Subject: NEW - Rekindling III: Backdraft From: rfarwell@foxnet.net (Jennifer Farwell) Date: Sat, 22 Nov 1997 06:46:18 GMT The archiving stuff: CLASSIFICATION: SRA MSR (yeah, what else is new?) RATING: PG or PG-13... dunno. Pretty emotional. SUMMARY: A visit from a longtime friend wrenches the hearts and lives of Scully & Mulder, and an action by Mulder made a little too soon only adds to the turmoil. Mulder/Scully romance. Wow... just realized that if I didn't finish this soon, my own timeline would expire... Sheesh. Talk about slacking off... This is a part three of the series began by 'Rekindling the Flame' and 'Rekindling II: Burning'. Let it be said that if you didn't really enjoy 'Burning', well, neither did I. (As the author, I was disappointed at how it turned out.) However, I feel this one to be much better, much stronger, and much more real. If you've never read these fics, fear not - 'Rekindling the Flame' is recommended reading to understand what's happening here, but all you need to know about 'Burning' is that the two deal with a lot of issues they didn't in RTF. Oh, and Mulder has one of those foreshadowing thoughts at the very end. DISCLAIMERS: Characters contained herein belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, FOX, etc, with the exception of Tristan Saunders who belongs to me. This fic belongs to me, and if archived or sent anywhere, please keep my name and e-mail addi with it. MUSIC DISCLAIMERS: "Surrounded" belongs to Chantal Kreviazuk, a most amazing artist. (I'm aware that the song is about a suicide of a friend of hers, but upon seeing her in concert she dedicated it to anyone dealing with unresolved feelings about an event. Believe me, it fits. I'm also aware it wasn't released as a radio single until 1997, but call it anachronism and leave it there. ;)) "Ben's Song" belongs to the incredibly talented Sarah McLachlan. The part of the song that 'Broken' sings in this fic is actually an excerpt from a song of my own, entitled "Fade Away" (And if ya want complete lyrics, I can give 'em to you. ;)). THANKS AND ALL-ROUND DEDICATION DEPT.: This fic is for Danielle Dupre', without whom there might not be a series at all; and Wolf - the one who gave me a boost just when it looked like I'd given up on this. (so much for brevity...) Some NOTES here, which I am compelled to put in as a means of self-explanation, I suppose. Tears from strong, secure, independent Scully. Not often seen on the show, and only used here because really... in all honesty, tell me who wouldn't cry in a situation such as this? The loss of someone close to you - worse yet, watching their life slip by and being unable to do anything about it, but needing to keep up the sense of false hope and a facade of everything being alright with yourself being shown to those around you - is deeply affecting and the grieving really starts before the one you care about is gone. No, this isn't a Mulder dies story. He isn't even sick. Introducing Tristan Saunders... On with the show... REKINDLING III: BACKDRAFT (1/4) by Jennifer Farwell rfarwell@foxnet.net "I lost the sense of it The absolution that we never knew..." --Moist, 'Leave It Alone' December 6th, 1997 The rain set in, cold and hard on that winter's day. Looking outside, I had the oddest notion that my world was about to be turned upside-down. My thoughts startled me, and it must have been apparent, for I soon heard Mulder approaching me. Standing behind me, he wrapped his arms around from behind until he was holding my hands. I relished the warmth, the protection he seemed to offer, as I watched our reflection in the window. Two years ago, a scene such as this might never have happened. I should have felt incredibly lucky and thankful at this moment. For months now - two whole seasons entering into a third; from the green of late summer to the golden leaves of autumn and now to the barren desolation of winter - I'd had everything I'd always wanted: a relationship with this man, my best friend, my partner... but our bond was more than that. It's difficult to imagine myself thinking these things even just half a year ago, but time and events change a person. I was loved, and I was cherished. In turn, I loved and cherished. Oh sure, things had been rocky at the start, but we'd gotten through all of that. This should have been one of the happiest days in my life, a day of relaxation with Mulder, something all too rare in our line of work. But still, the rain fell, and with it, my spirits. Mulder and I met each other's eyes in the window. I felt his arms tighten around me, and I could almost sense his question to come. Quickly, so to divert something I really had no answer for, I commented, "At this rate, it won't be a white Christmas." It would take more than a foolish comment about the weather to stop Mulder's train of thought, and I should have known that. His gaze that reflected back from the rain-streaked window never once wavered as he asked, "What's up, Day?" I walked away from the window, and plopped down on my striped sofa. "I honestly don't know, Mulder. I just feel like something's about to happen. Something big." "Like what?" He seemed curious. Uh oh. I wondered if he was going to try and tease me about psychic vibes, or something along those lines, just to get me riled up. Still, I couldn't say anything to prevent such a comment from happening. "That's just it. I have no idea. It just feels... bad." That was really the only way I could describe it. Mulder feigned shock. And here it was... "Just what are you implying, Dr. Scully? That you believe in your own premonitions? Say it isn't so!" I clubbed him with a pillow that had been resting in the corner of the couch, and he laughed. I had to smile. Even though I'd seen it coming, trust Mulder to tease me out of a dark mood. "Well, I can tell you one thing," Mulder continued, gently prying the pillow away from me. "Oh yeah?" I raised an eyebrow. "What's that?" "That if you're resorting to attack-by-pillow, you must be bored. All this rain has been oppressive." He placed the pillow back in its original position on the sofa. "Very astute, Agent Mulder," I mocked him. "Looks like that Oxford education really is beneficial." He caught my teasing smile, and grinned back. "Why Agent Scully, if I didn't know better I would swear you were taunting me." "Who, me?" I looked at him sweetly. "Why would I do such a thing?" "Because you're bored, letting the weather get to you, and need a distraction?" he suggested, sitting down beside me. "All right then, Sherlock," I challenged. "Entertain me." Mulder tossed me a suggestive look, and I laughed. "Down boy! That's not quite what I had in mind. Try an activity that can be done somewhere beyond the confines of this apartment." He gave a mock-tortured sigh. "But Scully, so much can be done inside this apartment..." "So much for you entertaining me," I noted. "Lucky for you, I have an idea. Have you started your Christmas shopping yet?" He stared at me, like I'd asked him something completely absurd. "Are you kidding me? Shopping season officially starts for me on December 23rd." I rolled my eyes at him. "This is a guy thing, right?" "Well in case you haven't noticed, I belong to the male species." "Oh, I noticed all right," I commented dryly. "But too bad for you, you're going to start today." "You mean we have to go to a mall?" he protested. "Yes, Mulder. We're going to a mall. It'll be fun. Our first Christmas shopping adventure together." "But, there are so many... people at a mall!" he whined. "There's that education kicking in again. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe we belong to that category of people." He looked defeated, so I took that opportunity to grab his arm and haul him off the couch. Mulder took his time about it, and I recalled a time during a similar situation where he'd been reluctant to get up, and upon doing so nearly caused both of us to crash into a wall. I braced myself for it. Instead of hitting the wall, he ended up right against me. He bent down to brush my lips with his. His arms encircled me, as we stayed like that for a few moments. Finally, I broke apart from him. "You're not getting out of it that easily," I warned. Walking away from him, I grabbed our jackets and car keys. "Let's go." * * * * * Shopping with Scully. Despite my efforts to convince her otherwise, I was actually looking forward to it. It was just so much fun to tease her, though. We sauntered through the mall, wandering in and out of stores. Although Christmas shopping wasn't my favourite activity, just being there with Scully made it enjoyable. Her face would light up when she spotted something she just knew would be a perfect gift for either her mother, one of her brothers, a close cousin or friend, or her niece or nephews. After all this time, she continued to amaze me with her warmth, caring and generousity. I felt fortunate to be able to know this side of her, for not many people were ever given the chance. She had to be the most kindhearted person I knew. We stopped by a jewelry store, and Scully suggested that we take a look through. We browsed through the display cases, me looking for something for my mother, and Scully for hers. We'd only been in there for a few minutes, when I heard her suck in her breath sharply, from across the store. In a few quick strides, I reached her side. "What is it, Day?" She did not have a panicked or surprised look on her face, but one that seemed quite far away. "That ring..." she mused. I followed the direction of her gaze, to what appeared to be an engagement ring. The setting was heart-shaped, and in the middle of the heart sat a sparkling diamond. It was quite a beautiful ring, but I was having trouble understanding Scully's reaction to it. Unless she'd been thinking along the same lines that I'd found myself pondering, recently... "What, you like it?" I asked, trying to finish her drifted thought. She shook her head. "No--yes. I mean, I like it - love it, in fact - but it's not that. I was just thinking..." "Scary thought," I teased lightly. She slugged me a little in the arm, and grinned on of her endearing 'you-are-impossible' grins - the kind I knew to be reserved only for me. I grinned back, charmingly. Then, she elaborated: "It just reminded me of a necklace I had, when I was younger. Ahab gave it to me." Her eyes took on a distant by happy look; an expression of positive reflections. "It was a Christmas present," she continued, "and I remember me told me, 'Starbuck... this is my heart, and you are the diamond I hold within.' He wasn't home very often, but Christmas was always special to him. He loved us kids so much..." God, but she was beautiful then. Always, when she talked about her family a pleasant kind of glow lit up her entire face. As I was watching her, silently, she turned away from the display case. "Did you find anything you were looking for?" she asked. "Not for my mother," I answered truthfully. I stole a glance back at the ring. A diamond treasured within one's heart. That seemed to perfectly describe my feelings for Dana. Maybe I hadn't found anything for my mom, but I think I'd just found what I had really been searching for. * * * * * December 16th, 1997. Sunday morning dawned bright but crisp, the latter to be expected for this time in December. Thankfully, the rain which had loomed like an unwanted stalker for the greater deal of the month was nowhere to be found, and the day somehow seemed to hold an aura of mystery. For all my scientific basis of views upon the world, I found morning to be a particularly reflective time, and there were some occasions when the mood of the day just came to me, before I even sat up. I suppose I could have lied there, burrowed amongst my blankets for a good while longer, but my wandering and sleepy daydreams were interrupted by the sounds of a key in the lock, and familiar footsteps entering into my apartment. I felt a smile spreading across my face. Quickly, I got out of bed and threw on a robe, then padded out of my bedroom. "'Morning Day," Mulder greeted me, and pressed a kiss against my forehead. He extended a brown paper bag out to me. I peeked inside. "Bagels," he confirmed. "Let me make the coffee, and you can have breakfast." I yawned sleepily. "Thank you. Coffee sounds wonderful, right now." I placed the bag of bagels on the table. "I think I'll go take a shower while the coffee perks, and try and wake up a little." Before heading towards the bathroom, I gave Mulder a long, lingering hug. "Mmmm... this is really nice," I said. "Careful, I could get used to waking up to you bringing me breakfast on Sunday mornings." "Oh, we wouldn't want such a horrible thing to occur, now would we?" he grinned at me, tousling a strand of my already-mussed hair. I smiled back at him, and left the kitchen. Upon entering the bathroom, I had a quick shower, then got dressed. When I returned to the kitchen, the coffee had finished brewing and Mulder was pouring the steaming liquid into two mugs. "Here you go," he said, handing one to me. He took the other, and we sat down at the table. As I munched on a bagel, he talked to me. "So, Scully... Christmas is right around the corner. Have you been a good girl this year?" I swallowed a bite of the bagel, before answering. "For someone who doesn't like Christmas shopping, you're in an awfully cheerful mood about the holiday." "Well, that's because I found something this year, that means a lot to me to give," he stated. "Oh really?" I asked, raising a curious eyebrow. "Really," he affirmed, then suddenly looked down. I took this signal to mean that it had something to do with me, and although I would wonder about this, let it go. We sipped our coffee in a companionable silence. After finishing the contents of his mug, he looked at me once again. "We're expected at your mom's house sometime Christmas Eve night, right?" he questioned. I nodded my head in confirmation. "Right. That place is going to be a zoo. My brothers and their families... wait'll you meet my niece. She's quite the little charmer, but has more energy than the Roadrunner on a caffeine fix." Mulder chuckled a bit at that. "I can't wait. However, I was thinking of having a private celebration of our own, maybe a special dinner prepared by yours truly, before we head on over there for the night?" "Sounds great to me," I replied, looking forward to it already. What I'd been surprised to find out over the past few months was that Mulder was actually a wonderful cook. He was away from home so much, with us always out of town on our cases, that he hardly ever got the chance to prepare one of his terrific meals. I regarded Mulder closely now, as something seemed a bit off. He looked... nervous? Excited? Maybe both. There was definitely an air of mystery surrounding him. I started to question him about this, when I was interrupted by the ringing of the phone. I picked up the receiver. "Hello?" The voice on the other end both surprised and delighted me. "Hey Dana! It's your old pal, Tristan." His voice was warm, friendly and cheerful, just as I could always remember it being. "Tristan! Wow, I haven't seen you in awhile." "Yeah," he replied. "How're you doing?" "I'm doing great, actually. And yourself? Are you in town?" By this point, Mulder was listening with unconcealed interest. He got up from his place at the table, and came to sit by where I was standing. "Actually, yes. I'm visiting my family, staying at my parents' house in Washington. I'd really like to see you sometime soon, Dana. I have a lot to tell you." "I guess so, road warrior," I teased. "How long are you staying for?" "Awhile," he answered. "Can I come see you on Tuesday? I'm guessing you just got here and need some time to settle in and visit with your parents." "Tuesday sounds great. Do you remember where my mom and dad live?" "Of course," I responded, laughing. "I spent a lot of time at that house, if you remember." "Oh, I remember," Tristan assured me. "Those were the good days, weren't they?" "Yes they were," I agreed. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Mulder's glances at me. "Is it okay if I let you go for now? I'm a bit busy right now." "Oh, sure. Actually, I was just about to go take a nap," he admitted. "Well, sleep well, then. See you on Tuesday." "See ya then, Dana." "Bye, Tristan." I hung up the phone, smiling, and Mulder pounced immediately. "Who's Tristan?" he asked, curiously. It struck me then, that in all the time I had known and shared parts of my life with Mulder, I'd failed to tell him about Tristan. It was strange, actually, but I suppose one learns something new every day. I folded my legs underneath me, looked at him, and spoke. "Well," I explained, "Tristan Saunders is someone I've known for my entire life. Our fathers were both Navy men, and for a long time, we lived next-door to each other. It always seemed that our fathers were transferred to the same places at the same times, and we saw each other nearly every day from when we were born, until we both went off to university. At any rate, we were best friends, and during some of our teenage years, we were 'going out'. We went our separate ways after high school graduation, but remained in touch. Right now he plays keyboards in a band." His interest piqued, Mulder asked, "Which band? Have I heard of them?" "You might have," I smiled. "They're called 'Broken', and are played on the FM stations here pretty regularly." He seemed surprised for a moment, "Scully, are you kidding me? Of course I've heard of them! You grew up with one of the band members... wow. Do you have a picture of him?" "Actually," I answered, "I think I do." I got up from my position on the couch, to rummage through a drawer. Quickly, I found what I'd been looking for - a picture of Tristan and myself. I returned to the sofa and handed the picture to Mulder. He looked at it for a few moments, then handed it back to me. "You mean to tell me that you didn't keep him?" he teased. I grinned back, and hit him lightly on the shoulder. "Very funny," I laughed. I knew what he meant, though. Tristan was a very good-looking man. With sandy-coloured, curly hair, incredible, almost breathtaking blue eyes, and a lanky frame, he had many young, female fans. He'd had some admirers of the same sort in high school, I recalled with amusement. Mulder looked at the picture I held in my hands once more, then back at me. "That looks pretty recent, Day. When was it taken?" "Hmmm," I pondered, "let me see. When was the last time Tristan was in the area? I guess... last year, about this time." The same thought seemed to occur to both of us at the same time. That picture had been taken during a part of my life Mulder had missed. Carefully, I scrutinized the photograph which rested in my hands. I appeared happy... however, I could vividly recall how unhappy I had been, then. Continued in part 2... REKINDLING III: BACKDRAFT (2/4) by Jennifer Farwell rfarwell@foxnet.net * * * * * December 20, 1996 It was snowing again. The bitterly cold and almost too-cheerful flakes hit against the window, a hounding reminder of the sparkle within that I did not have. Holiday shoppers were everywhere this year. I used to enjoy the time nearing Christmas, with all the positive energy floating through the air, and the excited expressions upon young children's faces as they told Santa precisely what they wished for. This year, however, something was missing. And it wasn't on the outside - it was gone from within me. It had been nearly four months now; four months since I'd last seen or heard from the man I once considered my best friend, and then some. Four months since our discovery of supposed love for one another... I had to laugh at that. Bitterly. Of all the men I'd ever known, it was Fox Mulder whom I'd never thought could stoop so low as to lie and betray. It was against everything he stood for, or so I'd thought. But then, I should have seen it coming. *What did he live by, Dana? What little saying that his so-believed-in source said to you, as he lay gasping his last breath on that bridge? Could it be, 'trust no one'?* I wouldn't cry, anymore. I couldn't. All tears worthy of shedding had streamed down my face the day of and the week following his disappearance from the face of the earth. *Face of the earth, huh? Wouldn't he like that, for the world to think he'd been abducted himself. Remember how excited he was on that first case? 'Abductees!' was what he exclaimed so exuberantly, was it not? You should've known then.* It wasn't as if I could argue against my own thoughts, for they held some truth. Mulder had always been driven by his work and the search for Samantha, everything else coming second. Yet, it hadn't seemed that way in Misty Point. In that ocean, where we'd first kissed-- well, not really first kissed, I suppose. That incident in the honeymoon suite had been my first taste of what he offered, and that led to the scene in the ocean. And really, that's all it could be described as now, couldn't it? A scene, or an act, a made-up play. For all Special Agent Fox Mulder had held me, kissed me, and told of his love for me, he'd still vanished without a trace. In reality, he'd lied to me, and that's something I don't think I could ever forgive. Trying to get over him was difficult, admittedly. After all, I worked with him for three years, and trusted in him completely. It wasn't that I longed for him, pining away for our unrequited love... no, quite the opposite. For the first time in my life that I could recall, I had such hostile feelings within me that I hardly recognized who I was. I think his departure caused something in myself to snap, really. I'd lost something precious when I lost him, or whom I'd thought him to be. I think, maybe, I'd lost hope for the world. He was a stranger to me now, whoever this man who had run away was. The Mulder I thought I'd known was who I grieved for. He'd had such drive and determination, and the mind-set to never give up. He fought a war on behalf of the billions of people he did not know, the people who were lied to around the world each and every day. He'd cried out for truth in a deceitful world. I believed in him. Or, the him that he used to be. And when my illusions shattered, so had a part of my faith in human decency. I'd been dwelling on this for so long, now. I tried to make myself stop, but found I couldn't. As the result of that, here I was staring out a window into a desolate snowstorm, alone. For the fourth month, again losing my life to my thoughts and anguished feelings. I didn't know how to live, anymore. My empty self, my broken shell, turned away from the window. It was so silent in here, now. So heavy. I needed a distraction. Spotting the radio, I switched it on and went to brew myself some coffee. It had been a long December so far, and I'd be needing the perk caffeine gave to keep my mind off of the thoughts that were slowly ruining my life. A voice followed me into the kitchen, floating throughout my apartment with her telling song. It was a story so much like my own, all I could do was shake my head as I took out a can of coffee grounds. I was there when you shone as bright as Bethlehem, from afar I was there when you were young and strong and perverted and everything that makes a young man a star Oh, you were a star I was there and I swear to God and on my mother's grave on everything I have or ever will embrace I was there and I saw it with my own two eyes And now it's all around me It's all around me I'm surrounded Now it's all around me It's all around me You surround me like a circle... *Surrounded by thoughts of regret, and Mulder,* I thought, just as the phone rang. I quickly turned off the radio and went to answer it. "Hello?" I spoke into the receiver. "Dana?" came the reply from the deep, male voice on the other end. "It's Tristan." Finally, a pleasant surprise in my life. "Tristan? I haven't heard from you in ages! How are you? What's up?" He laughed. He always was so cheerful. "Actually, I'm in the area. The band's got a show tomorrow night, and we arrived in town a little early. I told the guys I had some close friends I wanted to visit. Of course, I was referring to you. I haven't seen you in what feels like forever." "Oh, I know," I agreed. "Who ever would have thought our lives would become so crazy, back in high school and university?" "Well, who ever would have thought you'd become both a doctor and a special agent for the FBI, back in high school?" he teased. I could envision his smile, across the wires. "Like you're almost one to talk," I shot back. "Big rock-star now, touring country after country..." Tristan chuckled quietly. "Yeah, yeah, big rock-star living on the road, going stir-crazy and feasting off of fast-food. Speaking of food, that's actually why I called you." "What?" I asked him. "You're going to hire me as the band's chef? I mean, I know I can cook and all, but I didn't think I was that good..." "No cooking for you, I'm afraid," was his response. "The fast-food lifestyle is actually a study now, for science. They're trying to see how long one can survive off of it before they develop an intolerance to real food. But shhh, don't tell anyone." I grinned, even though Tristan couldn't see me. "My lips are sealed." "Whew, load off my mind," he said. "Actually, the whole food thing was my lead-in to ask what you were doing tonight. If you're not busy, would you like to have dinner with me?" It sounded like a great idea to me. I could catch up with an old friend, and get out of this gloom-filled apartment. A night spent without Mulder hounding my thoughts. "I would love to have dinner with you, Tristan," I answered. "What time?" "Can I pick you up at 6? I was also thinking maybe we could do something later, take a walk or catch a movie. It's been a few years since I last saw you, you know." "Yeah, I know." With a friend like Tristan, I could remember the years between our meetings. We'd spent so much time together, growing up. There was a time when he'd known me better than anyone. I continued on. "6 o'clock sounds great. Do you remember where I live?" "I sure do," he assured me, proudly. "So I'll see you then, Dana. I can't wait to see you again." "Same here," I returned. "Bye Tristan." We hung up, and I became lost in a clouded reverie. Tristan's sudden arrival into my life again, however brief it might turn out to be, had reminded me of something important. Just because one friend had betrayed me, didn't mean I should isolate myself from others. I needed friends now, more than anything. I needed to believe in them. At 6 o'clock that evening, on the dot, there was a knock at my door. I hurried over to it, in anticipation of seeing my childhood best friend again, after so long. Without bothering to peer into the peep hole, I flung open the door. Strong arms flew around me, engulfing me in a warm and excited hug. "Dana!" Tristan exclaimed. At the same time, I cried, "Tristan!" Laughing and grinning, we stepped back to take a look at each other. He looked wonderful, as always. He echoed my thoughts. "Wow, you look terrific, Dana! I love your hair!" Blushing a little, I reached up to touch it. "Thanks. Wow, it has been a long time, hasn't it? I had it cut short a little over three years ago." "Well, even if I am a little late in saying so, it looks great," he said sincerely. "You look great," I remarked, then noticed his choice of shirt. I widened my eyes a bit in disbelief. "You remembered..." He looked down at his deep blue coloured shirt, and back up at me. "Yes, just for you, my favourite friend. I have worn your favourite colour. I also decided to play dream date tonight," he joked, extending his hand. Held in it was a single red rose. "You still remember how to charm me," I acknowledged, accepting the flower from him. "Thank you. Just let me go put this in water, and we can go." I quickly found a vase in the kitchen, filled it with water and placed the rose inside. Grabbing my keys and my purse, I returned back to Tristan. I picked up my coat, and he assisted me in putting it on. Same old Tristan. I felt so relaxed at dinner that night, for the first time in months. Tristan had more amusing stories about life on the road than I ever could have imagined, and I had a few stories of my own. Mainly they were about cases I'd been on, and the tales amazed him. At one point, he asked: "What ever happened to the visions of a normal, sane lifestyle? You know, the spouse, the kids, the white picket fence?" I would have laughed at his ponderance, if only it hadn't hit me so hard. It was the combination of events at that moment - the couples swaying out on a dance floor, the music lilting through the air, and even just dinner itself and memories of August - that had such an impact upon me. I suppose Tristan noticed the moment the easy, carefree expression slipped off my face, and my smile melted into a frown. "Dana?" he asked. "Are you okay?" What a question to ask, now. No, I wasn't okay, and I hadn't been for a very long time. I'd been clinging on to tenuous emotions, and it all suddenly wanted to come rushing forward. I needed to talk to someone, to tell someone and be helped through the loss of my best friend. I yearned to understand why. In response to Tristan, all I did was simply shake my head. He reached for my hand from across the table, squeezing it comfortingly. "Do you want to tell me about it?" I nodded my head this time, but added, "Not here." "Okay then, how about a walk?" I nodded again, and he signaled our waiter for the cheque. Upon paying, he helped me with my coat once more, and led me out of the restaurant. Outside, there was more freedom. It wasn't cluttered with people and surface chatter; no idle happiness and romantic pairings. The air was still on this night, expanding out forever, just like the stars which shone brightly overhead. Tristan and I began walking side-by-side, letting the soft snow crunch under our feet. He waited for me to start, giving me the time I needed. I was appreciative for this, needing to gather my thoughts before letting them bubble over. I hadn't really told of this to anyone, aside from my mother. I hadn't told her much, only a few disjointed sentences the day it'd happened. After that, I hadn't wanted to discuss it. "I guess," I began, "I should start at the beginning. As I've told you, three years ago I was assigned to the X-Files division at the Bureau, partnered with Special Agent Mulder. Mulder and I went through a lot together over the years. We'd seen and been put through so much throughout our cases, until it got to the point where we felt we could trust only each other. We were best friends." "That changed?" Tristan questioned softly. I closed my eyes for a moment, and took a deep breath. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. A lot of things changed during our last case, in August. We were assigned to a night time surveillance in Misty Point, California. It became like a mini-vacation, because we had the day to do whatever we wanted. So, we played the tourists. However, we had a different act to keep up at the hotel. The only place that the spot we needed to watch could be seen from, properly, was the honeymoon suite." Normally, Tristan would have cracked a light-hearted joke there, I knew. But the situation tonight was anything but light, and he sensed that. We walked on, and I talked on. "Something changed there for me. Our cover was almost blown at one point, when a chambermaid came up to deliver some more towels. Luckily, or maybe not-so-luckily, Mulder heard her coming. He quickly hid some of our surveillance equipment, then threw both of us onto the bed before I could realize what was happening. And, he kissed me. I still hadn't caught on to what was happening, but I found myself responding to it. I liked it, Tris." I looked at him then, and he looked back at me. His hand found mine, and I cherished the consolation I received from that gesture. I'd always been able to tell Tristan anything, and now, after all these years, was no different. For that, I was grateful. "I was shaken up by that, and then had to spend the night with him in that same room. It seemed smaller by each passing moment. I couldn't believe the feelings flooding through me. I didn't think Mulder felt the same way. But little did I know... "The next day we went to the beach. We ended up getting into a water fight in the ocean, and that's when something incredible happened. We kissed for real. After three years, we'd both come to the same realization: We loved each other. Or so I thought." He squeezed my hand. "Did you two have a really awful fight?" I laughed, hollowly. "I almost wish we did. No, we spent that day in Misty Point, astounded with our new-found feelings. However, our surveillance was called off, and we left the next day. We arrived back in D.C. late that next night, and said goodnight. That was the last time I saw him." Tristan looked incredulous. "Dana... what happened?" I shrugged, sadly. "I wish I knew. The next morning when I was waiting for him to come into work, our boss called me into his office. He wanted to inform me that Mulder had taken a year's leave of absence. I tried to call him, but his cell phone had been disconnected. I went to his apartment, and his landlady told me that he'd paid up his rent for the year and left town. He hasn't contacted me once in the four months since he left." "I'm sorry," he murmured, and gave me a hug. I felt the tears surface then, and though I tried to choke them back, I couldn't stop them. "He lied to me, Tris. He'd said all he'd ever wanted was to find the truth, but then he lied to me. He betrayed me, betrayed our trust and friendship, and everything else I thought we'd had. All I want are answers, but there's no one to give them. I can't understand it, and I think I hate him for it. I don't feel like myself, anymore." I cried quietly, but was shaking against him. Tristan held me there, trying to soothe my tears, and calm me down. "It's okay, Dana," he whispered. "It will be okay." Somehow, we walked back to the car. He took me home and stayed with me for awhile there, making me tea and listening to everything I had to say. Finally, therapy. I'd let it out, and I felt better. He left only when he was certain that I'd be fine, and after he'd given me a ticket and VIP pass to his band's concert the next night. He wanted to see me once more, before he had to leave again. I fell asleep that night, finally feeling a sense of peace. I was even in higher spirits when I attended the Broken concert the following evening. I hadn't ever seen the group in concert, and felt a swelling sense of pride at seeing the friend I'd grown up with displaying his talents and having fun up there on that stage. He was a success, and I'd never doubted that he would be. Tristan was the kind of person you had to believe in. It was about an hour into the concert, when the lead singer stood aside, and gestured to Tristan. Capturing the complete attention of the audience, and waiting for their silence, he began to speak. "I hope you all are having a great time tonight!" The audience roared. "Well, I'm glad to hear it. We're going to play a song off of our second album now, I think most of you know it. Tonight, I'd like to dedicate it to a close friend of mine, who's in the audience. Dana, I hope everything will turn out for the best. This one's for you, and it's called 'Fade Away'." I stood completely still as the music began, closed my eyes and just listened. I recognized it immediately, having the CD, but it was special to me, at this moment. It had meaning. Too soon to be forgotten Too fresh to be absolved Too raw to stop the bleeding Too hard to end these thoughts The ones That penetrate my mind And make it all too clear to me Just what I need Some things held all too dearly Too close, too deep, too much So fade away Fade away, fade away, fade away... Gone from sight but still In my mind And I want to stay But it's killing me So just fade away... After the show that night, I ventured backstage. Upon seeing me, Tristan broke apart from a group of friends, and approached me. "Dana," he said, trying to evaluate how I was doing. In response, I hugged him. "Thank you, Tris. I just want you to know, you've helped me a lot. I feel better now than I have in a long time. Thank you for being here." He smiled at me, gently. "Well, what are friends for?" I smiled back, and held up my camera. "How about a picture, my rock-star friend?" We posed, happily. That night was somewhat of a turning point for me. But I'd still have a long way to go. * * * * * I broke out of my reverie, at Mulder's touch. Reflecting back on it all, it seemed so amazing that we'd come this far. I felt incredibly blessed, at this moment. I was looking forward so much to spending our first Christmas as a couple together, and to ringing in the new year with him. And to add to my joy, my oldest friend was back in town. It was beginning to look like a wonderful holiday season. Continued in part 3/4... REKINDLING III: BACKDRAFT (3/4) by Jennifer Farwell rfarwell@foxnet.net * * * * * Tuesday afternoon, I left work early to go see Tristan. I stopped by my apartment first, to change my clothes and grab a bite to eat, than drove to the familiar house that held so many terrific childhood memories. Walking up to the front door, it was almost as if I was being transported back in time. When I got to the door, I had to stop myself from simply walking right in as I had done in the old days. Tristan's parents had been like parents to me, and my parents had been the same to him. Taking a deep breath, and hoping that either Mr. or Mrs. Saunders, or both, would be home, I rang the doorbell. It was his mother who answered the door. "Sarah!" I exclaimed. "Dana!" she greeted me warmly. We hugged. "Wow, it's been years since I've seen you, honey. Look at you, all grown up." I blushed, a bit. "I thought I was 'all grown up' at my high school graduation," I reminded her. Sarah laughed. "Oh no, dear! Well, you were I suppose, but to us mothers who watch children grow, even as a graduating teenager, you're still a child to us." I joined into her laughter, at this remark. "So, tell me, how are you? It's been so long! Are you married?" I ducked my head. "No," I admitted, "but I'm seeing a wonderful man. He's my best friend, and I've been working with him for a few years." No, definitely not married. In all honesty, the thought hadn't crossed my mind, and I didn't think it had crossed Mulder's, either. We were never the type to rush things - I mean, look at how long it finally took for us to face up to our feelings! The thought of marriage, at this point, just seemed to be too soon. Wanting to change the subject, I asked, "So where is Tristan?" Sarah's smile remained in place, but the light from her eyes seemed to dim, a little. She seemed saddened, somehow. "He's in the living room, waiting for you, I suppose. I--um. Never mind. I'll talk to you more later, Dana." She left me to go upstairs, then, and I was a bit puzzled by her behaviour. I made a note to ask her later if anything was bothering her, and headed toward the living room. When I walked through the entranceway, I stopped, cold. I grabbed onto the wall, for support. *Oh my God...* I tried to collect myself, but found it extremely difficult. There, on the couch, was my lifelong friend. Only, he didn't look like the Tristan I'd grown up with, anymore. *Please Lord, no...* His beautiful hair was gone. He was so thin, it hurt to look at him. His eyes and cheeks were sunken, and he looked so ill. Deathly ill. *Not Tristan. I beg of you, not him.* He looked at me, bright blue eyes as clear as ever. His voice, as kind as ever. But he was weaker than I'd ever seen him. "Hi, Dana." I felt a sense of shock, as if this was all surreal. I realized then that I'd been standing against the doorway, still holding onto the wall, simply staring. With great effort, I moved from where I was stationed. I crossed over to the couch where he sat, and lowered myself beside him. My voice was low. "Hi, Tris." I didn't know how to react. Maybe his news was that he'd been sick, and he was recovering? He hadn't told me anything about being sick since I'd last seen him, a year ago. All I knew was that Broken had stopped touring for awhile, and I'd assumed it was because they were recording another album. It was as if he'd read my mind, for he said then: "Dana, I'm so sorry. I should have told you, but I didn't want to alarm you. I thought I'd get better. It looked so promising, for awhile..." "What happened, Tris?" I whispered. "I have cancer." Flinching, I closed my eyes. *No. Dear God, no...* He placed his hand on top of mine. It was so bony, so wasted, it was hard to imagine that this had been the hand that one year ago, had played a song for me. The hand that created magic on a keyboard. How could this be happening? I spoke again. "When?" "It happened about two months after I saw you. In February, of this year. I'd been getting a lot of headaches. Migraines, really. I'd attributed it to maybe some exhaustion, the stress level of life on the road, and just the sheer noise level I was exposed to on a nightly basis. Also, maybe some malnutrition. That was all." I felt tears prick at my eyes, but held them back. I wanted to be strong, for him. "But that wasn't it?" I finished, softly. He shook his head, slightly. "No. One night, I just passed out. Shandy - our bass player - was there when it happened. He brought me to the hospital. They diagnosed me with cancer. I have a brain tumor. I was scared when I first heard it, but I thought they could operate. You hear about this stuff all the time, and all the success stories. They couldn't. They tried treatment, but it didn't work. The tumor kept growing. I wanted to see you again, Dana. I called you, because I had to tell you... I'm dying." I shook my head this time, as if denying what he'd said to be true. Yet, here was the evidence, right before me. How was this possible? I'd seen him one year ago, bright, happy and healthy as he could be. A year could change so much... There were a million things I wanted to say. I wanted to tell him that I was sorry, but what would that do? I wanted to be strong for him, but I was on the verge of tears. I wanted to ask why he hadn't told me in the beginning, but didn't want to cause him any guilt. If only he'd told me when he found out. We could've had more time together. He looked so sick. Hollow face, skeletal body. As a doctor, I could see how near the end really was. But he was too young to die. Tristan broke into my stunned silence, sensitive to me even though I felt I was being so insensitive to him. "Dana, it's okay. I didn't call you hear for sympathy, or tears, or pity. I just wanted to see you again, and spend the rest... the time before I die with you. We spent the beginning of our lives together, and most of the middle of my life. Now, I need you here at the end." The end of his life. That gave new meaning to lifelong friendship. The friend I'd had since infancy was going to die. I was going to watch him go. Quietly, I asked. "How long?" How long did he have left. "The doctors don't expect me to make it past Christmas," he replied. "Look, I know this is hard for you, and it's a shock, and you weren't expecting it... but please talk to me. We can always talk to each other, about anything. Just because I'm dying doesn't mean our conversation has to end. Everything is the same, only we have limited time. That just means that we shouldn't waste it." He'd always made sense. I had to smile. He grinned back at me, and opened his arms for a hug. Nestling my head into his shoulder, I thought of all the times he'd embraced me throughout the years, and how much solace I'd drawn from him. He was right, we didn't have time to waste on being sad around each other. My heart was breaking as we held each other, but I couldn't let him know. I had to be cheerful, and hopeful as always when I was around him. He needed it that way. Letting go of me, he settled back onto the couch. "So, the last time we spoke, your life was kind of a mess. I don't want to bring up anything painful - I mean, look at what I've done to you already today - but did anything ever happen, there, with Mulder?" Finally, some good news I could give. "Yes, actually," I began. "A year to the day he'd left, I came to work to find him back. We were reassigned to each other, and that was one day where I just wanted to kick his ass from here back to Misty Point." Tristan laughed, though it was an effort to. "I don't doubt that you could do it, Dana." "Well, it turns out that I didn't have to. The Bureau paid for that little trip. Our first 'case' was another one in Misty Point. Things were really awkward, and strained, and I didn't make things easy. At the time that I saw you, I felt full of hatred for him. Mulder had to work through that. Somehow, he did it. And then, our case turned out to be completely fabricated, as our boss had figured out something was up with us, and felt the need to send us on a vacation together. Let me just say, that man is getting a very nice Christmas present." "And?" Tristan prompted. "And," I finished, a grin starting to play off my lips, "Mulder and I have been back together since the end of August. He had a lot of explaining to do, but things have been forgiven and put behind us. I can't remember ever being so happy or feeling so complete." "I'm happy for you," he said, sincerely. And I, in turn, was glad that I could bring him some good news. I ate dinner with Tristan, Sarah, and his father James, that night. We talked of old times, of high school memories, and later watched a movie. I left when Tristan needed to sleep. When I arrived at home, I found a message from Mulder on my answering machine: "Hi Day, it's me. I hope you had a great time with Tristan, tonight. Call me when you get home. I love you." I didn't call him back. For hours, I simply sat in the darkness and cried. * * * * * God only knows how I forced myself out of bed the next morning, and made it to work. Mulder was already at his desk when I entered our office. "'Morning Scully," he greeted. Guilt flooded through me as I poured myself a cup of coffee. "'Morning, Mulder. I'm sorry I didn't call you back, last night. When I got home, I was so tired that I went to sleep without checking my messages." I was lying to Mulder. This was not good. He didn't question it, however. He got up to go over to a filing cabinet, but stopped when he reached me. Rubbing a hand up and down my arm, he assured, "It's okay. I just wanted to hear the sound of your voice." He continued over to the filing cabinet, and as he was digging through it, he asked, "So, how do you feel about going out for dinner, tonight?" "Actually, I think I'm going to be visiting Tristan again." "Oh?" Mulder turned around to look at me. "Yeah. I, um, don't think he's going to be here for very long. I just want to see him some more before he goes." I couldn't bring myself to tell Mulder the real reason. I knew that if I did, I would probably break down and cry, right here at work. I couldn't do that. This was the place where I was a professional. Personal problems were to stay outside of that office door. I was probably a little bit distant all day, but I really didn't feel like myself. I know Mulder noticed this, but he didn't say a word. For that, I was relieved. After work, I saw Tristan again. The news was not good. His vision was blurring. The tumor was making itself known. That night, I prayed for him. Only God knew how much time he would have left. My visits continued throughout the week. I even took Thursday and Friday off of work, just to have more time with him. By Friday, he couldn't see at all. He couldn't walk, and was having trouble speaking. It was hard for me to see Tristan this way, losing a bit more control over himself with each passing day, and I could see how difficult it was for Sarah and James. I never cried in front of either of them, though, or even frowned. I saved that, instead, for the time when I was alone. * * * * * December 21st, 1997. When I awoke on Sunday morning, I could hear the rain pounding against my window. My thoughts flitted back to an easier time, just weeks before. I sharply recalled my premonition of dark days to come. It was too early to go see Tristan, I knew. He was sleeping now, more than he had been previously. It scared me, every time he closed his eyes. I feared that it could be the end. That was something that I both dreaded, yet longed for. He was in such pain, I could see. He was on a lot of medication, but even that could not quell the stabbings of death. I was listless, and not sure of what to do with myself. Deciding to stick to a routine, I made myself breakfast. I put on some background music while I cooked, though it was not upbeat. My music selection lately paralleled my mood. When I finished eating, I ventured into my living room. Spotting a blanket, I wrapped it around me and curled into a tiny ball in the corner of the sofa. All I could do was think about Tristan. It wasn't fair. He was such a good, decent, loving and kind person. He was funny and smart, considerate and caring. He still had so much ahead of him, so much to give. Instead, he was being taken. Fingering the cross on my necklace, all I could wonder was why. Why him? Why now? Why did it have to hurt so much? I didn't hear the key in the lock, or the opening of the door. I didn't even hear the calling of my name the first few times. I was in my own little haze of unanswerable questions, and uncontrollable grief. It wasn't until Mulder bent down beside me and touched my shoulder, that I realized he was there. I noticed that he'd brought bagels, again. Our new Sunday morning routine. It was such a sweet gesture, but I didn't want him here. I needed time, and space. I didn't want to have to appear strong for anybody, while in my apartment. This was my personal place, where I could do whatever I wanted. I didn't want to have to explain myself to anyone; not now. I knew I would have to, though, for Mulder would want to know what was wrong. How does one respond to that question, though, when the answer is "everything"? "Day, what's wrong?" he asked gently. I shook my head, and didn't meet his eyes. Instead, I took great interest in the pattern of my sofa, and lightly traced the lines of it with my fingers. He sat down beside me, and put his other hand on my other shoulder. He carefully tried to turn me towards him, but I still looked down. A teardrop landed in my lap. I watched as it spread on the fabric of my pants, mesmerized by how its very form changed, spread out, until nothing was left. The lonely drop of water had a death of its own. "Talk to me, please," Mulder urged. "Tell me why you're crying, and why you won't talk to me or look at me." "I can't answer that," I whispered. "Yes you can," he contracted. I pulled away from him. "No, I can't. Please go. I need to be alone." "Alone? Dana... I never see you anymore! I've tried calling you every night this week. You took three days off of work... all I want to do is spend time with you." Stopping abruptly, he looked at me, pleading. "I've been visiting Tristan," I informed him with a voice so flat and drained of energy that I hardly recognized it as my own. "Oh, right," he replied. There was an edge to his voice. though he was worried, he was also pissed off. I could sense it. "So tell me, how is Tristan? Do I get to meet him? Does he hate me for everything that happened last year, Scully? What did happen last Christmas? Does he mean more to you than I thought? Something beyond friendship?" His tirade ended, and I knew then that he hadn't meant to say what he did. I knew he must be hurt, but the truth was, I was hurting too. I was so filled with pain and heartache that I didn't care who saw, anymore. I supposed to be a strong, tough special agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I was calm, composed, confident Dana Scully. Well, so much for that facade. Finally, I let loose. All my emotions came boiling to the surface, and needed out. "Don't you ever stop with this?!" I yelled, without meaning to. I was so fed up with this crap, though. Couldn't he see that I was grieving? I was in pain, and needed to be left alone, and that this had nothing to do with him and us? Didn't he trust me? "I thought this was over, Mulder. I thought we were done with the petty fighting, with the jealousy--" "Jealousy?!" he mocked, amused. "Is that what you think this is?" I looked at him, hard, and felt something inside of me let go. My misdirected anger felt so cold, and I was almost certain my consuming gaze of the enraging man before me indicated just that. I surprised myself, when in what seemed to be a complete about-face, my voice came out in an astoundingly cool tone: "That is exactly what this is." Apparently, the cold anger was mine alone. It didn't have what I realized to be the desired effect on Mulder, and that was a sub-conscious plea for him not to challenge my view of the situation. The moment his jaw moved to let his own tumultuous thoughts free, I knew that there would be no simple way out. There never was. And so, he spoke what he believed to be his own truth. "No, Dana. I'll tell you what this is. This is me, being shut out of your life again when you promised to tell me when something is going on. This is me not seeing you all week, and when I do see you you're not acting like yourself. This is me coming here today to find you listening to the saddest goddamn music imaginable," he gestured to my stereo, "and crying your eyes out. All I want to know is what's going on. Or is that too much to ask of you?" I wish I could say that the silence rang. It didn't. It had been disturbed by the said music. I didn't want to look at Mulder, in his confused fury. But I did. I didn't want to hear the music, but still I did. Hear the cry for new life, the mourning flame You were the brightest light that burned too soon in vain Who will bring you back from where there's no return? Fear not, for you're just dreaming... On a winter's day I saw the life blood drained away A cold wind blows on a windless day... And for the third time in probably as many minutes, my inner storm went from the calming eye to anguished remnants. A torrent of tears washed down my face, outdoing the rain that beat against the window. I don't think I'd ever cried so hard in my life. The raw bitterness of life... I wanted it all to end. I felt so empty. Bringing my knees to my chest, I put my head down atop them and let the tears flow. I didn't care that Mulder had witnessed this, nor did I notice when he moved closer beside me. I felt his hand rubbing up and down my back - he'd never seen me quite in this state and despite his earlier words, he just wanted to console and comfort. But to be comforted... how? Everything had hit at once, the losses I had yet to grieve for - mourning for Ahab; for Melissa; for the three missing months of my own life; for Queequeg, and now, for Tristan. Later - I don't know how much as the seconds turned to minutes, and then possibly into hours - Mulder spoke. He said it softly, quietly. "Tell me, Dana." And so I did this time, a sense of numbness and surreality encompassing all around me. I was grieving for a life I'd been seeing fail. "He... he has cancer. A tumor. Cancer of the brain. Tristan's dying." A stunned silence filled the air. Whatever Mulder had been expecting, it certainly wasn't this. It was funny, in a morbid way. That's how I'd reacted to the news, too. Nervously, I worked to stir the stillness that had settled upon us. "He told me as soon as I saw him, but he didn't have to. I knew. He's wasting away. He's so thin, and the beautiful hair was gone... and I almost didn't recognize him. He's blind now, and can barely talk. I've known him my entire life, and to see him like this... He told me that the doctors gave him until Christmas. I think he wanted to spend his last days with his family, and not in a hospital. Oh God, he's dying... and I'm watching him go. It hurts... it hurts so much..." Mulder put his arms around me, and I buried my face into his shoulder. His voice sounded so strained, as if he was trying to choke back tears of his own. "I'm sorry, Day," he whispered. "I'm so, so sorry." He rocked me gently, back and forth. I felt so exhausted. I wanted to be with Tristan. I felt I should be. His life was slipping by, and those hours would be that much less I'd have with my forever friend. However, Mulder coaxed some sense into me. "Scully, it's not a good idea. You'd only upset him, and yourself, more right now." This was true, I had to admit. "What you are going to do is go change into your pajamas and crawl into bed, while I make you some tea. Okay?" This wasn't really what I wanted. I needed a distraction; an escape. But where would I go, and where did I even want to be? And at that moment, I remembered one of the many things Tristan had taught me during this life, but so long ago it may as well have been a past existence. We'd been just 17, and dating at the time. School had ended for the day, and we had been sprawled on the back lawn, at his house. The day had been pristine, and I could recall how wondrous and vast the world had seemed on that day. The sky had shone a bright, warming blue, contrasting to the brilliant emerald colouring of the grass. But still, I was nervous. Final exams were coming up, and I had been especially worried about the one for chemistry. I needed to maintain a high mark; after all, colleges would look at this. Unlike myself, however, Tristan had never shown any signs of stress about much of anything, seeming to enjoy the very essence of life, even at that early and confusing age. I remembered reflecting these thoughts to him, and asking why that was. He'd broken into one of his endearing grins, and told me he'd show me. "Just close your eyes," he'd said. The trusting girlfriend and best friend, I'd done so. He'd made no move from where he was positioned on the carpet of grass, but instead had spoken. "I'm going to teach you something I learned in one of my drama classes, about two years ago. And Dah," that had his name for me then, the softening of the first sound of my name, "please don't laugh when we start. I know you and your giggle fits - and I love you for it - but I also know how skeptical you can be..." He'd trailed off, as if a warning. Keeping my eyes closed, as I basked in the comfort of the sun, I'd smiled lazily. He'd taken in a deep breath, then began speaking in a soothing, gravely sort of voice. "This is referred to as 'relaxation', and you need to start by doing just that. Let yourself sink into the grass; no muscles should be having to work. Take a deep breath in - 1...2...3...4 - hold, 2...3...4, - let it out, 2...3...4. Okay. Think of a place where you feel safe. It could be anywhere, but it's only yours..." He'd talked for at least a half hour, steadily, on that afternoon. I recalled the techniques used - the breathing patterns, the thoughts, the sense of being in such a state of calm and having all of my energy centered in such a fashion that I'd felt almost as if I was drifting with the clouds - and I also remembered how well it had worked. A lot of times, during my work on the X-Files, I'd gone back to that exercise taught to me. It kept me grounded, and so it was ironic that the relaxing sensation felt like floating. It was a freedom of sorts; freedom from myself, and freedom from within. I knew that the relaxation is what I should be doing now, before I made myself sick. It would probably be easier this way, anyhow, not opposing Mulder's wishes for my well-being. So, on wobbly legs, I ventured into my bedroom. Continued (and concluded) in part 4/4... REKINDLING III: BACKDRAFT (4/4) by Jennifer Farwell rfarwell@foxnet.net * * * * * December 24th, 1997. It was Christmas Eve now, one day before Tristan's timeline was predicted to be over. I'd seen him earlier in the day, and wished him a Merry Christmas. Seeing him there, I wished for a miracle. For him to remain alive was all that I wanted for Christmas. I was getting ready, now, to go over to Mulder's apartment. He'd been so wonderful to me since he'd found out what was going on, on Sunday. He left me alone when I needed to be, and was there to hug me when I needed that, too. I needed him tonight, though. Soon, we would be having the special dinner he'd over a week ago, and celebrating our first Christmas together. In spite of Tristan's dwindling life, I knew I had a lot to be celebrating. He'd made me realize how precious life really was. It was time to celebrate the most simple, yet most complicated thing of all: being alive. I appraised myself in the mirror. I wore a deep blue dress, made of crushed velvet, shoes to match, a little more makeup than usual and had put my hair into loose waves. I was just putting on a small diamond stud earring, when my phone rang. Sarah Saunders was on the other end of the line, sobbing. "Dana, he's lapsed into a coma. Please come... he's dying." After hanging up, I left my apartment in a flurry of motion, grabbing only my car keys and coat. * * * * * My apartment looked fabulous. I'd actually cleaned it thoroughly for Dana, and set a pretty decent table. I had to. Tonight was going to be special. Checking my watch, I realized that Scully should be arriving soon. If butterflies in one's stomach represented nervousness, I think I had an entire colony of bat-sized flutterers nesting in mine. I both couldn't wait and felt apprehensive about what I was going to do tonight, Christmas Eve, 1997. I took a look at the black velvet box in my hands, that contained the ring Day had pointed out to me weeks earlier, in the jewelry store. I was going to ask her to marry me. A timer went off in the kitchen, and I quickly slipped the small box into my suit jacket pocket. There would be a lot more time to admire the ring later, if everything went as planned. For now, it was time to perfect the meal. Minutes before Dana was to arrive, I had the candles lit and romantic instrumental music playing quietly in the background. The meal I'd prepared smelled more than delicious. Still, I paced nervously. This was the night every man dreamed of. This was the night I wanted to tell Scully that I wanted to be with her, forever. An hour later, my suit jacket was hanging on the back of a chair, and I'd blown the candles out. I'd tried calling Dana about eight times - at home, and on her cell phone. There was no answer, anywhere. I began to panic, looking at the snow outside of the window. It was finally snowing, the night before Christmas. It was starting to snow hard. I prayed that she hadn't been in an accident. I listened to the radio for accident reports, and kept trying to call her, with no results. All I could wonder was, where was she? * * * * * Tristan's mother, father, a doctor, and a priest greeted me when I arrived at the Saunders' home. Tristan himself was lying, comatose, in the living room. He was still alive, but barely. I only hoped that he could hear me still, in his condition. I knelt down beside his still form, taking his hand and holding it against my face. I knew that there would be no Christmas miracle for us, the ones who cared so much about Tristan. So instead, it was time to say goodbye. I let myself weep now, unable to prevent it. Through the tears, I managed to speak to him, my voice barely above a whisper. "Tristan... my dear, dear, loving friend. I love you. All my life, you were here for me, and I hope I was there for you, too. You've been such a good friend, and I'm blessed to have known you. I don't understand why you were chosen to leave this Earth, to move on into a different existence, but all I can cling to is that it will be better, over there. Heaven will be lucky to have you." Sniffling, I stood up. "Goodbye, my friend." It wasn't a minute later, when Tristan took his final breath. I saw an expression of peace settle across his face, through my blinding tears. I heard Sarah's sorrowful cry, and watched as James embraced her tightly. There was no one to embrace me here, to comfort me now. I needed Mulder, more than ever. * * * * * I'm not sure how I made it over to his apartment, without driving myself right off the road. I was on auto-pilot, feeling nothing but the moisture on my cheeks. I stumbled out of my car, and took the elevator up to Mulder's place. I felt so exhausted, an in so much pain. Weakly, I rapped on the door. A few short moments later, Mulder opened the it, immediately becoming alarmed when he saw me. I was a trembling mess. Quickly, he guided me inside the apartment, closing the door, then wrapped his arms around me. "Oh my God, Dana. What's wrong?" For a long while, I couldn't answer him. I simply stood there, sobbing in the comfort of his embrace. He was rubbing a placating hand up and down my back, stroking my hair, but I was numb. Nothing felt right. What a bitter irony then, what Mulder said next. "Shhh, Day... Everything's going to be all right." His murmurings were doing nothing to calm me. I cried harder, surely drenching his shirt. Finally, Mulder titled my head up to face him. "Tell me what's going on, Day." My voice shook badly, but somehow I managed to choke out the words. "He's gone. Tristan died tonight." My weak declaration over, I buried my head into his shoulder once again. I felt Mulder's attempt to lead me over the couch, and on wobbly legs, did my best to follow him. We walked by a chair that seemed somehow out of place to me, and I knocked something off from the back of it. Pulling away a little to see what it was, I gasped when I took in the scene I'd neglected to see earlier. A table, covered in a white linen table cloth. Two wine glasses, set beside two plates, each just below a partially melted but now-unlit candle. Adorning the center of the table was a bouquet of roses. I felt like slapping myself at that moment. I'd forgotten. This apparently had been of much importance to Mulder, and I hadn't even remembered to call him. It was Mulder bending over to retrieve something off of the floor that finally freed me from my thoughts. I watched him pick up a suit jacket, and heard the thud as an object fell out of one of the pockets and hit the floor. A small black jewelry box. Automatically, I stooped to get it. Unsure of the contents, I turned it over in my quivering hands. Mulder's voice took on a note of desperate panic. "Dana, don't open--" Too late. I already had. Inside, nestled amongst a sea of black velvet, was a diamond ring. Oh lord. It was the ring I'd pointed out to him weeks before, inside that jewelry shop. It was an engagement ring. I felt my legs start to give way, and subconsciously braced myself for the impact of the hard floor. It didn't come, however, for Mulder was there in a flash to catch me. I'm not sure if I blacked out at all. I knew I was being carried to the couch; could feel myself curing into a little ball. I'm not sure how much time elapsed between then and when I finally spoke. I looked into Mulder's eyes, a frightened, nervous expression present there. He didn't know what to say or do, and seemed unsure if he should continue to comfort me, or if he should let me have some space. Most of all, I knew he was worried about my reaction to the contents of that tiny black box. He was going to propose to me tonight, before events beyond either of our control had altered the course of the evening. How I was I supposed to react to all this, now? I drew in an unsteady breath, trying to shake off the secluding haze which insisted on lingering. "Mulder..." I began. THE END November 22, 1997 Okay, so the ending is cruel... but then I wrote it last spring when I had a temperature of 102, and really should have been working on an independent study. Incidentally, the 'relaxation' technique of which the beginnings of were described, is a real thing used in drama classes - at least *my* drama classes, and as I'm in OAC drama (grade 13 for all non-Ontarians :)), I've found its use very effective for the past several years. There's room for a Rekindling IV now... if you want a conclusion to all this, if you've even READ this... I adore feedback! Reach this writer at rfarwell@foxnet.net.