From: scullyist@hotmail.com
Subject: Memory's Grace 1/1
Date: Sat, 29 Nov 1997 16:52:15 -0600

TITLE: Memory's Grace 1/1
AUTHOR:Laika
EMAIL ADDRESS: scullyist@hotmail.com

KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully UST CLASSIFICATION: S, A, R SUMMARY: Mulder
spends Thanksgiving with Scully, facing his own alienation. DISCLAIMER:
Mulder, Scully, and The X-Files belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions,
and Fox. No infringement is intended, and no money has been made from
this.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is my second piece of fan fiction, which has proven
itself more difficult to write than the first. I've gotten some very
positive feedback for my first fanfic, "Hand Me Downs", and I hope that
"Memory's Grace" is welcomed as warmly.

Enjoy! Please send all feedback to scullyist@hotmail.com - any and all
feedback is appreciated.

"Some things I hold too tightly. Some things I'll never touch. But now
I'm wearing down the stones in the river, and you see all my life I've
painted with anger's brush..." -Indigo Girls

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Blow out the candles, Fox! Make a wish..."

In the flickering light of the ten tiny candles, I can still see my
sister. Her head is just visible above the formica tabletop. The light
dances around the corners of her eyelids, shadowing her nose and
skittering about her earlobes. The hum of the refrigerator and the rhythm
of my father's steady breaths fill my ears. I look straight at Samantha,
take a big gulp of air, and make my wish. Just as quickly as the fires
had been sparked, I extinguish them, leaving only tiny pulls of silver
smoke and darkness in their absence.

"Don't tell, Fox, don't tell! Then your wish will never come true."

How fast the smallest fables of childhood do fade. And yet, at the same
time, the smallest ones are often the only ones you carry with you.
Everyone knows that if you tell your wish it will never come true, right?

Right?

Twenty-seven years later, I have questioned my policy of silence a
thousand times over, rationalizing to myself that if I carry something
only within myself, no one can ever steal it from me. The childhood
birthday kitchen in Chilmark has become a darkened apartment in Virginia;
I glide my hand over the candle in the middle of the scratched coffee
table just to feel the heat. The nerve impulses that spread through my
palm tell me I am still alive. Sunset allows a peachy glow to cover the
apartment, and a beam of light falls ironically over the calendar, hung
lopsidedly in my tiny kitchen. I glance at my watch. 5:30 on a Thursday.
November. Thanksgiving.

Running my fingers over the invitation Scully handed to me at the office
three days ago, I feel a simultaneous rush of both guilt and
anticipation. I should have been there two hours ago. That is, if I had
decided to go. No doubt, the invitation was a formality. Charity. I
wasn't quite in the mood to be made a foster child of the Scully family.

But she's the only thing left to be thankful for. Reluctantly, I reach
for my coat and keys.

I blow out the candle with half a breath, the ribbons of smoke and their
charred scent a comforting familiarity.

I'll never tell, Samantha. I swear I never will.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


The street is lined with cars when I pull in front of Scully's apartment
building. From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of a little girl
in a party dress and a wool coat hanging onto her mother's oblivious hand
as they stroll towards a house across the street. Something about
November makes the movements seem to be in slow motion; my emergence from
the car, tugging my coat tighter around myself, leaning against the car.
Through the slightly opened off-white curtains of Scully's windows, I can
see the scene unfolding like a stop-motion movie, surrealistic and
dramatized by the gracefully laconic movements. I walk around to the
passenger's side of the car, and lean back against the door, one foot on
the curb.

The windows - my mind flashes to a stored image of Duane Barry. I had the
glass replaced after the abduction, and the phone, too. It was the only
time that I spent at Scully's apartment during those three months, and it
was like an epiphany. I could feel her there, but only because I wanted
to. There were some small bloodstains on her carpet. I remember clearly
the redness of my palms from attempting to scrub them out, but they were
ingrained like some kind of horrible truth.

I shake my head and look past the windows to what they contain. The table
is set, and the family is seated around it, crowded. It's a raucous
event; three generations of Scullys pass yams around the table while
children vie for their parents' attention. Conversations about stock
options and anecdotes float back and forth and overlap in a quilt of
familiar voices. Yes, I remember family gatherings. I can see the back of
Scully's head from here, red hair pushed back. Beside her is an empty
chair, an empty place setting. I guess that it's for me, and now I feel
like even more of an ass than I did before I came.

Gradually my eyes drop to the ground. I kick a blade of grass off my
right foot with my other shoe. The ends of my trench coat bump against my
black suit pants and I reach to straighten my tie. My ear itches, and as
the laughter from inside the apartment gets louder and warmer, I am more
and more aware of my ability to simultaneously exist and be completely
invisible.

A tall man at the table notices me, eyeing me somewhat suspiciously. He
keeps his gaze upon me as he leans across the table to alert Scully of my
presence. I see her instinctively raise her hand to her hip for a gun
that isn't there and turn towards the window, a considerable amount of
concern apparent on her face. She catches my eye and smiles with relief.
I smile as well, but with a distant kind of wistfulness, rather than
relief.

This was never my family. This is not my family. I am simply the poor
bachelor with nowhere else to go on Thanksgiving. But I came, didn't I?
I'm here. I only hope that I won't disappoint her. Scully stands and
begins to make her way to the door, waving at me.

I begin to hastily trudge up the walk to the front door of the apartment
building, and in a moment Scully is there. She is wearing a black
cardigan and the earrings that her sister gave her for Christmas the year
before she died. Let it never be said that Fox Mulder does not pay
attention to these things.

She smiles wide and wraps her arms around me. Her voice is muffled
somewhat by my coat, but I can make out "I'm so glad you came." I hope
she means it, and somewhere deep down I know that she does. Her skin
smells faintly of soap and fading lavender perfume.  I could stay like
this forever, and I would, too. But I pull away and drop my arms.

Don't tell your wishes, Fox.

Scully raises her hands to her hips and tilts her head to look up at me.
"Where have you been? I was afraid you wouldn't come." She smiles, but a
look of concern crosses her face, and I feel like the biggest bastard
that ever lived. I didn't even bring dessert, for God's sake.

I shift a bit, and stuff my hands in my coat pockets. "Yeah, I'm sorry
about that." I don't even try for an explanation, but Scully doesn't seem
to really notice. She just puts a hand on my back and leads me into the
front hall and into her apartment, silent. Stepping into the apartment,
the warmth and the smell of the turkey engulfs and surprises me. Everyone
turns around to look at me, smiling his or her polite smiles while
secretly wondering who the hell I am, I'm sure. Can't really blame them.

The man who noticed me through the window shoots me a suspicious look,
and I recognize him now as Bill Scully Jr. I nod to him and look
sheepish, my hands still in my pockets. He pokes his mashed potatoes with
his fork and scowls. One family member alienated, only about ten to go.

"Everyone, this is Fox Mulder, my partner at the FBI," Scully announces
to the guests. She turns back towards me. "Can I take your coat?"

"Oh. Yeah, thanks." I shake myself loose of the garment and hand it to
her.

"Well, go make yourself comfortable. There's a place setting for you, so
you can just dig right in. You must be starving." Scully pats me on the
shoulder and folds the coat over her arm, walking away from me towards
the closet. I step hesitantly towards the table as the family keeps their
watch over me. Scanning the table for any familiar face, I finally rest
my eyes on Scully's mother and smile. "Hello, Mrs. Scully. Good to see
you again."

She looks up at me with a look of tender mothering that bordered on pity.
"You too, Fox. Happy Thanksgiving."

I seat myself beside Scully's empty chair and rest my arm on the table.
The room is dead quiet. I hear a lawn mower whirring from somewhere down
the street, and the reassuring sounds of Scully approaching the table.

"So, uh, Fox, is it? We hear you're Dana's partner," a woman seated
across from me quips, a poorly veiled attempt at breaking the
uncomfortable silence.

"That's right."

She clears her throat. "Well...how nice."

Scully sits down and pulls her chair into the table, looking first at me,
and then back at the rest of the family. "Yes, Mulder and I have been
working together for - what?- five years now, it must be."

Bill Scully pipes up, "So, what did you do to get stuck with the ghosts
and goblins division, eh? I know Dana was assigned there. Same for you, I
suppose?"

I bite my lip and shift a little in my seat. "Actually, I reopened the
division after a period of dormancy. So, I wasn't really assigned there,
no."

We sit in silence for another minute or two until the blood starts
pounding in my ears and I can't take it any more. "Hey, Scully?"

Five people turn their heads my way. "Oh, I mean, Dana. I think I'd
really better go."

She raises her eyebrows. "Go? Mulder, you just got here."

"I-I know..." I stammer. I stand hastily and remove the cloth napkin from
my lap, placing it on the empty plate before me. "But, um, I realized
that I never called my mother to wish her a happy Thanksgiving or
anything, and I really should go visit my dad's grave, so I guess it
would be better if I left." I get the whole thing out in one breath and
keep my eyes fixed on her, fearful of looking out towards the rest of the
group and their suspicious eyes.

Scully's face falls and she purses her lips slightly. Absentmindedly
tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she nods. "Well, it was nice
that you came. I'll walk you out to your car, okay?"

I nod and push the chair in to the table. I look back at the family, who
all have their eyes fixed on everything in the room except for Scully and
I. "It was nice to meet you all, " I mumble. "Hope to see you soon, Mrs.
Scully."

She forces a smile, but doesn't say anything. I exhale heavily in
controlled frustration and step away from the table towards the door.
Scully is holding my coat, and I take it from her, grazing my hand
against her arm. I realize somewhat hazily that it is one of the first
times in days that I've actually touched another human being. Movements
don't seem so slow motion any more.

We step into the hallway, and the door clicks shut behind Scully. It's
just the two of us now, and a sense of thankfulness and love overcomes
me, even with only her presence. She's a different Dana with me than with
them. I wonder for an instant which of her two sides is the real one, but
if I keep pondering it will just rip me up inside. So I do the Fox Mulder
thing and push back into my mind, where it will resurface on some dark
night. I know myself this well. I've been a pawn of solidarity for too
long.

"Fox," she whispers.

"I'm so sorry. I so sorry I ruined this for you. God, I just don't know
how to deal with stuff like that." I say, wrapping her in a hug.

I feel her hands on my back, tingling wherever they land. This kind of
physicality is rare between us, and I suppose that's what makes it so
very comforting. Her breath is warm on my neck; her sweater soft beneath
my fingers. She pulls away to look at me, and stands silently questioning
for a moment before continuing.

"Mulder, I think you need to put the past to rest. Your dad may have died
and Samantha might be gone, but I think there are memories within you
that are very much alive." She looks away and swallows hard as my
emotions teeter back and forth.  I know that she's right, and I can feel
it in the pit of my stomach. Like stains I can't erase.

She doesn't want to be here; I can sense it. The low buzz of conversation
starts up from inside the apartment again. Placing a hand against the
wall to steady myself, I take a few deep breaths and retrieve my keys
from my pocket. "Better get back to your family."

"Mulder..."

"Scully, it's okay. You should spend Thanksgiving with your loved ones,
it's only right. I'm sorry I made a scene in there." I turn and slowly
open the door to the apartment building. She is silent for a moment, and
I can hear her rubbing her hands up and down her arms for warmth. The
door creaks slowly, gliding shut.

"Mulder, wait."

I stop but don't turn around. Scully comes up behind me and stops just a
few inches away from where I'm standing. "Look, everyone's going to be
leaving in about an hour or so. Why don't you come back then? I know you
don't feel comfortable with my family around."

I crane my neck around and meet her eye, finding there a concerned yet
hopeful expression. "Okay. Thanks."

Scully nods, the wind whipping around her red hair, pulling it free of
its bun. She pushes it out of her face and turns on her heel, retreating
back to the family dinner. When she reaches the door, she turns to look
back at me and smiles. I return it, gratefully.

My shoes click against the concrete all the way down to the car. Inside
her dining room, Scully is probably making excuses for me and attempting
to change the subject. Smiling once again, I climb in behind the wheel
and start the car. I pull away from the curb and drive too fast down
Scully's street; November's muted panorama blurring around me.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

An hour and half later, I am back here at Scully's apartment. The sun is
gone now, and so are the relatives. We are sitting across from each other
at her too-tiny dining room table with a candle in between us. Evergreen
scented. I suppose it's supposed to be festive; with Christmas coming and
all. Each time I inhale I get a whiff of sweetly pungent wax. It's not as
good as the real thing. The room is quiet, but I swear I can hear a piano
playing in the background, someone picking out a tune they've known for a
very long time.

Scully sighs, her exhaled breath causing the flame to dance back and
forth, threatening to extinguish. Her eyes meet mine, sad and smiling.
Her eyes crinkle when she smiles, and I wish she would do it more often.

I take a deep breath, and softly lean over the table, exhaling. My eyes
are still on Scully's. The silent smoke floats heavenward.

I'll never tell, Samantha...I never will...

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

-end-

I really hope you enjoyed this! I'm thinking of writing a sequel; it all
depends on how you readers respond to this one. Send me feedback at
scullyist@hotmail.com, and I will love you forever.