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  This author's e-mail address has changed to: xanaduxf@yahoo.com
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***DISCLAIMER***: All "X-Files" elements and references
in this story belong to Fox Broadcasting, Chris Carter,
and 1013 Productions, and I am making no money from it.

==========
In the Mail
by shannono
shannono@iname.com


Story, Angst, Mulder/Scully UST

Rated PG

Spoilers through "Redux II"

Summary: Mulder gets an unexpected letter, and Scully helps
him deal with the aftermath.

==========

In the Mail
by shannono


Fox Mulder slipped through the side lobby of the J. Edgar Hoover
Building and headed down on the first available elevator. It was
a Thursday afternoon, getting late in the day; he and Scully had
arrived back from another assignment around noon, and they planned
to meet back in their basement office to start in on their
reports.

Mulder was actually in a pretty good mood, to his own surprise. He
caught himself humming absently as he stepped from the elevator
and started down the hall. Grinning to himself, he switched to a
whistle as he reached the office.

The door was still locked, so he let himself in, tossing his
briefcase onto his desk with intentions of starting a pot of
coffee. But the action scattered the top section of a stack of mail
sitting on his desk, and he stopped whistling long enough to curse
under his breath as he flicked on a light and bent over to start
gathering up the envelopes.

Most of pieces were standard "official business"-looking letters,
some addressed to him, some to Scully. A few were less standard,
most likely a crackpot or two claiming they had seen or experienced
some unexplainable phenomenon and trying to get the FBI to
investigate.

Of course, some of those could be valid, so he'd read them, too.
Later.

As he was straightening up, his gaze fell on another non-standard
letter, sitting just under the edge of his desk. He reached for
it -- a plain, cream-colored, square envelope, addressed simply to
"Fox Mulder, FBI Headquarters, J. Edgar Hoover Building,
Washington, D.C." He turned it over; no return address.

Curious, he dropped the other letters back onto his desk and
lowered himself into his chair. Ripping the envelope open, he
extracted two sheets of matching cream-colored paper, filled with
lines of neat handwriting.

Pulling out his glasses and putting them on, he leaned back in his
chair and started to read:

"Dear Fox,

"I don't really know what I want to say to you right now, but I
just felt like I needed to write. I am still trying to sort out
everything that's happened.

"I suppose you know by now that my father is dead, or at least the
man who has been a father to me for so long. I know you think he
lied to me, about you and about Mom. But I can't believe that. He
was so good to me, Fox. He made sure I had the best of everything.
And he really cared for me. I know he did.

"I know you said he knew where you were for a long time before we
met in the diner that night. But I believe if he did, he must have
had his reasons for not telling me. Good reasons, Fox, not pages
from some agenda.

"I just can't believe he's gone, Fox. No matter what you think of
him, he was good to me. He really loved me. I hope I can make you
see that, someday.

"I don't know how long it will be before I write again. So much has
happened, and I'm having trouble dealing with it all.

"I hope you can be happy, Fox. And I hope we can find each other
again someday.

"Samantha."

Mulder stared at the words, as if he could change them by sheer
force of will. He reread the short note, then, almost compulsively,
grabbed for the envelope again, scrutinizing the postmark.
Washington, D.C. Which meant it could have been mailed from almost
anywhere in the metro area.

Mulder dropped envelope and letter on the desk and hunched over,
his elbows on his knees and his hands tangled in his hair, as his
excellent memory replayed that late-night meeting in the diner.
Scully had been so sick then, the cancer invading her body bit by
bit. And Mulder would have done anything to save her.

Then that man had told him he'd set up a meeting. And he'd brought
Samantha. She was incredulous at seeing her brother again, had told
him the man was her father and that he'd told her he'd just found
Mulder.

Once the shock had dulled, Mulder managed to tell her the man had
lied to her. "He's known where I was for a long time," he said.

She hadn't believed him. She told him not to try to find her, that
she needed space and time to think. And she'd left.

He knew then the price he'd have to pay to see his sister again:
Scully. He'd have to go in with the conspirators, give up the
X-files, give up his relationship with her. And he'd been ready to
do it, ready to leave Scully behind. To save her life. "The truth
will save you, Scully," he'd told her, not so long ago.

That night, he had the truth in his grasp. Samantha. And Scully's
cure.

He wasn't sure when, exactly, saving Scully's life had moved to
equal terms with his search for Samantha. But when Michael
Kritchgau had said the DOD's Level 4 section could contain "what
you want most," his first thought hadn't been of his sister. It had
been of Scully. "The cure for Scully's cancer," he'd said, without
hesitation, and without surprise at his own words.

Mulder had found something in Pentagon's secret basement storage
warehouse, but he believed it was worthless. Until the Smoking Man
approached him outside's Scully hospital room and said he already
had the cure. Sure enough, the vial contained a tiny implant,
the same kind as the one removed from Scully's neck. Whether or not
the implant was the cause for her remission was questionable, but
the fact remained that with it, she was healthy, at least for now.

Then, Samantha. She had been brought to him, offered to him as a
prize for his loyalty to her "father." And he was close, so close,
to going over, even if Scully hated him for it, because at least
she would live. Then Blevins had shown his hand, tried to take down
Skinner, and Mulder knew he couldn't do it.

But that wasn't the only reason you couldn't do it, a little
voice told him ...

Scully for Samantha. It was a deal he couldn't make.

His thoughts returned to the letter on his desk, and he was
startled to see the last few lines fading, as if they were being
washed away. And they were, he realized, feeling the tears running
down his cheeks.

He yanked off the glasses and swiped at his eyes brutally, then sat
for another few moments. Finally, he grabbed up the letter and his
briefcase and fled the office, not bothering to lock the door.

==========

When Scully reached the basement office a short while later, she
assumed Mulder must be there, since the door was unlocked and a
light was on. So she was puzzled when she walked in and he was
nowhere in sight. A stack of mail sat precariously on the corner of
his desk, and she absently pushed the envelopes further onto the
surface so they were more secure. She looked toward the coffeepot
in the corner; empty and silent.

A chill went through her, for reasons she couldn't fathom, and she
felt a sudden urge to call him. She turned toward her chair, and a
sheet of cream-colored paper on the floor caught her eye. Placing
her briefcase on Mulder's chair, she bent to retrieve the paper.

The few lines were faint, and the page was wrinkled, as if water
had been spilled on it. As Scully stood, her eyes skimmed over the
words, and she froze, rereading what was apparently the end of a
letter:

"... before I write again. So much has happened, and I'm having
trouble dealing with it all.

"I hope you can be happy, Fox. And I hope we can find each other
again someday.

"Samantha."

Scully realized she was holding her breath and let it out in a
rush. *Samantha*? A letter from Samantha. And Mulder had
apparently already read it, and had left, to go ... where?

A sudden tightness in her chest snapped Scully into action, and she
fairly leapt across the room and grabbed for her phone, punching
the first speed dial button -- Mulder's cell phone number. After
the seventh ring with no answer, she hit the release button, then
hit the second speed dial number -- Mulder's home number. This
time, after four rings, a voice came through the line: "This is
Mulder; please leave a message."

At the beep, her words came out in a rush. "Mulder, it's me," she
said, her voice sounding strained, even to her own ears. "Please
pick up." She paused; no response. "Mulder, I know you're there;
please pick up the phone!" Pause again; still nothing. "Mulder, I'm
on my way over, and if you don't let me in, I'll use my key."

She hung up, grabbed her briefcase and the page from the letter,
and left.

==========

Scully made the drive to Mulder's Alexandria apartment building in
record time, she was sure. She left her briefcase on the front
seat, picked up the sheet of paper, and headed inside. At Number
42, she paused briefly, then knocked. No response. She knocked
again, louder, and said, "Mulder, it's me. Let me in."

Another silence, and she started to pull out her keys, but then she
heard a footstep, and the door opened slightly. She slowly pushed
it fully open, revealing a room lit only by streaks of sunlight
from the window. A lanky figure was lowering itself back onto the
end of the couch.

She took a step forward and pushed the door shut behind her,
peeling off her coat and tossing it on the chair opposite the sofa.
She stepped around the end of the coffee table, the letter still in
her hand, and sank down next to him.

He was slouched down so far in his seat that his head rested on the
top edge of the couch's back. He still wore his slightly wrinkled
suit pants and dress shirt, and she could see the jacket and tie
piled on the floor near the door. On the table in front of him sat
a cream-colored envelope, a single sheet of paper -- and a blood-
stained photograph, one she had seen before in his apartment. Fox
and Samantha, smiling at the camera, just a short time before her
disappearance.

Scully reached out and placed the sheet she held on top of the
other. She felt, rather than saw, him tense slightly. Then he
reached forward, picked up the small pile, and fell back against
the couch, dropping his hand onto the cushions between them, still
clutching the papers.

She waited for him to speak. When he didn't, she leaned toward him,
pushing back the unruly hair from his forehead, and cupped his
cheek with her hand. Slowly, he turned his head and met her
concerned gaze.

His eyes were red from crying, and the despair she saw there
brought tears to her own eyes. She smiled slightly and said, "Do
you want to talk about it?"

He held her gaze, then dropped his eyes to the letter and photo in
his hand. He exhaled, then said huskily, "It was my choice. My
choice, Scully." He looked back at her, an almost desperate gleam
in his eyes, and his voice became more strained. "I made my choice.
I gave her up."

The questions showed on Scully's face, but she waited for him to go
on, her hand still on his face. He took several deep breaths to
steady himself, then leaned forward, breaking the contact between
them. She dropped her hand to her lap as he moved his long arms to
rest on his knees and wrapped both hands around the photo and
letter.

Finally, just as Scully was about to break the silence, he spoke
again, his eyes on the sheets in his hands. "I didn't tell you
everything that day in the hospital," he said, his voice flat. "I
told you I wasn't taking the deal I was offered, but I didn't tell
you what the deal was."

He stopped again, and she lifted her hand to his arm. "Tell me,
Mulder," she said softly.

He looked at her again, then away. "It was him," he said. "Cancer
Man, or whoever he was. He wanted me to join him."

Her sharp intake of breath seared his ears, and he had to fight to
continue. "He offered me a deal. If I went in with him, he'd give
me what I wanted most."

Scully's voice was small when she spoke. "Samantha?" she asked

Mulder exhaled raggedly. "That's what he thought," he said. "But
that's not what I wanted."

Another long pause, and this time Scully did break the silence.
"Then what?" she asked.

He looked at her, wanting to see her reaction. "I said ... I wanted
the cure for your cancer."

She didn't breathe, didn't move, and he saw so many emotions play
across her face -- surprise, puzzlement, wonder, caring. He waited
for her to respond, and finally, she did.

"He gave it to you," she said, a statement rather than a question.

Mulder looked away. "No," he said firmly. "No, I already had it. He
told me that. I had it, and I just didn't know it." His eyes
focused somewhere on the wall across the room. "But he did offer me
something else."

"Samantha," Scully breathed.

"Samantha," Mulder confirmed. "He brought her to meet me. And I do
believe it was her." He looked at her again. "That's why I was
going to take his deal. You would be safe, and I could have
Samantha again."

He stopped talking, and the silence grew between them until Scully
spoke again. "Why didn't you take it, Mulder?"

His eyes dropped to her hand, still on his arm, and he moved his
other hand to cover hers. She was sure he wasn't going to answer,
and then he did.

"I couldn't do it," he said simply. "I wanted to, I really did. Or
at least I thought I did. But I realized I couldn't, and not just
because Blevins tried to take down Skinner." He looked back into
her eyes, which were now glistening with new tears. "I couldn't do
it because ... because you would never have forgiven me. I couldn't
give you up," he finished.

Scully felt her cheeks growing moist as the tears fell. She blinked
several times, then swallowed and said softly, "You didn't give her
up, Mulder. You can still find her." She reached to run a finger
along the letter in his hands. "She's still trying to find you,"
she said, then closed her fingers around his.

Mulder's eyes followed her hand, and his voice was faint when he
spoke. "I still hope so, Scully," he said, sliding out one hand and
placing it over hers. "But I've lived without her for almost 25
years." He caught her eyes again. "I don't want to live that long
without you."

Scully smiled softly, then leaned to rest her head on his shoulder.
"I'm not going anywhere," she whispered, as he lowered his head on
top of hers.

They simply sat for a few minutes, looking at their intertwined
hands. But then Scully shifted and said, "I do have a question,
Mulder."

"What's that?" he asked.

She drew back her hand and head from him, sat up straight, and
then reached to pull the photograph from his hand. "Tell me about
this," she said.

Mulder stared at the photo for a long time, and Scully waited for
him to answer. Finally, he did. "Skinner gave it back to me at the
hospital, the day we found out your cancer was in remission," he
said. "He told me the Smoking Man was dead, and said they found
this at the scene."

Scully stared at him. "He had your picture? But how? Why?"

Mulder sighed. "I don't know how, although I'm sure he could have
gotten it pretty easily," he said. "But as to *why* ... well, when
I saw Samantha, she said ... she told me that man was her father."

A sharp intake of breath from Scully. "Her *father*?" she asked,
incredulous.

Mulder dropped the letter back on the coffee table and leaned back
against the couch again, resting his head against the wall. "That's
what she said," he said. "She said he told her Mom was dead and
that he didn't know where I was until just recently. I told her he
was lying, but she didn't believe me."

Scully sat stiffly, in shock at what he had said. When she found
her voice again, she said, "Is it the truth? Is he her father?"

Mulder turned his head toward her and gave a half-smile. "What is
the truth?" he asked ruefully. "I don't know if it's true. But she
said she'd been living with him since she was taken, or at least
until she was grown. She really has no idea what kind of man he is,
or was."

They sat in silence, staring at the letter and photo, the
revelations hanging in the air around them. Finally, Scully dropped
the photo back onto the table and reached for his hand again,
pulling it into her lap. She looked at him, waiting for him to meet
her gaze. When he did, she smiled softly and said, "You will find
her, Mulder, and she will find out the truth. You will get her
back." She dropped her eyes to their hands. "And you'll have the
last laugh on Smoking Man. Because you'll have the truth ..." --
she raised her eyes back to his -- "... and you'll still have both
of us."

Slowly, Mulder returned her smile, even as fresh tears ran down his
face, and they moved to embrace.

They stayed that way for a long time, their arms around each other,
as the sunlight faded. He drew her closer as he leaned back
against the cushions, and she felt his breathing even out as he
gradually dozed off.

She waited a while longer to be sure he was asleep, then pulled
away and carefully coaxed him to stretch out on the couch. She
slipped his pillow under his head and unfolded a blanket over him,
then leaned down, cupped his face in her hand again, and softly
kissed him on the cheek. As she was leaving, she stopped in the
doorway, looked back, and whispered, "Sweet dreams."

For once, they were.