From: Anderson <s_anderson@social.chass.ncsu.edu>
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW: A Memory of Yours (1/2)
Date: 3 Apr 1996 19:31:46 GMT


O.K.  I have ventured into new territory for me: a story centering
around Mulder.  I admit freely that I am an unabashed Scullyist
and for the first part of this story she just won't go away.
Still, I had this idea and ran with it.  Lots of Mulder
reflection.  A little friendly bonding.  Minute UST.  It's really
about Mulder trying to hold onto Sam.  So, give it a try anyway
and let me know what you think.

Spoilers?  Nah
Rating?  Nah
So why read it?  Just because

Disclaimer:  Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all things X-File belong
to the brilliant Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions, and Fox
Broadcasting.  Anything else is mine.  I have no intention of
deriving any material profit from this in part because I don't
have the drive or the connections.  I use the characters in
admiration and for recreational purposes only...LITERARY
recreation that is.

A Memory of Yours (1/2)
by S. Anderson

November 27, 1995
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, D.C.

	Dense and light celluloid trails flew in the reflections
playing on Mulder's glasses.  They recorded past words and images
from the three year old Washington Post sliding through the
microforms scanner.  It was quiet in the archives.  With most
papers on CD ROM, he could count on this particular room remaining
semi-private.  It was a good place to reflect in the dark.  The
classifieds began.  They appeared to be nothing but a blurred grid
until he caught himself and brought the motor to a halt looking
for the personals.

	She stood outside, a few steps away from the plexiglass
surrounding the file drawers, readers, and her partner.  Dana
Scully was admittedly spying.   Still, she took it upon herself to
do so every now and then without her partner's permission.   Not
for Skinner or anyone else as Mulder had once suggested.  But for
her own reasons; she couldn't help it.   Mulder hadn't answered
her calls today.  It had been a mystery as to the disappearing act
until Scully noticed the date.  In the time they had been
together, finding him became easier even though it was still an
art.  When one considered it was the anniversary of Samantha's
disappearance, the task could have been impossible.  Yet, here he
was.  Solitude and information equaled Mulder.  The florescent
light washed his features in blue-white haze and erased a decade
or more.  In appearance only, he was the young man Scully imagined
entering Oxford to learn the world's secrets  His brown hair had
been given a good running through while the now familiar hazel
eyes bounced from one side of the screen to the other.

	Giving him a few more moments to store and sort whatever he
needed from the display, she turned the door knob and entered,
interrupting the silence.  Mulder looked up for a second to offer
a grin only slight enough to let his friend know she was welcome;
she belonged there if she wanted to.  Scully took the cue and
pulled a chair up next to him to sit in his company.  "I won't
stay long."

	"It's O.K.  I've had about as much of it as I can take for
now."  Mulder revived the reader and zipped to the end of the
reel.  In no hurry to return the materials, he was content to sit
with her for a little while longer.  He could see the wheels
beginning to turn in Scully's head.  "I guess you noticed the
date."

	Scully took it as permission to broach the tender subject.
"Mulder, I don't want to invade a private time for you.  But, I
would...feel bad if I didn't at least acknowledge it.  I know this
must be hard..."

	"Scully..."  Mulder touched her arm and dispelled the
heaviness she felt with a short nod.  "Thanks.  Getting through it
like I always do."  They spoke again with silence for a while,
neither looking at the other for long.

	"Were those the personals?"  She had noticed the ads as she
joined him.  "Mulder, if you need me to introduce you to some
friends..."

	His laughter was audible and a bit nervous.  "No.  No.  One
from the driven, successful mold is enough for any man."  The
words were meant to be a joke, but they spilled out with double
meaning and Mulder moved quickly to cover himself.  Stacking and
unstacking the boxes of microfilm, he spoke with a little
embarrassment.  "Don't...uh...don't think this is too pathetic,
but I was looking for birthday announcements."

	"Birthday Announcements?"  Scully forgot possibilities and
became intrigued.

	"Yeah."  He removed his glasses and tucked them in the
breast pocket of his grey jacket.  "When I was growing up, there
was a lady down the street who would always announce family events
in the personals of the local paper.  It got ridiculous.
Weddings.  Anniversaries,  New jobs, graduations, and every single
birthday from grandparents to nephews.  My Mom would always point
them out and we would have a laugh over it."  Mulder rubbed his
eyes and focused again on Scully.  She was listening to every word
without prying and willing to accept whatever he revealed.  He
crossed his arms and stretched long legs under the table where he
had been working.  The air vents rumbled to life in the room.  The
noise muffled the next few words and thus offered a little
protection from vulnerability.  "After I came back to the States
and started with the Bureau, I couldn't devote a lot of time to
Sam.  I mean, I had to get somewhere in the ranks before I could
activate a case for her.  So..."  Mulder hung his heads backwards
and examined the ceiling.  This really WAS sounding pathetic.

	"Sooo,"  Scully nudged.

	"So, I remembered laughing about our neighbor.  And, I
wondered if maybe Samantha  ended up in a family somewhere with
parents that wanted to announce to anyone who would burrow through
the back pages that they had a daughter who was a year older."
Mulder stood and retrieved the boxes of reels and waited for
Scully to join him before wandering to the file drawers.  He
continued as he searched for where each of them belonged.  "Where
ever I was on the date of her abduction, I would pull the local
paper and look.  I guess I figured at the time it was a way to
remember she was gone, a ritual if you will, and to keep looking.
I looked for any descriptions which might sound like her, birth
years which were close...  The theory was if she were given at
some point to another family, they  certainly wouldn't have the
correct birth date and maybe they would use an adoption date...or
something."  They moved in and out of the rows several times until
each of the boxes were replaced.  "The past couple years have just
been so crazy...I haven't kept up."  Leaning on top of the last
cabinet which was a bit shorter than him, Mulder propped his head
on one hand.  He studied Scully's face and wondered if she was
going to jump in with all the holes.

	Who Mulder and Scully were to one another was most often
defined by the moment.  Both knew the difference between a job
moment and personal moment.  This was one of those times when
Scully's sensibilities and rules were barred by her own restraint
and not by Mulder's challenge.  What could she say?  Mulder had a
gift for surprising her.  The walls he had erected around himself
were always present in some form or another whether it was his
words or expression or fear.  But when his actions betrayed him,
she was awed by his capacity for devotion and even love.
Relishing the admiration, Mulder leaned into her space,"I don't
expect to find anything."  His tone playfully admonished any
possible intentions swimming in her blue-grey eyes.  He motioned
to the door.

	"It's called 'hope' Mulder and you're entitled to as much of
it as anyone.  In fact, I would say you got the lion's share."
His hand was at her back, as per their custom, before she began to
move for the exit.  A quiet conversation and Mulder's chivalry was
enough to make Scully new for the battle.  Too bad it was past 6pm
and they were leaving for the night.  "Walk around the block?"
She braced herself for the excuse.

	"Sure."  Mulder accepted without hesitation.  Why go home
and sift through all of this again and again when he could make
Scully suffer with him?  Or, he thought more truthfully, why not
just share it with her and suffer a little less.  She had become a
master at accepting his burdens.

	Outside, the traffic performed its usual broken symphony.
Food from nearby restaurants and exhaust competed for dominance in
the air.  The two walked at a normal pace, neither wanting the
other to feel obligated.  "Did you ever find anything close?"
Scully was eager to keep the line through the Mulder facade open
and flowing.

	"Once or twice.  A phone call would usually kill any
possibilities."  The answer was matter-of-fact.  But she saw the
eyes dart in and out of a building window serving up some small
kernel of disappointment.  Scully gripped his coat just inside the
arm beside her and yanked it enough to be jovial without being
silly or overstated in her support.  Instead of withdrawing her
hand, she was bold and left it there.  Mulder didn't mind at all.
It was personal time.  Actually, he never minded; only right now
he could fool himself with justifications.  It encouraged him to
continue.  "And that's the story.  When you walked in tonight, I
suppose I was trying to honor her a little bit before the day was
over."  He paused.  There was more, but it took a second for his
mind to play with the words and release them.  "You know Scully,
the worst parts can be the memories."

	Scully was a little bewildered.  "How so?"  Pulling on his
arm she brought him to a halt on the sidewalk and faced him.

	"There are only eight years to remember.  And since the
memories end when I was twelve, the rich details can atrophy.  I'm
not sure but I've come to consider the abduction as the catalyst
for whatever recall ability I have.  You know, maybe somewhere my
subconscious mind refused to give up anything else after that."
There wasn't anything she could say to soothe the reality.
Memories did fade even in the best of minds and she wondered if
loosing Samantha bit by bit was as much a reason to grieve as the
physical loss.  Scully urged them on with a tug.  If they were
still too long, Mulder may have had time to retreat.

	It occurred to Scully as they rounded the last corner and
headed for the parking garage, that she had not contributed much
to the exchange over the past hour.  Scrambling in her brain for a
gift to return, she came up with something she thought at the time
was rather inane.  "Could you stand a 'When I was Little' story?"

	"Ooohhh!  Insight into the doctor.  I'm game."  Mulder
teased her and pulled his arms to his body, bringing her hand with
them.  It remained clutched to the inside of his overcoat sleeve.

	"For my twelveth birthday...I think...my mom gave me one of
those little girl diaries.  It was baby blue and read "My Diary"
in silver writing across the front.  Had a lock with keys and
everything."  Scully looked at her feet moving beneath her and
grew more embarrassed by the step.  "She told me if I made time to
write in it everyday, it would become a habit, something I would
look forward to.  She thought I would really cherish it one day
when I couldn't remember all the details which made me whoever I
would be."

	Mulder tried to jab her train of thought for the heck of it,
"So tell me.  Were there long diatribes about Greg Brady?"

	"No.  I didn't keep up with it for very long.  I actually
remember ripping the few used pages out and giving it to a
friend."  She stopped as they arrived at Mulder's car.  "I kept
one of the keys though.  I thought I might want to sneak a peek at
what she really thought of me."  Removing her hand from Mulder's
arm, Scully began looking for her car keys.

	Walking to the driver's side, Mulder was about to get in
when he had to ask, "Did you ever use that key?"

	Scully was already walking to her own car but turned to
answer, "I did... It was nice.  It was kind of amazing how two
people valued different facets of the same time in their lives,
even when they had shared it together."  An easy smile dawned and
threatened to be too personal so she turned back to her car for
safety, "I'm still amazed by that fact."  She could feel his eyes
on her and took the opportunity for one more barb,  "And Mulder,"

	"Yeah Scully?", echoed past her ear.

	"Keith Partridge was MUCH cuter than Greg Brady."  She would
never ask but was certain she heard someone humming faint chords
of "Come On Get Happy" just before Mulder's car door closed.
Scully whispered "Good Night Mulder." for her own benefit.

*****

	The clock in the dash read 11:21.  Mulder had lowered the
car window to relish the cold, dry November air as he continued to
avoid home.  His conversation with Scully rolled through his mind.
Rarely did they take the opportunity to enjoy each other's
company.  Actually, he thought, that wasn't true.  Rarely did they
take the opportunity to enjoy each other's company without using
work as a cover.  It was just part of the silent rules they
observed with one another.  Rules they had written over three
years of each being a strange family for the other.

	Scully had bestowed the unusual gift of waxing philosophic
for him tonight.  A brief wash of warmth settled over his chest as
he heard her again..."It was kind of amazing how two people valued
different facets of the same time in their lives, even when they
had shared it together."  It was so true.  Mulder had spent the
better part of the day resurrecting any of the scattered memories
left of Samantha.  But in the end they were not enough to give her
life inside his mind.  They were just snatches now: a bout of
naming calling, an expression during dinner.  The dreams were the
only thing which could animate her.  Ironic that they were the one
time he couldn't stand to look at her, to hear her screaming his
name for help.  He couldn't get over the fact he didn't have
enough of the good times to hold onto anymore.  If joy breeds
hope, he thought, what happens when I can't remember the joyful
times?  The idea terrified Mulder as much as the prospect of never
finding her.

	Pulling into a brightly lit gas station blocks from his
apartment, he shut off the engine and slouched forward to place
his head on the steering wheel.  Mulder rocked back and forth;
banging his head on the wheel in order to drive away the
obsession.  "...two people valued different facets of the same
time in their lives...two people valued different
facets...different facets..."

	The self-abuse had ceased and Mulder sat still looking at
the sparse traffic slip by.  There were others out there who had
shared Samantha with him.  People who shared the time he had been
given with her and would be willing, unlike his mother, to talk
about it.  Several more cars passed dragging red flashes of light
through his watery vision.  Mulder needed to hear their stories.
What if their memories could breathe life into her again as a
person and not just an actor in a nightmare?  Shaking away the
emotion, he reached for the cell phone and forced speed dial to
play familiar music.

	"Scully."

	"It's me.  You asleep?"

	"No."  She was suppressing a yawn.  "No.  I was watching a
Jimmy Stewart movie on cable: 'Harvey.'  A huge invisible bunny Mulder; 
qualify as an X-File?"

	The question was dismissed though he made a note to brush up
his Stewart impression for future use.  She was tired and he
wanted her to sleep.  "Wanted to let you know I'm taking a
personal day tomorrow.  I'll call it in to Personnel."

	A pause on the other end let him know she was either
confused or worried.  Mulder pictured the crinkles in her
forehead.  "What's going on?" was the best she could do.

	"Nothing to cause concern.  I was thinking about what you
said tonight; about people valuing different moments of the same
time.  Scully, I want to visit a friend of Sam's."

	There was no mistaking the next pause as one of misgivings.
but she refused to speak against it?  It worried her when he spent
so much time in the past.  But, these were the times that defined
Mulder and he like anyone else needed to mine them for the gifts
they had to offer.  Still, they always seemed to produce more pain
than fortitude.  "Do you want me to go with you?"  Scully knew the
answer before she asked the question.

	"No..."  Mulder's stomach jerked at the off-hand answer.
"...I mean, if anyone was going to go..."

	"It's O.K." she understood.  "I hope you find what
you're looking for..."

	"So do I Scully.  Goodnight, O.K.?"  Mulder started the
engine and allowed the car to lurch forward into the street.

	"Goodnight."  A few seconds hung on the line before she
moved to hang-up, enough time to assure him she wasn't in any
hurry to get rid of him.

	Mulder felt as if his mission had been blessed and dialed
the next number with less hesitation.  The line rang three or four
times before a low brittle voice answered, "The Grassy Knoll,
please indicate the CIA operative of your choice."

	"Frohike?  I know I didn't wake you up."

	"Mulder!  No. No.  Working late.  Just finished downloading
Ms. November into Dole's congressional e-mail account.  I hear his
secretary checks it for him in the mornings."

	"Gotta get you a woman..."

	"I've tried but it's been more difficult since the enchanting 
Agent Scully got Call Block."

	Mulder gave a sincere chuckle before getting down to
business.  "I need you to look up a name for me: PJ Chapman.  I'm
afraid all I can tell you is she was born around 1964 and lived on
Martha's Vineyard in '73.  Can you work with it?"

	"Mulder, you insult me."

	"Sorry."  Major faux pas.  "Call me when you've got
something; never mind the time.  A back issue of whatever is yours
for the choosing."  He waited to hear the flurry of tapping keys
before ending the call.  A few deep breaths brought the tingle of
fatigue to his eyes.  Turning the car toward his apartment, he
reasoned he might as well hit the couch for a few hours.
Tomorrow's road would be long for many reasons, few of which had
anything to do with mileage.

End Part 1


===========================================================================

From: Anderson <s_anderson@social.chass.ncsu.edu>
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW: A Memory of Yours (2/2)
Date: 8 Apr 1996 15:28:51 GMT


A Memory of Yours (2/2)
by S. Anderson

See Part 1 for disclaimer.
A brief correction has been made to Part 1.  The Mulder siblings
lived in Chilmark and not M's Vineyard.  You can find Part 1 on Vincent's 
amazing archive.  Or e-mail me and I'll send it along.

Thanks to all those who have already responded to Part 1.

November 28, 1995
Chilmark, Mass.
11:45 am

	Frohike had called around 2am and wasn't surprised to find
Mulder fully awake.  PJ Chambers was now Patricia C. Goodson and she
had returned to Chilmark with her dentist husband several years ago.
They had two young children and were well on their way to the picket
fence life.  Mulder sat in his car across the street from their two
story home allowing the mid-morning sun to warm his face.  He bet
himself she played bridge.

	He had left Alexandria well before dawn.  Driving on two hours
sleep, his mind was a little too free to recall what he could of the
freckles and glasses that had donned PJ's face. There wasn't much
left, but he could see scattered games of Old Maid; the cards
composed of cartoonish characters with outlandish outfits.  He could
see the stuffed animals on his bed that had no business being there.
And he could hear the phrase that was uttered every Friday night for
at least two years: "Mom, can PJ stay over?"  They would strike notes
of irritation each and every time.

	Several deep breaths later, Mulder emerged from the car and
headed for the front door.  A suit fresh from the dry-cleaners was
selected for the encounter.  He hoped it would give him a sense of
control and calm.  Perhaps there was a chance of treating this like
work, an interrogation.  The idea was abandoned while he climbed the
stairs to the wrap-around porch.  Questions answered today were for
him and him alone, not the X-Files and not the Bureau.  Mulder's eyes
closed and his heart stopped for a second when he felt his knuckles
meet the wooden door.

	Somewhere in the hall behind it a dog began to bark and
eventually feet could be heard shuffling to the door.  A muffled
"Hush!" was heard, the voice was decidedly feminine.  Turned to the
door, it announced, "Just a moment!  Let me put the dog up!"  Braced
for impact, Mulder watched as the door opened on a face from the
past.

	"Yes?  Can I help you?"  The younger woman studied someone she
immediately recognized but couldn't name.  Her eyebrows were pushed
together to display the furious mental quiz she was taking.  Her hair
was shorter and a few shades lighter than the original deep brown,
but just as wavy.  The glasses had obviously been replaced by
contacts and the freckles covered with make-up bordering between just
right and too much.  Years had thinned the face and she may have
gotten a little taller than the mental picture of the teen he had
last seen.  Still, this was "Peej."

	Instinct had Mulder's hand in the breast pocket of his overcoat
before he remembered that his presence had nothing to do with
business.  "PJ Goodson?  I'm sorry to bother you, but my name is..."

	"Fox Mulder!"  Her pitch was high and almost exuberant.  The
nickname "PJ" sounded foreign to Trish Goodson until she recalled a
time in her life when she preferred it to other forms of her given
name.  And until she remembered where she had seen these sad eyes
before. Of course she had seen Fox Mulder nearly everyday when she
was seven and eight.  But she had witnessed these eyes the day he had
accompanied his mother to Trish's home.  At the time, an eight year
old PJ Chapman couldn't fully comprehend the ramifications of
"kidnaped" or "missing."  She was only afraid she would never play
with her friend Sam again.  Later on, however, she understood better
than most what was missing in the smile of a shy, introspective yet
handsome teenage Fox Mulder.

	Mulder's arms were suddenly filled with the woman as she threw
her arms around him and demanded a hug.  His body rigid with
discomfort, he complied by quickly patting her shoulders before
stepping back.

	"No.  Wait.  It is you, Fox?  Right?"  Trish held his forearms
and waited for him to confess.

	With a sheepish nod, his identity was confirmed.  His next
reaction was to request that she use "Mulder," but he reminded
himself that this was going to get personal and it was better not to
chance distancing her.

	"Well come in!  Come in!"  Taking his reluctant hand, she led
him inside her home.  "And I go by Trish now.  I left PJ behind in
middle school."  The Goodson home was a Cape Cod style house.  The
interior was pure upper middle class chic: hard wood floors, wood
molding, and brass fixtures.  The front door opened to a long hall
way which they quickly took to the kitchen at the back of the house.
Passing what appeared to be the family room, Mulder and Trish stopped
at the entrance.  "Kids?"  She was actively scanning the clutter.
Two mops of curly brown hair attached to brown eyes popped from
behind the overstuffed burgundy couch by the fireplace.  Trish
introduced them as Robert and Chelsea, aged six and eight
respectively.  They were appropriately plump and decked in outfits
straight from Gap Kids.  "Say 'Hi' to Mr. Mulder."

	"Hi." was the reply in stereo.  Mulder barely put his hand in
the air to wave before they disappeared back behind the couch.

	"Let me make us some coffee and you can tell me what brings you
by."  Trish still held his hand and pulled him into the bright
kitchen.  A seat was offered at the table in the breakfast nook
overlooking the immaculate backyard.  The Goodsons appeared to be
living the life Sam should have had and Mulder would have kidded her
about.  While the coffee was prepared,  Mulder listened patiently
about how Trish and Steven met, married, and moved back to Chilmark
for him to start his family practice.  They were doing well and the
kids were healthy.  Martha Stewart might have been jealous until
store bought muffins were produced and placed on the table with two
steaming mugs.  Joining him, Trish was tired of hearing herself and
was frankly unnerved by the silence of her guest. "What about you?
Last I heard, you were heading to England."

	Mulder reached for his cup and tried to take a sip before
deciding it was too hot.  "That's right.  I studied psychology at
Oxford."  He watched her react to the mention of Oxford before
continuing.  "After that, I joined the Federal Bureau of
Investigation where I'm currently working."

	"Wow!"  Trish's eyes were huge.  "Is it as exciting as it
sounds?"

	He decided to chance the coffee regardless of temperature
shortly after responding, "It can be from time to time."

	Trish had forgotten the refreshments and was entranced by what
she considered the local boy who made good, Chilmark's own James
Bond.  "So, Girlfriend? Wife?  Kids?"

	"No.  No time really.  I have a partner and that's about all I
can manage."  Small talk was too small for him when he had come here
for a specific purpose.  "Look Trish, I actually stopped by for a
reason."

	"Oh...Well O.K."  This was intriguing.  "What can I help you
with?"

	"I wanted to speak with you about Samantha if I could.  Would
you mind?"  The polite mood in the room was void at the request.
But, Mulder pushed on as if nothing had changed.  "I know its been a
long time since you've seen her, but I was wondering if you might
tell me about anything you remember where she was concerned."

	Trish was floored and therefore silent.  She had expected to
play a little catch-up, but the face before her now was quietly
hopeful she would have much to say.  The pressure was surprising and
her thoughts were blank.  "I'm not sure what you're after here.  What
kind of things are you looking for?"

	Mulder sighed audibly in order to dispel his nerves.  "What
have you got?"

	All she could do was begin to ramble.  For fifteen minutes she
made lists: classmates, favorite toys and games, even the shape of
the cake at the party for Sam's seventh birthday.  Details, but not
rich details.  Mulder acted as if it were helpful and took notes on a
small pad produced from the coat he never removed.  Not once did she
recall words they had shared.  He had thought there must have been a
treasure trove of little girl secrets which might have emerged.
Nothing.

	It was evident he was fighting disappointment.  Trish never saw
his face once he began to take notes.  She spoke to the top of his
head until all she had left was "I'm sorry."  Mulder looked up to see
his feelings had not gone unnoticed.  "I remember her face.  I
remember your face.  And for some reason I remember it being angry
most of the time."  They shared a strained half-smile.  "Fox, I
barely remember the name of my second grade teacher.  I know you must
think I'm terrible for not being able to recall intimate things about
my best friend."  Reaching out to take a hand which never moved to
meet it, Trish felt as if she were begging.  "But, I've had several
'best friends' in the last twenty odd years.  I don't know what I can
say."

	"Trish," Mulder gave her hand an impersonal squeeze in order to
return his hand to the cup in front of him.  "I understand."

	"I'm not sure you do."  A tiny part of her heart was breaking
for him.

	"Oh believe me I do."  Another sip of coffee soothed the lump
in his throat.  "I'm forgetting things too.  If her brother can,
anyone can."  A few warm swallows later Mulder was sure he was in
control again.  "That's really why I came here today.  Yesterday was
the anniversary of Sam's disappearance."  He paused intentionally to
let the fact sink in.

	Trish produced a small breath which sounded more like a gasp
and covered her mouth with an index finger.  She continued to look at
the man at her table.  "I'm sorry Fox.  I didn't realize."  He caught
the pity and felt physically ill.  The aversion gave Mulder what he
needed to be matter-of-fact and press on with a renewed intensity.

	Looking her directly in the eyes, "I can remember the facts."
Mulder's hands gestured to indicate the space around them.  "I can
remember the faces and toys and bits of petty arguments.  But, I
guess I'm...looking to hold onto a bit more of her."  The rolling in
his stomach returned.  He smiled and wiped the corners of his mouth
while shifting in the chair.  "Maybe I'm not even sure what I'm
asking about."  He coughed.  "My partner, my friend actually,
suggested that other people might be able to fill in the  holes.
Remind me of the complete person."  Mulder's attention was back on
his drink in order to study nearly invisible swirls circling in the
black liquid.  "So, I was wondering if maybe I came here today, I
could borrow a memory of yours that would flesh out what I have
left."  It was as vulnerable as he could stand and he tried to
project that fact in his posture and expression.  If she touched him
or said "I'm sorry" one more time, he was sure he would have to
excuse himself and return to DC empty handed.

	Whether or not she received the message, Trish rose from her
chair and retrieved the coffee pot putting distance between them for
a second or two.  She freshened Mulder's cup first and then her own.
She was stalling.  After all, how could she tell him she just had
nothing left?  The guilt made her mute.  Replacing the pot, Trish
folded her arms and leaned against the kitchen counter.  The pressure
drove anything of value from her mind.  If it had not been the
purpose of his visit, if he had not asked about anything specific
perhaps she would have rattled on for an hour.  Looking back at
Mulder, she found him watching her with more expectations he was
desperately trying to hide.  The tragedy playing out in her kitchen
sent her emotions flooding unchecked.  Tears brimmed as she said the
only thing she could, "I'm sorry."

	That was it.  He had to get out of there.  The air had become
so thick it was pressing down on his lungs.  From the den, an
argument broke out which threatened to become heated.  The kids were
arguing over a game.  Irony could be a killer.  "Look Trish, please
know that I realize this is difficult, especially on the spot like
this."  Standing, Mulder removed a business card from his wallet and
tossed it on the place setting he was abandoning.  "There's no need
to be sorry."  Another forced smile was volleyed between them.  "If
you remember anything," he was moving to the door.  "Please give me a
call.  Any story.  Anything."

	Trish was content to let Mulder go.  She simply didn't believe
she could help.  Following him down the hall, she stopped by the door
leading to the budding fray.  "Do I have to come in here straighten
you two out?"

	"No ma'am," was the chorus.

	Mulder had made it to the front door before Trish caught up to
him.  To prevent another apology again or a hug goodbye, he extended
his hand for a gentle shake, "Thank you for your time.  And again,
don't worry over this.  We keep what we can."  He turned, opened the
door for himself and walked outside onto the porch and down the first
couple steps.

	"Well I will worry about.  Good luck to you Fox.  And, tell
your mother I said 'Hello'."

	Mulder turned back towards his host and searched the windows
for nothing.  He wondered if she thought he was visiting his mother
when in fact he had no plans to stop by.  "I will.  I'm sure she
sends her regards as well."  The lie afforded him the opportunity to
head for the car.

	Young, angry voices swelled again and echoed from within the
house.  "DON'T SPIT AT ME!"  Chelsea was screaming in preparation of
giving birth to a full blown tantrum.

	"Chelsea!  Robert!", Trish called over her shoulder.  "You know
better than to behave like that at all much less when we have a
guest.  If you can't play nice, I'll separate you two."

	Chelsea ignored the fact her mother was speaking to both of
them.  "See!  Mommy'll get you!"  The common childish words were as
deafening as they were magic when they smacked Trish Goodson full in
the face and left her mind reeling with pictures and sound.

	"Wait!"  Mulder turned to her near frantic call frustrated he
hadn't quite made a clean getaway.  "Fox'll get you."  Trish said it
to herself the first time to make sure the phrase was as familiar as
she knew Mulder needed it to be.

	"What?"  Turning on his heels, the plea drew him back.  He had
said "anything" and meant it.

	Trish met him at the stairs bouncing on her heels and wanting
to grab his cheeks with both hands, but worried about what the
neighbors might think.  Still, she was nothing short of giddy.
Confidence supported her as she repeated the words over again, "Fox
will get you.  I remember 'Fox'll get you'!"  Mulder was as lost and
confused as he appeared to be.  Trish was frantic to clarify.  "Do
you remember our sleep overs?"

	"Of course.  I always told my mother you should just move in.
Would have saved on gas transporting you back and forth between
houses."  Her joy was hard not to mirror forcing Mulder's tone to
lighten in anticipation.

	"Well, one of our favorite activities was hopping on the beds
in your house."  Trish was almost embarrassed even though the
offenses had taken place over twenty years ago.  "We were always
deathly affraid of getting caught by your Dad.  Your Mom found us a
few times, but never got too upset."  She was rambling and she knew
it.  "Anyway, our favorite bed was *your* bed.  It had the best
springs."

	Mulder began to laugh.  Sam was always the first suspect he
grilled after finding his bed spread in disarray and his pillows on
the floor.  The fidgeting had always revealed her to be a liar even
as she adamantly denied everything.  A sweet relief bloomed with the
knowledge this was it.  This was what his heart needed.  He thought
for a split second he might be able to call the feeling joy if he
dared use that word anymore.

	"But Sam was always afraid you would catch us and get really
mad.  You know, typical big brother revenge and all that.  So when
ever I would dare to invade your space,  Sam would get this terrified
look on her face and begin to whisper,'NO! NO! You can't!  Fox'll get
you'."  Trish's voice had dropped in an attempt to recreate
Samantha's as if she had heard the warnings yesterday.  "Of course, I
wouldn't listen and then she'd get really mad.  Sometimes she would
throw stuffed animals at me and just yell 'FOX'LL *GET* YOU!  FOX'LL
*GET* YOU!'."

	Mulder scrutinized every square inch of the woman's face.
Somewhere in Trish's impression, Sam was there with them; revealing
herself to her big brother.  Where ever she may have been, she was
letting Fox know she was, in some small way, still alive.  He drank
in every syllable and savored it all with a broad goofy grin.

	Trish had stopped her silliness before he realized it and was
starting to apologize again.  "I know that may not be exactly what
you were after..."

	"No."  Mulder stopped her immediately.  His expression was
calm, his moist hazel eyes steady and completely serious when he
said, "That is *exactly* what I was looking for."

*****

10:12pm
Alexandria, Va.

The door swung open to #42 and Mulder's long, thin presence spilled
in with the hallway lighting.  Coat and tie were thrown to the couch
as fast as humanly possible.  The drive back hadn't seemed as long as
the drive up due entirely to the tiny bit of Sam her friend had been
able to provide.  There had even been enough strength to make a stop
for a little shopping.

	He sat down to his desk with a bag from one of those fancy
bookstores that also served cappuccino.  The light to his phone
machine blinked insistently.  Tempted to leave it be, the guilt of
being left alone for the day required him to check it.  The tape
rewound while Mulder removed and examined his very recent purchases.
The first was a mahogany Cross pen accented with what the clerk had
said was brass.  The wood had been sanded and polished.  So while
heavy, the instrument was smooth and cool to hold.  It was expensive,
but he imagined giving it to someone else one day.  It was an
investment.  The second was a thick, black, hardcover blank book.
Mulder had looked for baby blue, but decided against it as soon as he
found one.  The paper inside was ruled and waiting.

	A sharp beep interrupted the inventory.  "Mulder, it's me.
Since I haven't gotten a call to ID your body or bail you out
anywhere today, I thought I would respect your space and leave this
on your machine.  If you packed, don't unpack.  There are flights
booked to Dallas for us tomorrow afternoon.  Will fill you in when I
see you."  There was a pause.  <Come on Scully>, he thought.  <Make
the offer.>  "And call me if you want.  I'll be up."  With a click,
she was gone.

	The spine snapped when Mulder opened the cover for the first
time.  He could smell the aroma of fresh, clean pages rise over the
must of his apartment.  Twisting the top of the pen, a fine metal tip
emerged.  This was not to be a field journal or notebook. Ground
rules had been established.  A further promise had been issued when
these purchases were made: there would be no pressure to be epic in
the writings.  Poetry or great prose were not necessary.  Entries
could be virtually illegible as long as they provided some memory of
the little girl's life he sought to revive.  Ink met paper for the
first of hundreds of future encounters:

	November 28, 1995-

	"It was kind of amazing how two people valued different facets
         of the same time in their lives, even when they had shared it
         together." -Dana Scully

	"Fox'll get you." -Samantha Mulder

	And I will Sam.  I swear to God.



The End

"I made this!"

All comments welcomed and even wished for.  Would love to discuss XF 
Fanfic in general.

Other stories of mine: Her Own Path, Tapped, and Falling.

Anderson
s_anderson@social.chass.ncsu.edu
andersks@unity.ncsu.edu