From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 23 Oct 2002 23:55:01 -0000
Subject: Best-Costume Award (1/1) by Shoshana
Source: direct

Reply To: shoshana1013@yahoo.com


TITLE:  Best-Costume Award
AUTHOR:  Shoshana
EMAIL ADDRESS:  shoshana1013@yahoo.com
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT:  Gossamer and by request.
SPOILER WARNING:  After 'The Truth'
RATING:  PG-13
CLASSIFICATION:  VRA
KEYWORDS:  Mulder, Scully, William, MSR
SUMMARY:  Mulder and Scully receive a letter at Halloween. 

This story is part of my series following the episode 'The Truth.' 
Previous vignettes are located on this page:

http://www.geocities.com/shoshana1013/series.htm
  
DISCLAIMER: These characters do not belong to me.
NOTE:  Thanks to Sallie, my wonderful beta reader!

Best-Costume Award
By Shoshana

"What is it Scully, what's going on?"

Mulder had come home to a dimly lit living room and a somber Scully,
sitting on the sofa with tears in her eyes.  She had an envelope in
her hand, and a photograph had fallen near her feet.  He approached
her cautiously, sliding one hand down her shoulder as he kneeled
beside her.  

His right hand covered hers easily as he retrieved the photo with
some trepidation.  It was easy to guess what she'd received in the
mail, in a plain brown envelope with no return address.  The photos,
documenting each week of their son's life away from them, often
brought him to a similar, weepy state of affairs.  

He usually tried to hold back his underlying emotions, knowing she
would break down as soon as he did.  She'd already been crying today,
it seemed, and his chin quivered with the strain of holding back an
answering sob.  He slid next to her on the couch, putting his arm
around her before he dared look at the snapshot.

"Scully?" he whispered softly as he kissed the teardrops from 
her eyes.

"He's... he's a p-pumpkin," she stammered uncharacteristically.

Mulder hadn't heard her stutter but a few times in their nine and a 
half years together, and it affected him greatly.  He swallowed the
unwelcome lump in his throat, then simply nodded against her
mascara-streaked face.

He shifted even closer, pulling her snuggly against his chest with 
his right arm.  The three by five exposure dangled delicately from 
his left hand as he kissed her gently, working downward from her 
hairline to the corner of her tightly drawn lips.  The familiar, 
sweet caress relaxed and comforted her, curtailing her labored 
breathing and soft sobbing.

"Better?" he cooed quietly, carefully stroking one velvet cheek with 
his neatly-trimmed beard.

"Little," she breathed against his lips, before kissing him for the
first time that day.  They had gone to bed early, and she had risen
before dawn for an early Wellness clinic.  She loved her new job; she
loved her new life in California.  There was only one thing missing--
the child in the photograph, outfitted by his grandmother in bright
orange and a touch of green.

When the soft kiss ended, she urged him to look at the photo with a
tiny nod in the direction of his left hand.  He had managed not to
mangle the thing to pieces, according it the same reverence as a
valuable piece of evidence at a crime scene.  It had been a long time
since Mulder had worked the site of a murder and she breathed a 
sigh of relief for small blessings.  

Scully smiled at his long, thin fingers, imagining what William's
hands would look like when he was grown.  His hands, her expertise in
the autopsy bay--who knows what their son would choose to do with his
life?  She knew Mulder wanted him to play baseball, and she was all
for that, too... but she also saw her son in front of a grand piano,
making the most exquisite music she would ever hear.

He shifted away from her so he could hold the photo with both hands, 
at just the right distance without his reading glasses.  Maggie 
looked as happy as William in the shot, holding the nineteen-month 
old toddler from behind as he stood on a dining room table for the 
camera.  They both knew he was walking already, silently mourning 
what they'd lost of his childhood development, and refusing to 
discuss it aloud.  

If this was all they had for now, it would have to be enough.  He
was safe and happy with his grandmother; they were in their Santa
Monica living room, watching him grow up without them.

Mulder clutched at the precious evidence of William's continued
existence, and whispered, so softly she could barely heard him, 
"Next year, he's gonna be a Yankee."

fin

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