scar of which she could still see. She lay across his chest one last time, warm in his still warm embrace. Under her breast, the index finger of her right hand moved. Over the soft voices from the piped music, Margaret heard the small popping sound as she stood in the hall talking to the nurse. Automatically, she stiffened as a giant's cold hand closed over her heart. While the nurse was still in mid sentence, Margaret took three quick steps to the door. They lay together so beautifully, but then Margaret already knew that. Dana's head was nestled against his shoulder, her shining red hair spread like a wave of silk across his bare chest. From where she stood Margaret saw no blood but she knew. She knew. She thought that she and Walter Skinner had found them all and taken them far away. Margaret's burning eyes came to rest on those desperately clasped hands. As her eyes misted over, for a moment through the blurred light she thought she saw a wheel of gold blazing like a star on her daughter's empty finger, but when she had blinked away the tears it was gone. On Dana's face was a look of such serenity. And his eyes finally were closed, at peace. He did not need to seek for her any more in the lonely dark and on his parted lips rested a gentle, loving smile. THE END The Gossamer Project Author - Title - Date - Spoilers - Crossovers - X-Files - Adventures - Stories - Vignettes Other stories by Esty, Sue (Windsinger) / Please let us know if the site is not working properly. Do not archive stories elsewhere without permission from the author(s). See the Gossamer policies for more information. /