From jimcaz@dircon.co.uk Thu Apr 24 15:53:40 1997 Subject: New: Love Letters 1/1 From: "Jim & Carol Gritton" -------- Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully belong to Chris Carter, 1013 and Fox TV. They are used without permission and no infringements of copyright are intended. I do this for the love of it! Rating: G (one swear word) Classification: S, R (sort of!) Summary: The purchase of an old chest reveals a poignant secret. Comments gratefully received at the above address. Love Letters 1/1 by Carol Gritton (jimcaz@dircon.co.uk) She didn’t know what made her bid for the small oak chest, but she was so pleased when the auctioneer’s gavel came down upon the block and she heard, “Sold! To the young lady in the front row!” Maybe it was the intricate wood carving that she liked so much, now that she had a chance to examine her purchase more closely. Or perhaps it was because she felt that the chest had an unknown and mysterious history. Lydia Simmons loved collecting antiques and trying to find out about their previous owners. The details in the catalogue had been sketchy to say the least - the provenance of the chest was unknown, but as soon as she saw it she knew she had to have it. For some unknown reason, she felt drawn to the chest... it was as if it wanted her to discover its secrets. Lydia placed the chest carefully on the table, and ran her fingers over the top of it. She took the key and inserted it into the lock, which was surrounded by a beautifully carved escutcheon. The lock was a little stiff from lack of use, but the key did turn. She opened the lid. The chest was lined in burgundy velvet, and it was empty. Lydia was a little disappointed - she thought there might have been a clue as to the identity of the chest’s former owner. She ran her fingers around the bottom of the box... The lining was a little loose in one corner, and she lifted it gently. A smile spread across her face - this was an exciting discovery! The chest had a false bottom! Lydia carefully peeled back the lining, and lifted the false bottom out. Beneath it lay a pile of what looked like letters, tied with faded red ribbon. She drew them out carefully, for they were delicate and yellow around the edges with age. She felt the excitement flutter in her - this was such a find! Placing the cup of herbal tea on the table, away from the letters, Lydia undid the ribbon. She picked up the first letter, carefully unfolded it... there was no address or date. Lydia began to read. Dear Dana How I long to hear your name upon my lips, but I know that will never happen. I can never declare my feelings for you - to do so would spoil everything that we have between us. So I’ll carry on maintaining that cool, professional face as long as I have to. Are you aware of the effect you have on me? The way my heart sings when you speak my name, the feeling I get when you smile at me? How a current passes through me every time you touch me or come near me? I think I’ve loved you since the day you first came to work with me. I was unbelievably rude and hostile, but you took it all in your stride. You listened to my outrageous theories, followed me on countless wild goose chases and fruitless assignments. Each time I would ask myself why you did it - I would kid myself that perhaps it was because you loved me. Dana, if you were here with me now, I would take you in my arms and tell you how much I love you. Instead, I will commit all my feelings to paper, and put them where no-one will find them. Yours, Fox Lydia placed the letter carefully onto the table and took a mouthful of her tea. She felt the sadness well up inside her, and took a moment to compose herself before reaching out for the next letter. Dear Dana I can’t tell you how unbearable it is to think that you might not survive the cancer that has invaded your body. I do not think that I could go on without you by my side. I know I said that I could never declare my feelings for you, but I don’t know if I can keep the promise that I made to myself. I can’t bear to see you suffering and not be able to hold you and kiss you. Dana, I so desperately want to make it better, but I can’t. The guilt I feel over your condition is immeasurable - it is because of me that this has happened to you. I remember you once said that you wouldn’t change a day of our friendship and partnership - does that still hold true, Dana? I wouldn’t blame you for hating me - you have every right to. I’m a selfish bastard, I know - so many times I put my work before your feelings. Can you ever forgive me? Yours, Fox Lydia finished the rest of her tea before she moved on. She skipped several letters, and picked out one written on pale blue onion skin. This one carried a date - 23 June, 1998. The letters were over fifty years old! Dear Dana, This date will be engraved on my heart - today it was confirmed that you are free of the cancer. The knowledge that you will still be here by my side fills my heart with joy. Dana, Dana, Dana - how I long to say your name out loud! I roll it around in my head, and speak it in the quiet of my apartment. I whisper it when I lie awake at night, when sleep evades my grasp. How I wish that I could wake and find you laying beside me - I would hold you and never let you go. I love you, Dana. Yours, Fox Lydia carefully refolded the delicate paper. She felt as if she were intruding on this man’s most private thoughts and feelings - after all, he had written the letters and placed them in the chest, hidden away where no-one else would find them. He had obviously meant for them to remain secret - why else would he hide them under a false bottom? At the same time, she was intrigued and fascinated by the letters. Who were Fox and Dana? They had worked together, but where? And what had he done to cause her cancer? Despite her discomfort, Lydia picked up another letter, again undated. Dear Dana, I write this on the day of your wedding. I know you will make a beautiful bride - I am only sorry that it will not be me standing by your side at the altar. I know you and Mark will be very happy - he’s a lucky man, a good man. He will treat you right, and never let you down. He will be far better for you than I could ever be. He will never leave you to go chasing fruitless lead after fruitless lead. Dana, I promised myself years ago that I would never declare my feelings for you. I love you, more than ever, but I can never have you. I don’t deserve you, I’m not worthy of you. You deserve someone much better than me - someone who can give you the love and stability that I know you crave. So, Dana my love, I will come and dance at your wedding, toast you with champagne, and wish you every happiness. Yours always, Fox Lydia picked up the last letter in the bundle with a distinct feeling of foreboding and unfolded the aging paper. Dearest Dana, This will be my last letter - my time is drawing near. Although we haven’t seen one another in many years, my love for you still burns as bright as it ever did. I truly regret my decision all those years ago to keep my love for you a secret - I will go to my grave never knowing what it was like to hold you and kiss you, to make love with you. If I had my time again I would do things so differently. I have missed you so much over the years. I hope your life has been happy, and that all your dreams came true. Dana, I have always loved you, I always will. One day we will be together again and I’ll not make the mistake I made so long ago - the next time, I will tell you how much I love you. I can only dare hope that you might feel the same way. With all my love, Fox When Lydia put the letter down, a solitary tear trickled from her eye. A love unspoken and denied over so many years. Why hadn’t he told her how he felt? Did she ever have any inkling of his feelings for her? All the letters he had written to her but never sent. On the table lay an envelope. Lydia picked it up and drew out the contents. A young woman with vibrant red hair smiled back at her from the photograph that she held in her hand. Was this Dana? She looked inside the envelope again, but it was empty. She would never know what Fox looked like. Putting the photograph back into the envelope, she then collected all the letters together and re-tied them with the red ribbon. In the morning, she would contact the auctioneers to find out who had put the chest up for sale. The auction house was reluctant to divulge details of the chest’s vendor, but when Lydia explained that she had found something in the chest that she thought belonged to the previous owner they gave her the information she was seeking. “The chest was placed with us by a Mrs Mark Halliday. If you just bear with me, I’ll give you her address.” A few moments later, Lydia was dialling Mrs Halliday’s number. A brisk, businesslike female voice answered. “Hello, Mrs Halliday? My name is Lydia Simmons. I believe you placed a small oak chest for sale recently?” “That’s correct,” answered the other woman. “How did you get my number? I understood that vendor’s details remained confidential.” Lydia detected the slight hint of annoyance in Mrs Halliday’s voice. “I found something in the chest that I think belongs to you,” explained Lydia. “Some letters...” “I don’t know anything about any letters,” replied Mrs Halliday. “Well, could I bring them to you to show you? You might recognise the writing, or know who they belong to.” “I don’t think I can help you, Miss Simmons - I don’t know anything about any letters,” repeated Mrs Halliday. “Please, Mrs Halliday - at least you might be able to tell me something about the chest, about its history.” Lydia’s soft plea seemed to work. “Very well. Will two thirty tomorrow afternoon suit you?” “That’ll be fine, Mrs Halliday. I’ll bring the chest with me.” Lydia walked up path to the smart house and rang the doorbell. Although the hair was now a shadow of its former glory, and her face was heavily lined, she recognised Mrs Halliday as the redhead in the photo that she had found in the chest. Lydia was ushered in to a comfortable living room and invited to sit down. She could smell coffee brewing in the kitchen, and the older woman came back with a cart carrying a pot of coffee and two cups. She moved slowly, almost painfully it seemed to Lydia. Pleasantries over, Mrs Halliday got down to business. “Now, what’s all this about letters?” “I found them in the chest,” explained Lydia. “They were hidden under a false bottom. Did you never look inside the chest?” “No - I couldn’t open it,” explained Mrs Halliday. “My hands...” She held out her hands, and Lydia could see that her joints were grossly deformed by arthritis. She wouldn’t have been able to turn the key. “I’m sorry,” said Lydia softly. Mrs Halliday waved her hand dismissively. “What can you tell me about the chest?” asked Lydia. “It was left to me by a friend - a very dear friend. He died a few years ago... I hadn’t seem him for some time, so it was a bit of a surprise that he had left me anything in his will.” “What was his name?” “Fox - Fox Mulder.” The older woman gave a fond smile. “He hated his name... he would never answer to anything other than Mulder. He used to have the chest on his bookshelf - it belonged to his mother.” “You worked together?” asked Lydia. “Yes - for the FBI. We were partners for many years.” Lydia opened the chest, and showed Mrs Halliday the false bottom where the letters were hidden. She drew them out and handed them to the other woman. “These are yours - you should have them.” Mrs Halliday took them from her. “Did you read them?” she asked, examining the faded red ribbon and yellowing papers. “Some of them,” admitted Lydia. “There’s a photograph in an envelope at back. It’s of you.” “Thank you for bringing them to me,” said Mrs Halliday. Their business concluded, Lydia stood to go. She took in the various photographs around the room. There were several of Mrs Halliday and a man who was obviously her husband. There were no male accoutrements around so Lydia guessed that Mrs Halliday was a widow. Across the room, standing on its own on a small table, was another photograph. Lydia walked across to take a closer look. Whoever he was, he was devastatingly handsome. “That’s Fox,” said Mrs Halliday softly. Lydia hadn’t even realised that the woman had come to stand beside her. “You must have been very fond of him,” she said. “I was, but he was wedded to his work. It came before everything.” Mrs Halliday closed the front door and made her way slowly back into the living room. She picked up the bundle of letters and undid the ribbon. She took the first letter off the pile and carefully unfolded it. After running her fingers over the familiar script, the former Dana Scully began to read. The End