From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: 23 Feb 2002 20:35:22 -0000 Subject: for all the times you saved my life by Gillian Source: direct Reply To: blue_cerulean@hotmail.com Title: for all the times you saved my life Author: Gillian E-mail: blue_cerulean@hotmail.com Rating: gentle Keywords: MSR, Scully POV Spoilers: some reference to dod kalm, the unnatural, all things, and up to an including trust no 1. Disclaimer: These characters and all things X- Files are the property of CC and 1013. Story created out of respect for that amazing gift. Story: Scully has the day to herself to contemplate turning 38. Dedication: to all those responsible for deciding to bring him back. for all the times you saved my life by Gillian February 23, 2002 Scully woke early. As she did each morning, her hand instinctively reached for him. It seemed so strange to her as she rolled onto her back, that it had only been two nights. "The truth we both know," he had said. That night he had moved into her apartment, so that they could begin their life together, the three of them. Yet it was only two nights before it became apparent to both of them, that the only choice they had was for him to leave. Somehow, those two nights had seemed like a lifetime. So much so that each morning now, and it had been months, she moved her hand into the hollow of the bed beside her. And each morning felt anew the ache of disappointment that he wasn't there. Some nights she couldn't even bear the idea that he wouldn't be there in the morning. The feeling was so intense that she would sleep on the couch in the living room, in order to avoid the inevitable emptiness that morning would bring. And somehow, sleeping on the couch brought him closer. A sweet reminder of the many times she had opened the door of his apartment to find him asleep on his black leather couch. William had grown so much in his absence. And each day she found something else in him that reminded her of Mulder. His wide-eyed curiosity. His tenacity. His hunger. And, his protectiveness of her. Whenever anyone else was around, this tiny child made her feel like she was the only person in the world that mattered. It wasn't until William was in her world that she realized that Mulder had done that for her since the first day they had met each other, so many years ago. Sitting on the edge of the bed she glanced over at the hollow, at the two-night indent he had made in her bed, the one that so neatly matched the 9 year indent he had made on her soul. She so wanted to curl into him, and spend this day talking to him about what their life together could be like. They had come through so much, and now, just on the threshold of having an existence as close to normal as their lives could possibly offer, each other, their child, a movement away from this internal search, their story had taken an unexpected twist. Instead of ending, the search continued, yet another unexplained and unanswered question. Who was their son? Scully glanced over at the empty bassinnette. Her mother had come last night to take William for the night and for the day. It was the first night that they had been separated. Scully had resisted at first, but it was her mother's birthday gift. Scully could get a decent night's sleep and then spend the day on her own. Sleep in, and then take advantage of the freedom a day without William could afford her. And, at the end of the day, Maggie had promised a special meal. It would just be the three of them, grandmother, mother and child. Scully stood and padded into the bathroom. She looked longingly into the mirror at her own image. 38 years old today. The last year had taken a toll on her and she could see it reflected back in her own face. Losing him. The difficulties of her pregnancy. His return and his struggle to find his way back into his own life, let alone her life. William's birth, and the anxiety of not knowing whether she would lose him or not. The decision to ask Mulder to leave. Living as a single-mother. The pre-arranged date of his return being compromised, and now, 6 weeks with no e-mail contact whatsoever. Not a word. She smiled. She may have been left at the end of this year with a few more grey hairs and a few unexpected lines around her eyes, but the rest was a miracle. The most beautiful son. And ultimately, the love of the man she cared for more than life itself. Despite having known for a week she would have this day to herself, she had made no plans. She just wanted to drink coffee, read the newspaper, and take care of a few things around the house. It was probably too cold for a run, but a nice walk would feel good. And, then, perhaps a long bath and some personal attention, before heading for her mother's in Baltimore. She opened the door and reached down to pick up the newspaper. Instead of the paper, there was a small square package, wrapped simply in brown paper. No address on the outside of the package, no card, no note. Instinctively she looked up and down the hallway for some kind of indication of who might have left the package and why. It was clearly a book of some kind. She ran her fingers gently along its edges, suspicious of what might be inside. It was her birthday, but she was also still an FBI Agent, and at times like this her professional side took over the side of her that used to squeal with glee at an unexpected gift. She waved the present under her nose, and could detect a faint smell of salt. She gently ran her fingernails under the tape and removed the book from the paper. It was an old blue journal, the picture on the front of it barely familiar to her. It was stained with what looked like water stains, although the stains were rusty in colour. The pages had also been exposed to water. She flipped open the book and was surprised to see her own hand-writing. As she flicked through the pages it all came flooding back. This was a journal she had kept, years ago, when she and Mulder had been trapped at sea on a vessel where all the sailors had mysteriously aged and died. And, she and Mulder, in their time there, had also aged, coming mere hours from dying themselves. This book, and her chronicle of what they had experienced, had been used to save their lives, and in particular his. Who was giving her this book? She tried to reflect back on what would have happened to it. It would have been evidence, but then ultimately returned to them at the X-Files. The case had remained unsolved, because the ship had sunk and there had been no further evidence to support their story. The miracle of their illnesses and recovery had perplexed doctors for ages. And, she remembered that her words had been the source of much medical discussion. She couldn't remember having seen the journal since then. She thumbed through the pages, hoping to find something other than her own writing that might help her to understand who had given her this book and why. Had the ship been salvaged? Was one of those sailors trying to reach her? At the very last page of the journal where her words had trailed off when she too had lost consciousness she found a small folded piece of paper. Opening it she read, in his most distinct handwriting, "I have kept this all these years. It reminds me of all the times your courage and belief in me saved my life. I can't imagine what my life might have been like without you. All my love, Mulder." It was from him. She held the book up and shook it to see if there were any other pieces of paper hidden within its pages. And, then, the realization struck her, that he might have been the one that had come and left the package on her doorstep. That, while she slept, he might have been right outside her door. He had a key to her apartment, but she had been sleeping with the chain on her door now ever since he left. She ran to the door, and pulled it open. Hoping, beyond hope that he would be there. Instead, she found a second package, also in brown paper, this one larger than the first. She stepped over it and ran down the hallway, hoping she would find him. But not a person was to be seen. She ran into the stairwell and then down to the front door and outside of her apartment. Still, no sign of him, or of any other messenger. Returning to her apartment she picked up the package from her doorstep. More urgently and less cautiously than the first gift, she opened the second. Inside she found what looked like a baseball jersey. Turning it over she saw the name on back of the jersey in big white letters, "Gibson." She ran her fingers over the letters. It was the jersey he had worn the first night they had made love to each other. He had invited her to meet "Fox Mantle" for an evening of hitting baseballs. She closed her eyes and remembered the feeling of his arms around her, and the words he had whispered in her ear. "Hips before hands." She remembered the complete abandon she had felt with him that night, and how the evening had progressed from the park, back to his apartment, and finally into his bed. It had been the most freedom either of them had ever had with each other. She also remembered that the next day the way they had woken up together as if they had been doing this their whole lives. No embarrassment. No regret. No fervent conversations about what this might mean for them in their partnership, or their careers at the F.B.I. Instead he asked her to come with him somewhere special. And, without a second thought they had driven to Cooperstown. He wanted to show her the tribute there to Josh Gibson, the name that had adorned his jersey. Gibson, he had told her, was inducted post- humously into the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1972, having died unexpectedly at the age of 35. Rumoured to be one of the greatest baseball players ever, his entire career was spent in the Negro leagues. Dying before Jackie Robinson entered the league. Dying before his talents could be discovered beyond those who had ever gone to seem him play. She remembered the look in Mulder's eyes as he told her the story of Josh Gibson on their trip to Cooperstown. And she remembered the tears in Mulder's eyes as he walked like a mesmerized child through the Baseball Hall of Fame. She shook the jersey out, hoping that it too would contain a small message similar to the last. And, to her great pleasure, a small folded piece of paper fell out from the shirt, "I have kept this jersey all these years. When I wear it I can hear the careless abandon of your laughter that night as together we hit baseballs at the stars. And, it reminds me that being with you gives me the freedom to be more fully who I am. Thank you. All my love, Mulder." It had to be him that had left these packages on her doorstep. Who else would he have met and trusted? Who else would have known that she would find them? And, why would he have just left these things lying outside where anyone could have taken them? Where they might not have gotten to her? He had to be there. Again she ran to the door and flung it wide open. Again, she held her breath hoping that she would just find him standing there. And again, a small package in brown paper. This time, she just sat down where she was. The door wide open. She ripped the package open and found a tiny square box. Opening the box she found two small pieces of paper. The first was a note in her hand-writing. The note was fragile from being what looked like folded and refolded thousands of times. She opened it gently, feeling that with each unfolding that the paper would fall apart. "I have gone to my place to change. See you in a few hours, don't be late. And, bring bagels." What could be the significance of this note, she wondered. Wracking her brain she tried to imagine when she had written this note to him, and why he might have kept it. Surely, she had written a note like that a thousand times. And, it didn't have anything in it that seemed remotely personal, or loving. She opened the second piece of paper. "I love this note, Scully. You left it for me the morning that I am certain we conceived William. It reminds me that in the midst of the most momentous of events, you have remained my constant, my touchstone, my home. All my love, always, Mulder." She looked at the other piece of paper, and the night came flooding back to her. It was the weekend he had been in England, and she had seen Daniel for the first time. It was the weekend where she realized that all the paths she had taken in life felt like they had lead to that moment. She too had done the math and traced it back to that night, although she had never realized that he might of as well. She also remembered stealing out of his bed that morning and heading off to work as if it was any other day. Little had either of them realized that the love of that evening might bring them both the greatest of love. William. She stood up from the door frame where she had been sitting and moved back into the living room. She spread the three gifts and the three notes out on the coffee table and looked over each one, her eyes filled with tears. It meant the world to her that he had found a way to reach out to her today. But, somehow seeing them there troubled her. She wanted to feel the pure joy that each note conveyed, but instead she felt worried. Why was he parting now with these things that he said meant so much to him? Why run the risk of returning them to her? Why do that today? She readied herself to go to Maggie's. Having the day to herself had been a wonderful idea, but the unease she felt now with Mulder's notes just made her want to be close to William. She could have this day to herself some other time. She got into her car and began the drive to Baltimore, playing over and over the beauty and significance of each one of those gifts. She had wondered how he reflected back on the many times she has stayed with the science as she had those unending hours at sea. Something paranormal was forcing them to age against their will, but in the end, it was her calm science that had enabled the doctors to save his life. She also reflected on the few times that they had really had together where they both could just laugh and be free with each other. So much of their relationship had been about the work. And yet, as she thought back on that night hitting baseballs, and then the days they had taken, absent from the FBI without permission to go to Cooperstown she began to smile herself. A flood of similar memories returned. A night out at the movies. Bureau credit-cards. Bubble baths. And finally she thought about that night. The night where they had let themselves love each other in a way that has surprised them both. And, she remembered the moment the doctors told her she was pregnant, mere hours after learning that Mulder was gone. She remembered each of the times that they had sought comfort in each others' bodies, and how it had always felt to her like home. She remembered the moment when she could finally tell him, and he could finally accept her answer, that the life she carried inside of her was a life they had created together. That William was the product of their incredible nine year love. William. As she pulled up to Maggie's she could hardly wait a moment longer to hold her son. To see in his eyes the look of love that can only come from a child to a parent. The look that William had for her. The look that he would one day have for Mulder, when he would finally come to know his father. She opened the door and without words headed for the room that Maggie had set aside for William on what she hoped would be many visits. So ready to see her most amazing miracle of a child. But as she entered his room she saw a sight that took her breath away. There in the rocking chair holding William was Mulder. Father and child. Mulder was looking down at William and was so intent on his son, that had not even noticed that Scully was in the room. The room was filled with candles, that he had clearly intended to light. He was talking gently to William, words she couldn't make out, but words that brought tears to her eyes. After an excruciating moment of virtual silence, she found herself stifling a small cry. Mulder slowly looked up at her, and then smiled a smile that took her remaining breath away. "It's about time you got here," he whispered. "Happy birthday." the end. Please read my other stories, archived at gossamer, I think: "Which is what?" "You are always here" "4 weeks, 3 days, 7 hours" "Thank you for coming back to us" "I will come home, I promise" "Partners in all other senses of the word" "A Small, Brightly Wrapped Parcel" "this place, this bed, this woman, this child" "she" "one lonely night"