From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: Wed, 7 Jun 2000 08:01:38 -0500
Subject: \"Once Upon a Time\" by Marie Endres
Source: direct

Reply To: joemimi@prodigy.net



"Once Upon A Time"
by Marie Endres  joemimi@prodigy.net


Classification: Scully Angst

Rating: "G"

Spoilers: If you have not seen 
"Requiem," turn back now.

Summary: How does a "barren" woman 
become a mother?

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully are 
not mine. They belong to Chris 
Carter, 1013 productions, and Fox 
Broadcasting.

Thank You's go out to The X-Scenes 
group. Your talent and friendship 
always brighten my days. Also, to 
Alcott for the invitation.
A special and enduring thanks to 
Georgia-Where would I be without 
the world's finest beta reader?





"Once upon a time, there was a 
little baby-"


     The baby that sits upon his 
mother's knee is cared for, loved. 
One can tell in the easy way his 
mother rubs his back and trusts him 
to another's care. She is so secure 
in her ability to nurture, to 
protect. She is a natural. I know 
that I am not.


     It has nothing to do with my 
physical inability to be a mother. 
I have never been drawn to this 
soft, pastel world of babies. As a 
girl, I preferred playing outside 
with my brothers and garter snakes 
rather than dolls. I never babysat; 
I was too busy. 

       I often work now in darkened 
places, the shine of a flashlight 
my only way to see. My clothing is 
dark and severe; there are no baby 
pinks in my closet.

        Perhaps fate has known me 
better than I know myself.


         She is handing the baby to 
me. I feel like I might be better 
at handling a rattler from The 
Church of Signs and Wonders. I look 
up at Mulder for a moment of 
encouragement, and then turn my 
attention to this terrycloth-clad 
bundle who now sits upon my lap. 
After offering a toy that does not 
seem to enthrall this tiny one, a 
song escapes from my lips.

          I can feel Mulder's eyes 
upon me, though they are not their 
familiar, leering selves. This 
time, I can sense something I never 
have before in the countless times 
I've felt his gaze upon me. It is 
almost as if I can read his 
thoughts. They are filled with 
pictures of us--me, him, a perfect, 
little child. It is a fairy tale 
that begins, "Once upon a time," a 
dream that will never come true.


"Once upon a time, there was a 
little baby-"


      I went to Mulder once before 
in a motel room in Oregon. Like a 
frightened child, I longed for him 
to reassure me, to comfort me. That 
night seven years ago, he could 
only stand there while I threw 
myself into what I had expected to 
be open arms. His stiffened gesture 
told me so much more about his 
hurting soul than his words ever 
could.

      When we began, I was the one 
with an open heart. "Trust" seemed 
to be my middle name. The years 
have not been kind, but his 
beautiful mind has more than made 
up for it.


        I come to him again, 
therefor. I am seeking warmth, both 
physical and emotional, even if 
it's the last thing I'm willing to 
admit. I did not own up to my need 
for him after our first night, our 
only night as lovers. That is why I 
could not face him in the morning. 
I only wanted to remember his 
touch, his insistent, constant 
touch. I could not handle 
negotiations of what we were to be 
to each other after that night.


        And so I am polite to him 
as he spoons himself around me 
while we lay upon his bed. I say, 
"Thank you," to him for his 
tenderness. I try to caulk the 
cracks in the dam that holds back a 
timeless sea. His quiet whisper of 
how I have lost so much, how there 
needs to be an end, is a soothing, 
rhythmic lullaby. I permit myself 
to be comforted, to be babied, to 
be treasured. I allow myself to 
finally love him.



"Once upon a time, there was a 
little baby-"


      Mulder is gone. Skinner's 
words and trembling lip only 
confirm what I already suspect.

       Yet, I am not alone. There 
is a life within me. How? Why? 
These are questions I do not allow 
myself the luxury of answering 
right now. Those answers will come.

        There is presently only one 
focus for my thoughts. It is the 
very reason I am still here, bound 
and determined to both find my 
partner and to be a good mother to 
this little one, our child. That 
focus is his love.

         First, it was the love of 
the quest, the respect for the 
journey. Then, it was his love for 
me. It has transformed me, taken me 
through the stages of naivete, 
bitterness, and healing. It has 
brought me here, to this day, and 
for this moment, when I must get 
past my fear of loving too much: My 
fear of thinking beyond me to 
thinking of "we," both me and our 
child.

     Love, his love for me, like 
truth, will save me; it just may 
save us both. 

 END.



Thank you Sue for the idea!

Feedback: Please encourage me as I 
spend the next couple of months 
knitting booties for the new Mulder 
kid on the block! joemimi@prodigy.net