From: juliettt@aol.com (Juliettt) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New: "Once in a Blue Moon" by Juliettt Date: 28 Jan 1996 01:24:08 -0500 "Once in a Blue Moon" by Juliettt@aol.com (January 23, 1996) Here's a small bonding piece. No overt romance (though a decent dose of UST), so you non-Relationshippers can relax, but no real X-file, either. It's just a tale about two friends sharing a special moment and talking about life. It's set sometime in late 1995 during the third season and is rated PG. Please note that my fanfic "universe" is somewhat different from Mr. Carter's now, as he did something in the third season premiere that would have meant my going back and rewriting most of the Marriage stories to keep them current. Instead of inflicting all those reposts on you, I've decided to keep that one fact out of my universe. Hence there are no third season spoilers for those of you still on hiatus. And you will note that in some of these stories I refer to Mulder's long absence after New Mexico and time spent at Mrs. Scully's. This will become clear when I finally post _Vengeance_, which is in the final stages of editing. I apologize for having been unable to post it sooner, but computer problems, etc., prevented me from doing so. It offers an alternative to TBW and the first couple of the third season episodes. Dana Scully and Fox Mulder belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions, FOX Broadcasting, and Gillian Anderson and David Duchovny, respectively. No permission was obtained but neither is any offense intended, merely respect and affection. This story, however, is mine. **************************** "Once in a Blue Moon" by Juliettt@aol.com **************************** There was a knock at the door and Mulder dropped the magazine he had been reading onto the floor next to the couch. He levered himself to his feet, wincing as his back cracked, then padded to the door in stockinged feet and swung it open. His partner stood there, grinning at him. "Scully?" "Gonna ask me in, Mulder?" He stepped back and held the door as she entered the apartment, and stared at her. Forest green henley, faded blue jeans, and sandals. The jeans, somewhat too long for her petite legs, had been rolled up into cuffs that just brushed the tops of her feet. But it was not her informal attire that so captured his attention. Rather, it was the barely restrained air of excitement that seemed to emanate from every pore of her skin, the ends of her hair. She was fairly -- bouncing -- around his apartment. "Scully?" he asked again. She grinned at him and for just a moment he thought she was going to say "that's my name -- don't wear it out." Crazy. He laughed. Hadn't heard that one in years. Maybe it was because she looked so like a young girl standing there. "What's so funny?" "Never mind. Why are you here?" Not that he didn't want her there -- quite the contrary. But she was looking at him as though she were repressing a secret. "Weeeell," she said. She looked almost embarrassed. "I wanted -- to ask you. . . ." She took a deep breath and began again. "I wanted to share something with you." "Oooh, Scully," he said, waggling his eyebrows at her. "After all this time. . . . OW!" He rubbed his arm where her fist had landed. She was blushing faintly and cursing herself for doing so. Because deep down a part of her *wished* that were why she was there. "Seriously, what's going on?" He didn't blame her for punching him. He had deserved it. "Well," she began, flopping down onto his couch, "this is a Blue Moon Night." "A *what*?" "Blue Moon Night." She looked at him. "Mulder, haven't you ever heard of a blue moon?" "Sure," he said, sitting beside her. "It's when two full moons fall within the same month, right? Doesn't happen often -- hence the expression. . . ." "'Once in a blue moon,'" she finished, nodding. "Right." "Well, tonight there's a blue moon," she explained. "See, when I was little -- shut UP, Mulder," she said when he opened his mouth. "When I was little," she continued, "we used to celebrate Blue Moon Nights by doing something special as a family. When Daddy was home he would usually take charge, but we always took turns picking what we would do when he wasn't there." She fell silent for a moment, remembering those special times with her father. "Blue Moon Night was -- well, it was almost sacred in our household. It was as important as a birthday or Mother's Day to us. We always reserved it as a family night." Her eyes clouded for a moment. "What?" She looked at him. "What what?" "What made you look so sad for a minute?" He paused. "Unless you don't want to. . . . " She shook her head. "No, that's okay. Just remembering one time -- Mel made a date on a Blue Moon Night and wouldn't break it." She remembered that night. Just another blow-up between Mel and their father. The rest of them had kept the tryst but it just hadn't been the same. "So, what did you do on these Blue Moon Nights?" he asked, from curiosity as well as hoping to change the subject. She shrugged. "Different things. Once we went hiking in the woods to pick strawberries. Another time we camped out on a hillside to watch the deer come drink at the lake. Or we'd go fishing and then cook the fish over a bonfire, or make s'mores. Or go swimming in the moonlight. Or once," she grinned, "we even drove up to an open field and went kite flying." "Kite flying. At night." She nodded. "That was Brian's idea." She remembered gathering with her brothers and sister and parents around the kitchen table at the first of every year before they put up the new calendar. They would each mark the days that were important to them -- birthdays, graduations -- and then they would look carefully at the lunar markings and circle all the blue moons. The weeks before a blue moon night were filled with speculation as to what the family member honored with being in charge might choose. A few times the children pooled ideas and planned things together, but usually they opted to work alone, with the strict understanding that whatever it was had to be approved by their parents in advance. And then there was the breathless moment of anticipation after dinner when the lucky person stood up and announced what they would be doing that night. She smiled. "One time when we were in New York we drove up to Niagara Falls and then drove over the border to see them from the Canadian side as well. It was cold and we had hot tea -- Earl Grey," she remembered. "Another time we borrowed a friend's horses and had a family hayride and Bill showed us how to make sparks with wintergreen Lifesavers. . . ." "*Sparks*?" He laughed. "You're kidding." She shook her head. "Nope. And then one night when we were teenagers Dad took us out to the runway of a small airfield and taught Brian and Mel and me to drive standard." "Wow." He shook his head. "*All* of you went?" She nodded. Wow. "So." She looked at him expectantly. "So, what?" She grinned. "Blue Moon Night: the Next Generation?" He stared at her, and then a slow smile crept over his face. "What exactly did you have in mind?" he asked. She shook her head. "Nope. It's a surprise." "Should I change?" she thought. She ran her eyes over him. Thick cotton sweater, jeans, socks. "Maybe some shoes?" she suggested. He grinned. "Be right back." She glanced down at the magazine on the floor. _Omni_. She picked it up and began leafing through it, wondering whether a new article by F.M. Luder were appearing that month. He rejoined her, tying the laces of his sneakers. "Ready, Scully?" He caught her look. "What?" "Your reading habits, Mulder." "What about them?" She shook her head, holding the magazine open to the article he had evidently been reading. "'The Hubble Telescope: Window to Another World'?" "So?" "Well," she said, dropping the magazine on the table and standing up, "_The Adult Video News_ it's not." "Nope," he grinned. "That's research. This is fun." "That's sick," she said, rolling her eyes and following him out the door. "We'll take my car." "Still not gonna tell me, huh?" "Nope. Next time you get to pick." His heart leapt. She was already counting on a next time? ***** "So, tell me about the rules of this Blue Moon Night," he said as they drove through the dark streets. "Hmmm, rules. Well, the outing has to take place with the moon in view," she began. "So we mostly did outside stuff, although once we went to a planetarium." "See anything interesting? Sorry," he said with a grin when she glared at him. "We tried to do things that had to do with nature -- no movies or television or whatever. And whatever the event is, it can't start until the moon is up." "Hmm. How'd you work that out when you were all little?" She smiled. "We had a deal. We got to stay up on Blue Moon Night but we had to take a nap that afternoon. So we typically did our homework at school and then came home and slept for a few hours before dinner. The boys in particular hated naps, but nobody complained when there was a Blue Moon Night. And nothing else interfered -- even when we were on restriction or something we got to participate in Blue Moon Night outings. Kind of like a furlough, I guess," she grinned. "Mom and Dad believed that it was really important for us to see ourselves as members of a family, even when we couldn't all be together. When Dad was on board his ship he would usually go up to the deck and look at the moon, he told us. And then he would go back down to his cabin and write a letter to us. We always tried to write him in advance and tell him what he had planned so that he could imagine it even if he couldn't be there. And we always described it for him when he came back home." She hesitated and looked at him. "Mulder? Does this -- my talking about my family like this -- does it . . . bother you at all?" He looked at her, knowing what she was thinking. It seemed her family had celebrated itself at every turn, whereas his was barely even worthy of the name, at least after Samantha had disappeared. He shrugged. "It's okay, Scully. I like to hear about your family." He took a deep breath. "What about when the rest of you weren't there?" She gazed at him for a moment longer and then continued. "Well, a few times one or the other of us would be away at camp or something," she said slowly, "and then later of course we were in college." He waited. It was clear from her face that there was something. "And?" he finally prompted. He could have sworn she was blushing. "You'd laugh," she said. Now he *really* wanted to know. "What?" "Promise you won't laugh?" He opened his mouth but just couldn't. "Scully. . . ." "Mulder. . . ." He sighed. "Okay. I promise." She turned and looked at him. She was silent another moment, then she spoke very quietly. "My dad told us something he had read about families of wolves. When they'd get separated they'd howl at the moon. Supposedly that's why wolves howl at the moon -- they know their families will be doing it, too, and it kind of keeps them together even when they're far apart." He gaped at her. "You -- howled -- at -- the moon?" She was silent. "Scully? Did you? Did you, Special Agent Doctor Dana Katherine Scully, *howl* *at* *the* *moon*?" Silence. He grinned. He couldn't believe it. He absolutely, positively could not believe it. "Cut it out, Mulder." "I'm not doing anything." "Yes, you are." "I'm not laughing." "Yes, you are." He was. He was just doing it silently. It wasn't that he thought it was silly, really -- but the image her words had presented to him was just so incongruous with the Dana Scully he knew and -- well, the Scully he knew. She sighed. "I knew I shouldn't have told you." "No -- really -- it's okay. I mean -- I was just thinking. . . ." He was thinking about the wolfman case they had had so early in their partnership, she knew. She couldn't help it. She cracked a grin, and then they were both laughing. ***** "And here we are," she announced, pulling the car to a stop and turning off the ignition. "Here" was the parking lot of the nearest beach. He unbuckled and climbed out, then leaned back against his door to stare up at the sky. It always amazed him how huge it was, how insignificant it made him feel. It was trite, but true -- the sky at night, away from the lights of the city, looked like the inside of a black velvet bowl. He remembered that as a child he had thought that the stars were holes in the sky that let some great white light shine through for them to see. Hard to reconcile some of the more poetic images the night sky aroused in the human imagination with the gigantic balls of gas they really were. Sometimes he wished he didn't know so much about astronomy. He heard the sound of the trunk shutting and turned around. Scully was standing there with a blanket and a small basket in her arms. He hastened over to take the blanket from her. "So, what now?" She simply smiled and led him down the slope of sand to where the ebbing tide had washed the sand smooth and hard. Then she had him spread out the blanket and they weighted it down with their shoes. "Want to go for a walk?" she asked, setting the basket down on the blanket. He glanced down at their things. "I really don't think anyone will bother them, and we'll stay in sight," she added. He nodded and they walked down to the edge of the water and began to stroll along, their feet making soft splashing noises as they went. The waves lapped around their ankles and he bent down to roll up his jeans. She cuffed hers higher as well. He looked out over the ocean. Every now and again he saw phosphorescence gleam on the edge of the breaking waves, and admired how the moon made a path along the water that rippled and bent. "You really miss them, don't you?" he asked at length. She glanced up at him. "Who?" "Your father. Your brothers." She nodded and sighed. "Bill and Brian live so far away. At least Mel's here now, but. . . ." And her father, of course, was even farther away. She looked up at him. "What about you?" She asked it softly, tentatively, afraid of hurting him but wanting to know. He nodded. "Funny -- if you'd asked me a year ago I wouldn't have known what to say. But now -- yeah, I guess I do. Miss my father, I mean." He missed his mother as well -- things had not been right between them for years, although they had gotten somewhat better since his father's death. Despite the divorce he realized she had still had some sort of bond with his father. What sort of bond, he was unsure. A bond of secrecy, of silence? Or was it just that she saw in him the one person she knew who might still have some connection with their daughter? Or was it simply a bond of hate? That last thought led to his next statement. "I don't hate him anymore, you know." She looked up quickly. He had stopped walking and was staring out at the waves. "I hated him for years without even knowing it, or knowing why. I knew I hated myself for letting them take Samantha, but I didn't realize -- didn't let myself realize -- that I hated him for not being there. For making me be the one who had to take responsibility for that. For making me grow up so soon." He sighed. "And then after he died, for those few days after I found out that he had been involved in it all along, that he had chosen to let them take me instead of her, I knew that I hated him." He remembered his mother's words when she had told him that it had been William Mulder's decision that had led to Samantha's disappearance. "But then I remembered his last words to me. 'Forgive me.' You know, at first I hated him for that, too -- why didn't he say something else, like 'Find her'? I saw it as another sign that he loved me more than he had loved her, and I hated him for it. I couldn't stand it." Scully stood next to him, so close that he could feel the warmth of her body but still not touching him. She rarely ever touched him of her own volition. Since the time they had spent together at her mother's house after New Mexico things had gone back, at least physically, to the way they had always been. "But then I started thinking about all the things he might have been asking for forgiveness for. For Sam. For the years of letting me think -- letting me *feel* -- that it was my fault. For blaming me for losing her again. He really didn't know, Scully -- when she -- when we *thought* she came back, he thought he was being given another chance to expiate his sins. And when she disappeared again he saw it as his fault and mine both." He had felt guilty, too -- so very guilty. But he had thought he could save Scully and his sister both. It had not occurred to him that he would have to lose one of them -- or perhaps he had simply not allowed it to occur to him. Briefly he wondered yet again what he would have done had he known the cost, had he known his sister -- had it been his sister -- would die on that bridge. She felt the tension rolling off of him in waves and moved closer. Finally, she slid her arm around his waist. His draped across her shoulders and he just leaned against her for a moment before speaking again. "And then I realized -- his last message to me wasn't an explanation or a justification for the decisions he had made. All my life I felt that's all I got from him -- rationalizations for what he had done, for why I had to do what he wanted me to do. But when it all came down to it, he was sorry." He shook his head. "And I finally realized, Scully, that *that* was what made my father different from all the men I was grouping him with in my head. Cancerman. The Consortium. The people responsible for all of it. They never apologized. They weren't sorry. Maybe they truly believed that what they were doing was right, or maybe they were just arrogant, but they never once apologized. But he did. He knew it was wrong and so he never, ever intended his cooperation to have the effect it did. I realized then that he loved Samantha and that he had spent his entire life paying for what he had done, in ways I probably couldn't even imagine. He lost his family in the divorce, lost his son's respect. . . ." "And now?" she asked gently. He turned to stare down at her, a bemused smile on his face. "And now? I honestly don't know, Scully. But I know that I don't hate my father anymore." Her smile was luminous and his breath caught. And then she hugged him, a quick, fierce hug, then released him and turned to walk back down the beach toward their blanket. He stared for another moment out over the waves. And then he turned and jogged after Scully. ***** They wiped their damp feet on the blanket and sat, and then Scully opened the basket and reached inside, drawing out two small glasses, which she handed to him, and a round, almost spherical bottle with a gold strap around it. She held it up. "Chambord." "Gezundheit." She laughed and fiddled with the strap, finally pulling it apart and gently uncapping the bottle. She held it carefully, almost reverently, and held out her hand for a glass. She glanced over at him as she poured a thin stream of dark liquid into it. "Have you ever had Chambord before?" When he shook his head she smiled. "It's a French liqueur, made with -- well, I'll let you guess." She handed him the glass and took the other. She poured a small amount into that one as he swirled his glass under his nose and closed his eyes in concentration. It really wasn't all that difficult -- the aroma was quite pungent. "Raspberries?" he guessed. She nodded and held out her glass for him to take while she closed the bottle, then took it back from him. "Ah-ah-ah, not yet," she said as he raised his glass to his lips. "A toast?" he asked, smiling. "Of a sort," she said, holding up the glass to admire its deep burgundy, almost brown, color against the moonlight. She held up the bottle for his examination. "This," she said, "is a very special bottle." He noticed that it was about a third full of the deep red liquid. "My best friend -- my roommate -- and I drank the first glasses of it the night before we graduated from medical school. She bought Frangelico instead," she remembered with a smile. "We both decided that night that we would save these bottles of liqueur for the most momentous occasions in our lives. The night Mel told me John had proposed we drank a toast from this. And the night I graduated from the academy. I've shared it with a couple of very special friends on the eves of their weddings." Her voice grew very soft. "The night I came home from my father's funeral I drank in his memory." She sat silent for a long moment, then continued. "Only ever one glass, and a small one at that," she smiled at him. She had noticed him looking at the amount in his glass. "Because it's the symbolism, not the alcohol. And I want to have enough to drink on all the most special occasions of my life, until. . . ." "Until what?" he asked. She looked at the bottle in her hand. "Until the last drink," she said in a voice that was almost lost beneath the low rushing of the waves. "The last of the Chambord -- for the most important moment of my life. . . ." He wondered what that occasion might be, and he wondered who would share it with her. Or would she drink it alone, as she had after her father's death? Whatever the occasion, he hoped it was a far happier one. "So," she said, turning to smile at him. "A toast." He grinned. "You consider this a special occasion?" She nodded seriously. "Of course I do." "And that would be?" She smiled again, a warm, bright smile like the one that had welcomed him home after his near-death in Alaska. "My best friend, and our first Blue Moon Night together." And, she added only silently, a belated celebration of his safe return after the fiasco in New Mexico. She had not had this bottle at her mother's house; there had been no reason to think she would need it. She had wondered during that awful time whether she would ever have reason to celebrate again. He smiled and saluted her and they sipped. It was slightly cooler than the night air and smooth and very sweet. The raspberry flavor was pronounced and he rolled it on his tongue in surprise. He had never had a liqueur that tasted so much like what it was supposed to be. "Like it?" He nodded. "I do." She smiled again and they sat watching the waves for a long, silent moment. Then he lifted his glass again and clinked it against hers. "To the first of many Blue Moon Nights." *End* The idea for Blue Moon Night came from something I read awhile back about a family that went on special outings together on the nights when there was a full moon; I simply adapted this idea for the Scullys. The actual outings are of my own creation. Juliettt@mail.aol.com Troupe Leader, Dragon Posse, Lone Gunwoman #7, Eden Agent, Clan McBride, Wolfpack, DDEB 3, WWtBJLSWWGU, TFOSG charter celebrant, SKKS co-founder, BBTG!