From: ACPLady Date: 13 Nov 1999 21:18:21 GMT Subject: Revised Repost: "Memorare" (1/2) by P.J. Gideon REVISED REPOST: Please ignore previously posted version Title: Memorare Author: P. J. Gideon (ACPLady@aol.com) Category: MS/Friendship, A Rating: PG Spoilers: small ones for Agua Mala and Tithonus Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. They are the sole property of Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. They are used without permission and without compensation. Archive: With permission only please. Summary: An unforeseen event brings Mulder and Scully closer together. (Author note at end of Part 2) Thanks: To the Beta Readers Circle. I cannot thank Mary M. enough for her comprehensive, insightful and thorough beta reading of this story. This first time writer is very grateful for her encouragement and support. I would also like to acknowledge my daughter Sarah for her unofficial beta reading. (Part 1 of 2) Memorare *clang* *dong* *clang* *dong* I have always loved the sound of the bells at St. John's. Their clanging vibrates through the air and into my soul, as I contemplate the service to come. The soft light of a beautiful fall morning filters through the trees, like a whispered breath on a chilly day, as my shoes crunch through newly fallen leaves. My usual "work" attire has been exchanged for a soft dress that reminds my body of a more settled time in my life, before everything became so complicated. I can't remember the last time I felt such quiet solitude and anticipated joy. When Mom had called inviting me to her parish church to attend Mass, it saddened me that it had been so long since we had last seen each other. Could it possibly have been almost a whole year? "Dana, sweetheart, I was beginning to think you weren't coming after all." Mom's quiet voice interrupts my reverie. I smile and turn to greet her with a hug and softy chuckle into her ear. "I was actually on time before I got here and found I had to park three blocks away," I reply to her chiding tone. Pulling back, I am suddenly aware of a taller presence beside her. I curiously take in his appearance and demeanor, and am suddenly struck by the implications of his proximity. My mother and this man are a "couple," I muse, as I turn a questioning look and a raised brow for introductions. "Dana, this is Lawrence Holden. He and I are..." "...seeing each other?" I interrupt, as I extend my hand toward his. He shakes it warmly and seems genuinely pleased to meet me. I shudder at what my mom has possibly told this man about my life. Mom gives me what I interpret as an apologetic shrug as we join the crowd entering the church. "I'll fill you in later," she whispers into my ear. "Yes, you will," I reply just as quietly. The fall air dissipates as we enter the church, to be replaced by the cedar scented atmosphere of the over 100 year old St. John's. The sunlight becomes a brilliant mosaic of color as seen through the astonishingly tall stained glass windows that line each side of the imposing sanctuary. With its beautiful woodwork and intricately carved statuary, St. John's is a stunning example of its era. The ancient pipe organ fills the air with its vibrant tones, as I am drawn into the pew by the crowd, stopping short to genuflect quickly to the altar. My mother and Lawrence follow and I am struck immediately when he does not genuflect as he enters. This man is not Catholic like my devout mother, I think dumbly as I take my seat. The older woman on my other side coughs lightly and fidgets with her purse, and I am almost impossibly bereft at the sudden thought that Mulder should be there by my side. "Dana Scully?" she queries. I meet the woman's gaze with a questioning look. "You don't remember me, do you?" she admonishes lightly, a smile playing across her face and her eyes dancing mischievously. "Oh, Mary... Mary Mackey, I do remember," I respond fondly. Fifteen years had turned her from a bustling sixty-five to a fragile eighty, but her remarkable smile was unforgettable. "Not that you should, dear. It was so long ago when you used to help in the church nursery," she replies. "I had to retire as the director, after my arthritis made it impossible to keep up with the children. Oh, how I miss those years," she continues, as she grasps my hand in hers. "I always figured you would marry and have a lot of beautiful children, you were so good with the little ones," she remarked, as she patted my ringless hand. My reply was choked back, as organ music swelled into a crescendo and the service began. The sanctuary filled with the haunting sounds of the first choral piece, as the procession of altar servers filed down the long main aisle of the church, followed by Father McCue, resplendent in his vestments. ******************** *thwack* *thwack* *thwack* *swish* I've always loved the sound a basketball makes. As I repalm the ball easily and lay up for another shot, I am reminded of a simpler time in my life when shooting baskets filled hours of my time. My knees and lungs, however, remind me that my body is no longer capable of that much of anything. After one more satisfying *swish* I reward myself with a benchwarming session and a much needed swig of water. -Gatorade would be better for you and replace your electrolytes- I hear "Dr. Scully" drone in my head, as I take careful aim and hock a satisfyingly juvenile spit over the back of the bench, before downing the rest of the bottle in a cooling chug-a-lug. Scully doesn't approve of a lot of my off duty activities, and would probably be amazed at just how uncivilized I can be without her around to influence my actions. Well, maybe she wouldn't, I acknowledge to myself with a smile. Sunday morning basketball is as close to a religious observance as I get. Even when we're on a case, I usually manage to get us a motel room near a park or school so I can grab my ball and "observe the Sabbath." I figure if God wanted people stuck in church on Sunday morning, he wouldn't have invented basketball courts. As I grab the front of my shirt and pull it up to my sweating face for a quick wipe, I reflect on Scully's parting words before leaving the office Friday evening. How she was absolutely-positively-under-no-circumstances- whatsoever having anything to do with me or an X-file until Monday morning. Fine with me. Geesh, she acts like I purposely think up lame cases to be with her. When she casually mentioned going to her mom's church, however, I got the distinct impression that she had contemplated and then immediately discarded the idea of inviting me along. It's just as well she didn't. She needs to get away from me once in a while, if only to realize how much she really needs me, I think wistfully. It did irritate me that she presumed to know my response enough to not even ask, or maybe she was afraid I would have said yes. That would have frosted her cookies. It would almost be worth the agony of sitting through a church service to have her wondering the whole time what I was thinking. I'd like to think I've learned a few things over the years though, and I care about her too much to be so petty. If I felt I had more to offer her than more pain and uncertainty in her life, I would have invited myself along and damn the consequences. With a deep sigh I grab my ball and force my now aching and shaky legs to hoist me up and haul me home. ******************** I am stunned. Within minutes of arrival my mind is in turmoil. My unmarried, barren, lonely... yes, lonely, existence is suddenly an open wound on my soul. Fighting back tears, I finally get a perilous grip on my emotions and become aware of my surroundings again. My mother, perhaps sensing my distress, has reached her hand over to grasp mine. I turn my face slowly to hers and I see her look of concern, touched with a great deal of motherly love. I grasp her hand tightly, and give her the best stoic face I can manage under the circumstances. She smiles knowingly at me, seeing right through my deception, yet saying nothing. Gotta love a mom who lets you maintain some dignity. I turn back to the service, and try to recapture some of my earlier good feelings, with only limited success. I idly study the people around me. The row directly in front of us is filled with what appears to be a "stairstep" family: Korean, I think. Mom, about my age (hugely pregnant and looking decidedly uncomfortable), dad (corralling a somewhat boisterous five year old boy), what appears to be twin boys about eleven, and a sweet looking little two year old girl. Directly behind us, a group of teenagers make themselves known with sniggering comments and scattered giggles. There are well over two hundred parishioners crowding the sanctuary, as a special blessing is to be given today for families. I resolve to say a prayer for Mulder, who I realize with a mildly shocked feeling is family to me in every sense of the word. Not like a brother, or a father, but more like a... what? More like a... husband? Before I can dwell more on where that thought came from, the little girl in front of me chooses that time to stand and turn fully to face the back, patting her tiny hands on the back of the pew and shining her bright little smile directly at me. Her almond eyes are almost as jet black as her straight shiny hair. I smile back at her with sudden and inexplicable genuine joy. Her sweet, innocent face radiates her simple pleasure at being alive and loved unconditionally. She bends down and grabs a stuffed bear and contemplatively chews on its nose, while continuing to smile at me with her eyes. With practiced ease she suddenly tosses the bear to my feet, no doubt fully expecting me to pick it up. I comply in the ages old response to this favored toddler game, and scrunch down to retrieve her bear from the floor. That's when I hear it... Impossible... Unmistakable... Terrifying... The slide-snick of a clip being inserted into a semiautomatic weapon. I slip immediately into full FBI agent alert. Even if I had my gun on me, which I don't, I couldn't pull it out in this crowd. But that doesn't stop me from grasping at my back in a vain attempt to will my weapon into existence. I do the next best thing and pull my cell phone out, punching #1 on my speed dial and placing it carefully under the pew, hoping against hope that Mulder's cell is on, and he's in the mood to answer. Because, God help us, I fear all hell is about to break loose in St. John's church. ******************** A quick jog home and a shower later and I am decidedly in the mood for less introspection and more food. Slipping into my jeans and pulling on a T-shirt as I contemplate my choices in the refrigerator -- slim and none -- my cell phone jolts me from my endeavors. In irritation I fumble through my jacket and punch it on. I am immediately set on edge seeing the cell number. Why is Scully calling me? I hear muffled shouts and screaming... shots fired... Oh my God! Sweet Jesus! Before I have time to process anything, training and instinct kick in. I immediately go for my guns and badge. Grabbing the other phone, I dial the bureau and tersely convey: Shots fired... Probable location, St. John's Church in Alexandria... Federal officer possibly down. Then I am out the door and in my car, speeding toward St. John's, cell phone glued to my ear. Profiling the situation on the fly, I begin cataloging information. Church... Scully, unarmed and surrounded by screaming parishioners... Chaos... She pulls out her cell and punches the one number she prays is answered... Dives for cover... Probably crouched over her mom, praying she doesn't get shot in the back... Thankfully one weapon, one suspect, but, semiautomatic... SHIT... Random shots, no discernible pattern... Unsub highly unstable and volatile... High probability lone white male picking victims on a whim... Don't like your skin color. *pop* You looking at me? *pop* You look like my ex-wife. *pop* I am desperately trying not to lose it, as I speed past a slower vehicle only to be stymied by a lane closure, the resulting bottleneck slowing me to a crawl. I'll be absolutely no help to her wrecked on the highway, but this is maddening. I have never felt so totally helpless. "Come on Scully... come on... come on... come on..." I chant into the phone. The shooting stops... I hold my breath for an endless minute... Maybe someone finally got to him... The shooting resumes. DAMN. JESUS. Another clip! JESUS. ...Oh, Scully, Scully, Scully. ******************** I slowly raise up and chance a surreptitious glance in the direction I perceived the sound to have come from. I am praying that my overactive emotions from earlier have just left me vulnerable to suggestion, and the sound I know I heard was somehow something innocent and explainable. And won't I just look the fool! Three or four rows up to my right I see him. Male... scraggly, unkempt hair... trench coat... mid thirties... wild eyes looking right through me, as he suddenly rises and turns in my direction, gun in hand. OH MY GOD! The next few seconds are a blur, as a combination adrenaline rush and instinctive training lead me to grasp hold of the little girl and pull her screaming to the ground, while simultaneously yanking my mother rather forcefully down by my side as I bark an authoritative: "FEDERAL AGENT, EVERYONE HIT THE GROUND... NOW!!!" The absolute best I can hope to do under the circumstances, as I hear the first distinctive *pop* *pop* *pop* and desperately grasp the now squirming and terrified girl against me. I have never felt so totally helpless. I can only imagine the rest as I hear... Screams... *pop* Crying...*pop* Shouting... *pop* *pop* *pop* Panic. Chaos. Pandemonium. Suddenly remembering Mary, I turn to see if she is safe, only to hear her gurgling gasp for breath as blood wells from her chest. Her eyes search mine in disbelief, her hands grasping weakly at her side. Lawrence has joined with Mom trying to protect her. He seems rather calm under the circumstances. I lock eyes with my mother and desperately hand her the girl. Without a word she grasps hold of her and comforts her as well as she can. I turn to Mary and ease her to the ground. I can hear the gunman stomping around muttering obscenities, quoting scripture of all things, and ranting about exorcism and failure. His voice is punctuated by the occasional *pop* *pop* *pop* as I cradle Mary's head with one hand, and desperately press the other over her wound. As I lean closer, she grasps my hand and looking earnestly into my eyes, begins to speak. "Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to your protection..." she murmurs shakily. I join my voice with hers, as together we continue the familiar prayer. Her eyes close, and her hands loosen their grip on mine, as I feel her take a last shuddering breath. Gently laying her down on the floor, I don't bother fighting back the tears as I finish, "...O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not our petitions, but in Your Mercy, Hear and answer us, Amen." I notice the sudden lack of gunshots and I am momentarily hopeful that he has run out of ammunition. I listen carefully and cringe... At the slide-snick... Right behind us in the aisle... Oh Dear God, another clip... The shooting resumes. (continued in Pt. 2) (Part 2 0f 2) Memorare The shots explode everywhere *pop* *pop* *pop* one after another, as the man continues to rant loudly. I hear glass shattering, and now, I am just hoping for any opportunity to try and stop this madness. He turns back toward us and as he is targeting my mom, who is still shielding the terrified little girl, Lawrence lunges at him. As if in slow motion the scene plays out before me. Lawrence manages to grab the gunman's arm. At the same time, he gets shot point blank through the shoulder. His momentum, however, carries them both down into the aisle. As soon as Lawrence made his move, I committed to follow a split second later. Leaping onto the pew, I jump down into a crouch and grab at the gun. He fights me for it, and with my blood-slickened hands I lose the grip. I gasp in disbelief as the barrel of the gun sweeps toward me only inches from my stomach. I instinctively pull back, knowing from frightful experience the searing gut-wrenching pain that awaits... ******************** Frantic. I am frantic. Scully has seen my panic face, but I don't think she's ever seen my frantic face. I don't think I've ever made this frantic face. I hope she gets a chance to see it. Shortly after the shooting resumed, I lost the connection on the cell and the battery light began to blink. After staring at the damn thing in disgust, I tossed it aside in frustration. With half my mind on the road ahead and the rest imagining the worst, I sped toward the church. I see the flashing lights of police vehicles and hear the cacophony of sirens as I near the scene. I skid to a stop as close to the police line as I can, and bolt out of the car. Dodging crowds of onlookers... some people screaming, some praying, some covered in blood, and flashing my badge in the face of any cop who looks like he wants to impede my progress, I race to St. John's, where I encounter my first real obstacle. I stare in disbelief at the chaotic scene. Police units and ambulances are parked haphazardly around the building and the park strip. Several EMS teams are performing triage; some victims are in obvious distress and others appear to be in shock; most sit numbly, while a few are still hysterical with pain or grief. There are so many people. As I frantically thread my way through, I search desperately for any sign of Scully. For endless minutes I search, witnessing scene after scene of inexplicable tragedy. A mother holds her baby to her breast, oblivious to everyone, as she waits patiently to have a gunshot wound to her arm attended to. A distraught elderly man wails inconsolably as a trauma team member declares his wife dead and covers her discreetly. I take in each new scene with an ever increasing sense of dread, until I come across a team working on a dark haired woman. I can't tell for sure, but I think it's Scully's mom. I inch closer and see that she has suffered a head wound. "Mrs. Scully? Maggie?" I choke out. They have just finished bandaging her head, and are preparing to help another victim, when she turns toward me. I can tell she's been crying, and when she sees me she loses what little composure she has managed to maintain, as I enfold her in my arms and comfort her. I am bursting to ask about Scully, but she is so stricken, I am half afraid of what she will say, so I just hold her tight and wait. After a few agonizing moments, she pulls back and looks up at me. "Oh, Fox, I am so sorry..." For an insane moment I fear the worst. She can only be sorry that Scully is dead and she is the one having to break the news to me, and I pull back in horror and shock. "No, no, no, Fox..." Maggie blurts out, as she senses my distress. "I'm sorry... I-I'm not thinking straight," she continues. "That man... he could have shot Dana, but, he shot himself instead... she's not hurt... she's fine, Fox." Before she can say anything else, I grab her into a body crunching hug in incredible relief. After a long moment, I speak. "Maggie, I have never been happier to hear that Scully is fine in my entire life." I smile weakly at her as tears of relief well up. Just then there is a commotion at the front of the church, as a trauma team emerges amid a bustle of activity. There appears to be a woman holding a newborn on the stretcher. My eyes are soon riveted to the petite redhead who follows them out into the daylight. She is carrying a little black haired girl who has one arm tightly around her neck, and is holding a teddy bear snugly in the other. Scully does indeed appear to be fine as she follows the stretcher into the ambulance, and it pulls out with sirens blaring. After telling Maggie to wait, I haggle enough information from one of the cops to be certain of Scully's destination: Mount Vernon Hospital. Without preamble I return and pull Maggie up into my arms and begin carrying her to my car. She immediately protests that she can walk, but I will hear none of it. After carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders for the last couple of hours, she feels light as a feather to me. It seams to take forever to get to the hospital. The tragedy at the church has the city in gridlock. Maggie has been relaying to me in a shaky voice the horrible chain of events during the shooting and immediately thereafter, before I found her. She had actually hurt her head when Scully pulled her to the floor during the initial attack. I am surprised to learn that Maggie has been dating an ex- Marine, and of his pivotal role in what followed. She had been assured by an EMT that his injury, while severe, was not life threatening and was eager to be with him in the hospital. I lived the horror through her voice, as she relayed just how close Scully had come to being shot right in front of her eyes, and the wonder in her voice as she described how the mother of the little girl had gone into stress induced labor, and Scully's subsequent delivery of the woman's baby amid the confusion that followed, before the medical teams were allowed in. Her eyebrows rose an alarming degree as I told her of the circumstances surrounding the last baby Scully had delivered. I got the impression that Scully had barely mentioned it in passing to her mother, and had definitely left out the more colorful details. ******************** In the ambulance ride over here I had little chance to think, as I comforted the little girl. Her name is Susie. Her mother cried quiet, desperate tears of joy and sorrow, as she nursed Susie's new little brother. Her husband was uninjured, but their small son, the little five year old, was killed in his arms. He kissed his wife good bye amid desperate words of pain and regret and hope and longing as he took his twin sons and left with the little boy's body cradled gently in his arms, leaving Susie with her mother. Minutes later, his wife gave birth to another son. The gift of life and the loss of death are now forever etched in one terrible day in this families' memories. I think Susie forgave me for tearing her away from her family sometime during the birth of her baby brother. Somehow instinctively knowing that I was trying to protect her, she clung to me fiercely until her mother's sister showed up in the hospital, and after grateful tear-filled words of thanks, took little Susie back to her family. I looked longingly at her little face peering over the shoulder of her aunt as she disappeared down the hallway. Her sad eyes focused on me until they turned the corner and disappeared from my sight. Sad eyes... just like Emily, I think, as my arms and my body feel empty for the weight, and the warmth, and the smell of a little girl no longer in my arms, but forever in my heart. The waiting room is filled with people in differing stages of grief, despair and hope, and suddenly I don't want to think anymore. I don't want to think about Mary, and how they carried her frail body away. I don't want to remember the look on my mother's face, as she held Lawrence in her arms and surveyed the carnage wrought by a madman. I don't want to think of my blood-stained dress. The blood of death mixed with the blood of life. I cradle my head between my hands in a desperate attempt to block out the confusion. From the waiting room. From my head. I acknowledge the gentle caress of my hair and the whisper of my name in my ear, with a low keening howl of despair. Mulder envelopes me with his strong arms, and unceremoniously scoops me into his lap. Me, tough as nails, Special Agent Dana Katherine Scully with the FBI, forensic pathologist, am being cradled and comforted. I revel in his warmth and allow myself to be held like a child and calmed by his steady if somewhat racing heartbeat, his soft T-shirt soothing against my cheek. He enfolds me in his arms, and I feel his tears fall as he holds me close. He haltingly tells me of his torturous drive, his desperate search, finding my mother, the trip to the hospital. I hear his unspoken words as well. That he respects and cherishes me... that he is not prepared to lose me... he will never be prepared to lose me. Mulder tenses slightly as I sense someone approach. AD Skinner towers over us. I can't imagine what he must think, finding two of his agents embracing in the middle of a crowded waiting room like a couple of teenagers. His is an imposing presence, not to be ignored, but his gentle words calm my apprehension. Private nurse's lounge down the hall... Showers available... Change of clothes... As soon as I'm able... Police need a statement... I listen as I compose myself, and gather the strength to face what is to come. ******************** It has been a long week. After a grueling debriefing that lasted most of the afternoon, Scully and I found her mom in Lawrence's room. Scully and her mom talked quietly as he slept, and I made myself scarce to find some coffee and give them some privacy. When I returned he was awake enough for introductions. Maggie could not have picked a nicer guy, even if he was a Presbyterian. They had hoped to tell Scully about their relationship over a quiet brunch: How after a whirlwind romance, they were contemplating a deeper commitment, trying to come to grips with their differing faiths. After driving Scully and her mom home that night, I reluctantly left for a long, lonely drive back to my apartment. Scully had lingered by my side and given me a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek before bolting into the house. My arms and my body felt empty for the weight and the warmth and the smell of a woman no longer in my arms, but forever in my heart. Scully was given the week off and spent it at her mom's, helping nurse Lawrence after he was released from the hospital. We talked a few times on the phone about work, but the things I really wanted to say felt inadequate from such a distance. I rattled around the office and managed to get a few things accomplished, but spent most of my time thinking about what had happened. How many times had we risked our lives in the line of duty? -And yet she is almost killed while in the safest place I could have envisioned for her- How many times had I fed my guilt at endangering her life? -I managed to do that by convincing myself that somehow, if I had only swallowed my pride and invited myself along, things might have turned out differently- Why would God allow this to happen? -That's a question no one can answer, least of all me.- ******************** It is a beautiful fall morning, exactly like last Sunday, except for the families affected by the St. John's tragedy. The press rated it below the latest hurricane news, but, at least above the latest dip in the Dow Jones. We will never know what terrible chain of events drove one man to commit such a senseless act of rage, or why he chose to spare Scully before taking his own life. Perhaps with the death of his father the month before, he lost his tenuous hold on sanity. He had written a long rambling letter to the editor of the local paper, that was never published. It shed little real light on his spiraling descent into hell. A Catholic priest supposedly refused to perform an exorcism he said was necessary to save his soul. The irony of his life sounding like an X-file, was not lost on me. ******************** *clang* *dong* *clang* *dong* I lengthen my stride as I near my destination. The mournful echoes of the church bells ring in my ears. A large banner hangs over the doors to the church -LET THE HEALING BEGIN- I read, knowing that for some, the healing may never end. The crowd outside is huge, as people from all over have come to pay their respects to the dead. Some of them have brought lawn chairs and coolers, as if this is a picnic. The air is filled with the murmured sounds of prayer and occasional sobs of grief. As I enter the sanctuary I notice several of the stained glass windows are boarded up, casting strange shadows among the crowd. I can see the plastering jobs where bullet holes have been hastily covered. I look out over the sea of people as I make my way silently to a pew. I sit down, and fidget nervously with my tie, feeling somehow out of place. A small hand appears over mine and brushing it aside, smoothes my tie straight. I grasp the hand gently but firmly in my own and bring it to my lips for a whisper of a kiss, before returning it to my side. I do not relinquish it to its owner. We sit like that through the whole memorial service. ******************** "Thank you for coming today, Mulder. I know that's not how you like to spend your Sunday mornings," I venture, as we walk towards his car. "I wouldn't sit through a church service for anyone but you," he replies glibly, looking down at me with a smile. I snort softly and continue, "I can't believe you carried Mom all this way. She told me you wouldn't put her down, even though she begged you." "Well, you know me... Mr. Wonderful." He stops short and opens the car door for me. "And Mr. Chivalrous... I could get used to this, Mulder," I reply, before sinking gratefully into the seat. After adjusting my belt, I lean back against the headrest and close my eyes. The ambient heat of the car is comforting after the cool morning walk. I hear the engine come to life and feel us pull out into the street. The car creeps slowly through the traffic as Mulder taps his thumbs absently against the steering wheel. I open my eyes and turn my head to pensively observe his strong profile. He glances at me before turning his eyes back to the road. "I always thought... if you just left the FBI... left me..." he begins haltingly. "That I'd be safe... protected... die of old age?" I finish for him, reaching across the seat to remove a stray thread from of his coat. "Yeah, pretty arrogant of me, huh?" he sighs. "Although... that old age thing? That would be my vote," he counters, giving me another glance and biting his lower lip thoughtfully. "It's human nature to want to protect the people you... care about," I reply, as I turn away to look through the window. Rows of houses, neat and well landscaped, slip by silently. "It's only arrogance to believe you have any control over the when and the how." A small park comes into view, and I cry, "Stop the car!" Mulder slams on the brakes. We've only gone a few blocks and he must think I've forgotten something at the church. "Pull over here, and pop the trunk," I order as he gives me a curious look. I hop out and moments later he joins me. *thwack* *thwack* *thwack* *swish* Mulder has shed his coat and loosened his tie and has sunk his 33rd free throw shot in a row as I rebound for him. His sleeves are rolled up and there is a broad smile on his face. On his 34th attempt the ball bounces off the rim and I have to scramble for it. I walk over and hand him the ball. "How did you know there was a basketball in my trunk, Scully?" he queries. "There's always a basketball in your trunk, Mulder... You think I don't know that you choose motel rooms on a case by their proximity to a basketball court? You think I don't know that you spend every Sunday morning on a basketball court? You think I..." He finally interrupts my long-winded reply by grasping me tightly and kissing me softly, squarely on the mouth. There is a very long moment of suspended disbelief as I process this new feeling. "You think you know everything about me, Agent Scully?" He is still smiling, but I sense the seriousness behind his question. "Nooo..... about how long do you think that would take?" I respond as calmly as I can, given that he is gazing at me with gentle tenderness, and running his fingers lightly through my hair. "I think it might just take the rest of our lives, Scully," he adds. He takes my hand and gently tugs me in toward his shoulder, as we walk through the park and back to his car. Memorare.... Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary that never was it known that anyone who fled to your protection, implored your help, or sought your intercession was left unaided. Inspired with this confidence, we fly to you, O Virgin of virgins, our Mother. To you we come; before you we stand, sinful and sorrowful. O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not our petitions, but in Your Mercy, Hear and answer us. Amen Note: This story was inspired by the actual church shooting in Fort Worth, Texas. Some of the details used in this story are taken directly from this real life tragedy. Any similarities between actual and fictional victims is unintentional and purely coincidental.