Date: Mon, 13 Dec 1999 14:27:38 EST
Subject: REV:  Another Star to Light the Sky (1/1)
Source: revision

Spoilers:    Tempus Fugit/Max 
Summary:  Mulder reminisces about Max  
 
Dedication & Notes follow story.
 
 
Another Star to Light the Sky 
by Martha  
marthalgm@yahoo.com 
 
 
It was early twilight when Fox Mulder made his way into the cemetery.   
 
Another forgettable case in another forgettable town.  Yet,   
since being here, he had felt some sort of tug, a pulling in his   
memory.  It was something that he should have remembered;  there was
something that sounded familiar about the place.   
 
He was on his way back to the airport when recognition hit him.  A   
U-turn in broad daylight on a busy interstate was not one of the wisest   
decisions that he could have made, but Mulder was too busy cursing at   
himself to consider the consequences.   
 
This was the town where Max Fenig had grown up.  This was where his parents   
had brought his remains back to be buried.   
 
The last bit of sunlight peeked over the horizon by the time that he   
had found the headstone.  The office staff had been helpful, if not   
curious as to Mulder's identity, in directing him to the site;  it   
seemed that they knew Max, or knew of him, and the stories that were   
whispered about him.   
 
And now that he had risked his life to get here, Mulder was at a loss   
as to what to feel.  'Shouldn't there be something,' he thought,   
'something more than a curiosity?' 
 
Hadn't Max been a kindred spirit, chasing the same leads and stories as   
he, trying to make sense of the impossible and to bring the truth to   
light?   
 
He had lost Max twice.  Max had sought him out after their initial   
meeting in that detention area, perhaps not so trusting but definitely   
eager to make the acquaintance of a government employee who was as   
curious as he.  And then Max had been taken at the warehouse. 
 
Max was on his way to see him when he was taken again.  And this was   
probably what haunted Mulder the most. 
 
After that meeting several years earlier, Mulder had wondered about 
Max's fate but had never seriously followed up on it.  To find out that   
he had been returned and retaken a number of times came as a shock.    
Surely, if Max had been returned, he would have let him know.  He'd   
have shown up on his doorstep or in the basement office, his bubbling   
enthusiasm recounting the details of the many journeys. 
 
But he had not contacted Mulder, did not even tell him that he was on   
his way to DC.   
 
It was a selfish thought.  Why should Mulder believe that everyone   
should come to him?  If he had really cared, cared about Max, he would   
searched for him personally.  He would have exhausted the network of   
contacts across the country to receive word of his fate.  But he   
hadn't.  Didn't even make the effort to try. 
 
And now, it was far too late. 
 
The last rays of sunlight began to disappear over the horizon, and he   
remembered the words of the greenskeeper about the gates closing at   
sundown.  Just above the rim of the burnt orange curve of the sunset,   
the twilight stars began to appear.  It would be a clear night for the   
town, but Mulder was still enveloped in his own fog.       
 
How many people have I let slip by, to nod to in passing and continued   
on without that second thought?  Do they rival the number of stars in   
the evening sky?  Do they sparkle and vie for my attention, and yet I   
shut them out for pressing concerns?  Do they explode and cease to   
exist, and yet I never even notice the passing?  Do some stars eclipse   
others that deserve my attention?   
 
And why wasn't I paying attention to begin with?   
 
The opportunity is lost, buried with the dreamer who became the hunter   
and the hunted.  Oh, Max would live on through those video tapes that   
he left behind, but his exuberance, his childlike wonder, would be   
forever lost.  For in those tapes, Max had become hardened, a bit   
cynical, and in many ways not the Max Fenig that he wanted to remember.   
 
His Max would always be a bit shy but with a gleam in his eyes that 
hinted of the offer of true friendship.  He would always be that curled   
bundle on the floor of that trailer, trembling with the spasms of an   
epileptic seizure that had plagued his childhood.  He would always be   
the lost child in his arms begging for his protection.          
 
How could he forget such a person? 
 
The long drive back to the airport had been a quiet one, as well as the   
flight.  But instead of driving back to an empty and cold apartment,   
Mulder turned instead towards downtown.  To his office.  To the one   
item left in his possession that would bring back those precious   
memories. 
 
He fingered Max's cap, tracing the NICAP lettering, and turned in his   
chair to the poster on the wall behind him.   
 
I want to believe. 
 
I want to believe that he has found some peace now, that the fear of   
discovery and abduction have ceased.  That there is some peace now for   
the family and friends who believed and that lived in that fear with   
him, with the hope that they can now be safe with their memories.   
 
As Mulder was now safe with his.
        
 
another star to light the sky 
another soul at rest 
another person who passed by  
along my lonely quest. 
 
how far away the past does seem 
when present troubles rise 
does anyone still stop and dream 
with wonder in their eyes. 
 
when family is by your side 
and children laugh and play 
can sorrow not be pushed aside 
to call on another day. 
 
a dreamer has that special fire 
that burns within the frame 
so all who pass may be inspired 
to carry that brilliant flame. 
 
when darkness obliterates the eye 
and ceases all my sight 
here's another star to light the sky 
all through the lonely night. 
 
	x	x	x	x	x	x	x	x 
 
This story is dedicated to the memory of Stacey, an ATXF regular who
posted under the name Carterconn and who ran The Carter Connection 
website.  She died suddenly on Thursday, December 17th.    
    
I had met Stacey at the WUDEC gathering during the Chicago eXpo earlier
this year.  She and her non-Phile friend, Joanne, were one of my personal
highlights of that weekend.  Stacey was in charge of alcohol procurement
and, upon hearing that tequila was my drink of choice, revelled in the
fact that she would have someone to trade shots with.  And we indulged.
   
Life had not been easy, but her children and the X-Files community were
important to her.  To paraphrase the song, we really don't know what 
we've got till it's gone.
   
Rest well, Stacey.  You will be missed.

end