Subject: NEW - Rekindling IV: Into the Fire (1/3)
From: rfarwell@foxnet.net (Jennifer Farwell)
Date: Tue, 30 Dec 1997 03:33:18 GMT

TITLE:  Rekindling IV: Into the Fire
AUTHOR:  Jennifer Farwell
E-MAIL:  rfarwell@foxnet.net
RATING:  PG
CATEGORY:  SRA
SPOILERS:  None
KEYWORDS:  Mulder/Scully romance
SUMMARY:  The aftermath of 'Rekindling III: Backdraft'.  Scully and
Mulder get a little help from Margaret Scully, as they try to deal
with the events of Christmas Eve night.

This is the fourth in the Rekindling series - the others can be found
at the Gossamer sites or by e-mailing me. :)

DISCLAIMER:  We all know that most of the characters within this work
of fiction belong to Chris Carter and the band of merry workers over
at 1013, FOX, etc., with the exception of the memory of Tristan
Saunders, a character that belongs to me.

DEDICATION: This is to everyone who's given me feedback along the way.
:)  Thank you, I don't know if I could ever express how much those
notes in my e-mail in-box mean.  The work, these forthcoming words and
all of me put in to them are for all of you, with my sincerest thanks
and appreciation.  To quote Sarah McLachlan (from 'Sweet Surrender')
"I only hope that I won't disappoint you." :)

NOTE:  The Bill Scully written here... is my interpretation,
pre-Gethsemane or anything like that. <g>  I know he doesn't come off
like the one we've been given, anyhow...

Apologies to all those I told this story would be out weeks ago... my
only defense is that life happened. ;) (School, work, school and work
some more, and some smatterings of socialness have made me quite
pressed for time!)

Here we go...

REKINDLING IV: INTO THE FIRE (1/3)
by Jennifer Farwell
rfarwell@foxnet.net

"Mother, teach me to walk again..."
		--Sarah McLachlan, 'Into the Fire'


December 24th, 1997
Mulder's apartment

It was almost like one of those made-for-TV movies, where at the
climax of it all - that defining turning point - all the action
happens in slow motion.  The only difference between one of those
films and what was really occurring in my apartment right now, was
that this was real.

*Oh dammit, no... please no.*

I'd had Scully secured in my embrace.  She was stunned, shaking,
crying, and in mourning.  It had to be my fault for walking so close
to that chair, where I'd hung my suit jacket.  If I'd thought about
it, I would have realized that fate was just waiting to nab us, to
test our relationship once more.  It was like all those quizzes you
took in classes:  if you could pass those, you'd be prepared for the
final exam.

That final exam was always the simplest, yet most complicated thing of
the whole process.  It was an affirmation of everything you had done
and been through, leading up to that point.  But it was also the most
frightening thing in the world, because it was worth so much.  If you
bombed it, you might not get a second chance.

In a relationship, the final exam before the next, higher level, was
the decision for two people to spend the rest of their lives together.
For me, that exam was going to be tonight.  I was going to ask Dana to
marry me.  Maybe I'd missed a pop quiz, though, somewhere back in
time.

It wasn't supposed to happen this way.

We brushed by the chair, Scully knocking my suit jacket to the floor.
It didn't matter, really, the article of clothing knocked out of
place.  I would have kept going, for I knew she needed to sit or lay
down.  She was mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted.
Something in the stars had different plans for us, however.

Dana stopped.  She looked mystified, trying to take in her
surroundings.  My apartment didn't look as it normally did.  I wanted
to give her all the time she needed to associate the elaborately set
table with the reason for it.  To rush her away from it might only add
to her confusion, and swirling thoughts.  This was all about her,
tonight.  She would lead.

I didn't want to just stand there, and give her a sense of false
impatience.  Instead, I bent down to retrieve my jacket from where it
had fallen.

I finally knew what it was like to experience prolonged time.

I finally felt how it would be to have every movement echo at an
increased volume, reverberating for longer than it should.

I finally experienced a sense of being frozen in place, unable to
prevent anything that was about to occur.

The little black box sent a sonic boom through our lives.

Not now.  It wasn't the right time.  This could not happen.

But it did.

I watched as the scene unfolded around me, a panicked observer.

She saw the box.  She watched it fall.  She picked it up.  She turned
it over in her hands.

"Dana, don't open--"

And then, it was too late.  The box was open, and she found the ring.
It sparkled brilliantly in the dim light, its glimmer far too bright
for the clouds now looming around us.

I had no idea what to do.

Scully's features melted into that of shock.  Her mouth formed a
little 'o'.  And then, she went white.

Suddenly, I could move again.  All the blood had drained from her
face.  She began swaying, and I saw her knees buckle.

Before she could hit the floor, like everything else had on this
traumatic evening, I caught her in my arms.  Instinctively, I brought
her over to the couch, praying for her to wake up soon.  Yet, for all
I wanted to see her physically well, I dreaded the opening of her
eyes.

It was so wrong.  I never meant for it to be this way.  What would she
say?  What would I do?  How would we deal?

When was she going to become conscious again?

Several moments passed before she opened her beautiful but grieving
blue eyes.  I think my heart stopped.  It felt like I was living
outside of my own body, as if I was watching this with another set of
eyes from a distance away.  Oh, how surreal it was.

And when her eyes met mine, the world didn't stop.  And when she
opened her mouth, the snow falling outside did not freeze in time.
All of this was very, very real.

Scully drew in an unsteady breath, entrapping me in the very air she
inhaled.

"Mulder," she began.

Oh, Lord. I had never felt panic like this before.  I waited for her
next words, the ones that could perhaps determine the very fate of our
relationship.

They didn't come.

Looking at her, I could sense that she was at a loss for something to
say.  I wasn't even certain that she knew how she felt.  She was in a
mournful shock, that was all either of us knew for sure.  I think it
was cruel of me to expect any kind of response from her so soon, given
the hand she'd been dealt.

*Merry Christmas, Day.*

She was looking at me.  Oh, no, now she wasn't.  At me, away from me,
at the floor and to the wall.  Her gaze jumped from place to place,
unsettled and startled.  So very much reflecting what was most likely
happening inside of her now.

I didn't want to push it.

Scully was always the strong one of us, the one who was always
seemingly in complete control.  She had a radar of sorts, and was
always here for me when I needed her.  She knew how to comfort, even
without words.  With simply her presence, unbearable heaviness was
always lifted from me, keeping me from sinking into murky waters of my
own creation.

But how would I save her from drowning in her own tides?

How could I, when I was the source of part of the problem.

The minutes ticked past like hours, and silent she remained.  Her eyes
had been fixated in one spot for awhile now, and I suddenly realized
why.

The ring.  I'd left it where it had fallen to the floor, crashing just
like all my dreams in that one, horrible second.

How was it possible to feel heart-wrenching, agonizing loss, when the
one you'd lost was still there with you, curled up into a small little
ball and making no effort to flee?

Tick... tick... tick...

My clock, in the stillness of the room, had suddenly become more
unbearable to hear than Chinese water torture was to feel.  It was
looking as if I'd have to break the silence.

I sat down on the sofa beside Dana, not knowing what else to do.  I
wanted to touch her, to hug her, to smooth her hair and rub her back
and make everything okay.  Those actions might have even worked, too,
if she was eight years old and not numb over the loss of a lifelong
friend and stunned cold over an apparently unexpected and flubbed
marriage proposal.  Knowing better, I did none of that.  Instead, I
spoke carefully.  Quietly.  Guarded.

"Dana..."

She flinched, probably presuming my forthcoming words to be on the
subject of the ring.  How wrong she was.  Right now, I would have
liked nothing more than to have that ring back where it came from, in
the jewelry store that seemed an entire lifetime away from the place
where we were now.

Although cringing inside, I continued.  "I know it's earlier than we'd
planned, but are we still going to your mother's house to spend the
night?  If you don't feel up to facing everyone right now, I can call
her, explain that we're not com--"

She cut off my inquisition, and although her voice was void of any
emotion save for innate sadness, the sound of it was like music.
Hearing her speak assured me she hadn't withdrawn completely into
herself, and offered me a light of hope that maybe all the damage done
tonight, Christmas Eve, wasn't irreparable.  I could only pray for
that, wish for it with all my might, that Christmas miracles really
did happen.  It was looking like we were in dire need of one, now.

"Mulder, I need my mother right now."

I felt a sorrowful storm brewing inside of me then, with that
declaration.  She needed her mother, but she didn't need me.  She
couldn't need me.  I'd only made her wounds fatally deeper.

I inhaled, a bit sharply.  I wouldn't say any of this to her, I
couldn't bleed her to death tonight.  Her pain was so evident, and it
was so rarely that she seemed to experience this emotion so fully.  I
wondered if even she knew how to handle such grief.

"Okay," I said quietly, collecting myself from the couch.  "I'm going
to call her, then, let her know we're coming, and we can go."

I wouldn't ask if I was still invited.  The prospect of what the
answer could be scared me too much.  Scully may not have needed me,
right then, but I sure as hell needed her.  I needed her to be okay.
Emotional scars always ran so much deeper than physical ones, and I
wanted to see her heal.  That was all I desired for Christmas: I never
wanted anything so badly as this.

* * * * * 

I heard him phone my mother, and could only close my eyes in anguish.
My head was pounding, the room was spinning - either that, or my brain
was.  Scientifically, that was probably not possible, considering I
was collapsed into a semblance of the fetal position on Mulder's sofa,
but science wasn't the most important thing on my mind, tonight.  Nor
was my mind reliable and sound enough to guide me.  There was only one
thing I knew for sure, and that was my heart was breaking.

Mulder's voice was low, muffled by walls of another room, but somehow
it rang shrilly in my ears.  I could only stare at everything
encompassing me, drawing in closer and growing smaller by each passing
second.  The couch was shrinking, the lights were brightening, the
sounds of inside and out were too loud.  The candles were too big, and
the floor was too close, and even the ceiling seemed to be caving in.
Everything whirled around me, closing in.  I brought my hands to my
head, and squeezed my eyes shut, tightly.  I wanted it to stop.
Childish as it was, I felt like overpowering it all with the sound of
my own voice; immersing myself in a youthful chant.  The most basic of
all songs was the most appealing - the type where you simply repeated
the word "la" over and over, and added in a "I can't hear you" for
good measure.

I didn't want to hear.

I didn't want to see.

I didn't want to think and my jumbled thoughts were doing a pretty
good job of guaranteeing at least this wish.

The walls were closing in on me, and flashes of light seemed to dart
everywhere.  There were no brilliantly coloured lights, however.  They
existed only inside of me.  Hot and cold, fire and ice, love and hate
and torment.  And now, all I wanted to do was scream.

Instead, I bolted for the bathroom.

I felt like an observer as all the twisted humours that raged a battle
against each other inside of me, purged themselves into the porcelain
toilet bowl.  Humours, what an ironic name for them.  There was
nothing funny about such emotions, all clashing together so fiercely
enough to make you believe you had lost control.  Somewhere in my
scattered brain, an old English lesson surfaced.  Black bile for
melancholy, yellow for a choleric disposition; too much blood made you
sanguine, and phlegm for phlegmatic.  It was strange how I could feel
all of them at once, but the result was like none of them at all.

Mulder found me there, on my knees and in a daze.  I think I was
flushed, now.  It felt like it.  Upon rushing in here, I'd caught a
glimpse of myself in the mirror.  I'd been ghostly white.

He touched me for the first time since breaking my fall, and I didn't
know what I felt.  He wasn't to blame for this, and rationally, I knew
that.  There was a great difference between feeling rationality and
expressing it, though.  His hands were on my shoulders, his head
peering around my shoulder to murmur something that I didn't quite
catch, to me.  Fingers feeling forehead, elbow being prodded upwards.
Suddenly I was on my feet again, and he was keeping me near to him.  I
felt like I should be fighting it, as there was so much between us in
the brief air that separated his body from mine.  I simply didn't have
the strength for any physical protest.

Mulder was bringing me over to the sofa, again.  I didn't want to sit.
Doing the only thing I could think of, I stopped moving.  My cease of
action startled him; he stopped too, and looked at me, searching.

"Are you sure you want to go to your mother's, Scully?" Mulder asked,
probably thinking he had my best interests at heart.  Only I could
know that staying any longer in this now-claustrophobic apartment was
not in my best interest at all.

"I need my mother," I repeated, saying it just as I had when he'd
asked me a variation of the same question, earlier.  "I need my
family."

I think I needed him, too, but couldn't tell.  To him, I was numb, and
I couldn't deal with our particular problem at the time.  It didn't
feel right.  Now, my thoughts should be only of Tristan.

I still could not believe that he was gone.  My friend since infancy
had left this plane of existence, being cheated out of so much.  He
was in a better place, now, but why did it hurt so much to try to
understand that?  He was too young to die, and too good to have been
ripped away from all who loved him, so soon.  He'd always been so
cheerful and patient, gentle and understanding.  He accepted his own
end, even when I wasn't able to.  Since I'd gotten his phone call, I'd
been watching him die.  For the time I knew about his tumor, his
cancer, the end of his life had approached rapidly.  There was so much
to say to him, so many more times I wanted to hug him, and hear his
voice.

And now he was gone.

Silent tears streamed down my face, and I think I heard them fall to
the floor.  Neither I nor Mulder made any attempt to wipe them away.
Instead, we headed outside of that confining apartment to the merciful
relief of the chilling air, escaping to my family.

The salty drops kept trickling, the entire ride there.

Continued in part 2 of 3...



REKINDLING IV: INTO THE FIRE (2/3)
by Jennifer Farwell
rfarwell@foxnet.net

* * * * *

When we arrived at Dana's mother's house, to say I felt somewhat
apprehensive would be an understatement.  I was dreading any scene
about to unfold, here on this holiday night.  I think, most of all, I
feared Margaret Scully herself.  She'd always been like a mother to me
- even when my own could not be; especially then - and she'd entrusted
me with so much of Scully's well-being.  I was frightened of her
disappointment in me, to not better comfort Dana; to only add to her
mournful situation.  Perhaps the subject of the ring, now secured away
in my pocket, would not come up, but Mrs. Scully had a way of sensing
things.  Call it a mother's intuition, or even just psychic
tendencies, but she would know.  I dreaded her disapproval.

She was waiting for us in the doorway as we pulled up in her driveway,
parking amongst the several other vehicles already there.  Not only
would there be Dana's mother herself to deal with, but then there was
the rest of the family.  What a Christmas.  I hadn't said much to
Margaret on the phone, just that Dana was in shock and grief, and
needed her badly.  I assumed that Scully's brothers had also known
Tristan Saunders quite well, and would also be deeply affected.

What an observation:  I hadn't even known Tristan, and I felt his loss
from the world, through Scully.  I was sad for the part of her life
I'd never be able to meet; the part that was lost, and that I couldn't
replace.

When I stepped out of the car, Scully still hadn't moved.  She was
staring straight ahead at nothing, lost amid a haunting reverie.  I
walked around to her side of the car, and opened the door.  Her gaze
snapped back to reality for the moment, and she unfolded from out of
her seat, into the still and chilling night.  Her legs were a bit
wobbly, and so I put an arm around her waist in an offering of
support.

It didn't take Margaret even two seconds before she was at her
daughter's side.  Her eyes met mine, and I could only stare back,
sadly.  There was an unspoken message there, and that was that talk
would come later.  Right now, our priority was Dana.  At this moment,
the said person found her mother in front of her, and quickly leaned
in for a long, consoling embrace.

"Mom," was the only word she spoke, her voice muffled by Margaret's
shoulder.  Mother and daughter rocked back and forth a bit, clinging
tightly to one another.

After several minutes of this, Margaret separated the slightest
distance from Dana.  "Honey, come on inside," she spoke softly.  "It's
cold out here, and we need to get you warm again."

This time, with her mother's arm around her, Scully ventured away from
me.  I felt like an outsider, or an observer, as I watched them go.
After they were nearly at the door, I had the presence of mind to grab
our bags and follow.  It was only 8 o'clock, and already I could sense
that this night would be one that in my mind, would last for nearly
forever.  It was imprinted in my mind, something that would not soon
be forgotten.

When I entered the house, I heard a friendly commotion coming from the
living room.  I saw Mrs. Scully bring Dana into the kitchen, and
wandered in there after them.  Day was escorted to a chair, and I
briefly wondered if I should sit beside her.  I could see, though,
that she needed to be alone with her mother for awhile.  One look from
Margaret told me all I needed to know, there.  Making an about-face, I
headed back into the other direction, to where the rest of the Scully
clan were talking animatedly.

Let it be said that the Scullys are nothing if not welcoming.  When I
entered the room, all eyes turned upon me and so did a lot of smiles.
Although my emotional state was anything but happy, I smiled warmly
back.

"This must be Mulder," exclaimed one of the two men in the room, who
appeared to be the younger.  Mentally, I noted that this had to be
Charlie.

"I would be him," I returned, extending my hand.  "Charlie, right?"

He shook my hand, nodding, as the other man stood up.

"That's right," he affirmed, "and I'm Bill.  It's nice to finally meet
you - we've heard you mentioned so many times by Mom and Dana."

"Speaking of which," Charlie interjected, "Where is our sister?"

Margaret appeared at the doorway, looking a bit troubled but trying
hard not to show it.  "Dana is in the kitchen with me, and she'll be
out in a little while."  She sent the adults in the room a glance that
warned not to press the issue, and that all would be explained later.

I had a hunch that this would be for the benefit of the children, of
which there were two.  They played together at the feet of two women,
who were now introduced by their husbands.

"This is my wife, Tara," said Bill, from the side of the
friendly-looking woman who had short, blond hair.  "This is our
daughter, Chelsea."  He rested his hand on the shoulder of a tiny
young girl, who had wispy blond hair and sparkling blue eyes.

Charlie made his family's introductions in much the same manner.
"This is my wife, Melanie, and our son Aidan."

"Merry Christmas," I greeted all of them, and they returned the
pleasantry.  Spotting a free chair, I settled myself into it.
Although it was nice, meeting the Scully family, I was drained of all
energy.

The adults seemed to get the hint from my sudden quietness that
something was brewing, and that it concerned Dana.  They also seemed
to infer that it was the children she and her mother were waiting on;
it was them that they did not wish to upset.

Tara looked at her watch.  "You know, you two, it's getting past your
bedtimes!  You have to go to sleep before Santa will come."

The two children looked excited at the prospect of Santa Claus
visiting, but also a little disappointed.  "We want to see Aunt Dana,"
Chelsea protested.

Getting up from the chair, I moved over to the children and knelt down
to meet them at eye-level.  "Well, I'm afraid I've got some very
interesting news for you, concerning your Aunt Dana.  Believe it or
not, she's busy making sure that Santa knows where you are, this year,
so he can't get lost on his way.  You can't see her right now, but I
promise you that you can see her in the morning."

Their eyes grew wide, as their parents' eyes filled with relief.

"Really?" breathed Aidan.

"She TALKS to Santa?" Chelsea chimed in.

"She does," I promised.  "So if you want her to let you know all about
him, you two had better get off to bed!"

My tale had worked:  not fifteen minutes later, the children were
tucked snugly into their beds, content and excited over the surprises
the next morning would bring.  When all was quiet from upstairs, and
Tara and Melanie were seated once again in the living room, Margaret
saw fit to bring Dana to the rest of the family.

My gaze swept over her carefully, looking for any signs of change in
any manner during the past 25 minutes or so since I'd last laid eyes
upon her.  She appeared to be more composed, now, but still somewhat
stunned.  There was some puffiness in her eyes, and a few tear stains
adorning her cheeks.  All I wanted to do was be by her side; be there
to lean on and get consolation from in this sad time.  What I did, in
actuality, was stay seated.

Dana's brothers and their wives had been suspecting that something was
amiss, and her grieving state only confirmed these notions.  They
didn't ask for the news, though.  They remained silent, until Dana was
ready to speak.

A tear welled up at the corner of her left eye.  I could see it form,
and watched it fall, as she inhaled and prepared to deliver the
horrible news.

"I, um... I..." Dana started, looking at the floor and then to her
family, and brushing the tear from her cheek,  "Last week I had a
phone call from Tristan."  She stopped for a moment, to collect her
thoughts, and probably to decide upon a way to best present her story.

"Tristan Saunders?" Charlie interjected.

She nodded.  "Yes.  I'd seen him last year around this time, and he
was back in town again.  He wanted to see me, and I was excited to see
him again.  But things were not the same, this time.  Last Tuesday, I
found out that... he... he..."

She burst into fresh tears, and it broke my heart.  I could not
restrain myself from bolting to my feet, and wrapping my arms around
her, guiding her over to the sofa from where she could be the bearer
of the remainder of the news.  As I felt her tears mingle with my own
- and I hadn't even realized that I'd been crying - I looked up to see
four very frightened faces, and another one who was prepared for this,
in tears.

Scully lifted her head up, to face her family once more.  She spoke
slowly, almost as if she waited for long enough, what she said would
no longer be true.

"He had cancer."

I heard several sharp intakes of breath come from around the room, and
a few worried glances were exchanged.  I thought I heard Bill murmur,
"Poor Tristan," but I cannot be sure if it was him.  My attention was
focused on the woman beside me, who had yet to deliver the final blow.

She waited for her brothers to be silent, and for her own fervent
sniffles to subside before continuing.  "He was very sick, and I could
hardly recognize him.  He was in so much pain...  Tristan d-... He
died tonight."

The room became quiet enough to hear the buzzing of a lamp lit in the
corner.  There were tears upon the faces of Dana's siblings, and
expressions of secondhand sadness on those of their wives.  Of course,
they could not grieve for a man they never knew, but feel only for
their husbands, whom the news had obviously affected.

Bill was the first one to break the heavy silence.  Shaking his head,
with the tears still streaming, he protested.  "No... no... God..."

"He was like a brother to us," Charlie whispered.

Dana left me, then, to embrace her brothers.  Margaret joined them,
and I watched on again; an outsider.

Christmas Eve, 1997.  It should have been a happy night, a cause for
celebration.  But when I went to sleep that night, all I felt was a
physical ache so extreme that I wondered if I wasn't internally
bleeding.

* * * * *

The sun had barely risen the next morning, when I felt myself jolt
into wakefulness.  Before I even opened my eyes, I could feel Mulder
watching me.  There was hardly a doubt in my mind that he'd lain awake
for most of the night, his gaze fixated upon my restlessly slumbering
form.  It was sweet, yes, and it was unnerving.  I had no idea what to
say to him, or how to deal with him, and cursed the fact that my mom
had put us together in the same room.

She'd meant well, I knew.  Here in the room that Melissa and I had
shared, where the two beds we'd slept in during childhood still
remained, Mom had probably thought that Mulder could keep a watchful
eye on me, and be here if I needed him.  What she didn't know was our
newest problem, one that was providing great difficulty in
communication between the two of us.  I knew this, and I'd be willing
to bet that Mulder knew this, but neither of us could do a thing about
it.  The situation we were in was too complicated, and the wounds were
too fresh to cut into, even more.

I didn't want to open my eyes.  If I kept them shut, a childlike voice
in my mind told me, perhaps everything that had happened within the
last 24 hours would really not have happened at all.  I would not have
found the ring, and Tristan would still be alive.  I felt a tear
escape from one of my eyes at the latter thought, and an ache spring
up inside me from deep within.

I missed him so much, already.

How could I get up, and face a day that should be spent in
celebration, when all I wanted was to see my lifelong friend again?  I
felt an empty space inside of me, one that I knew would not soon be
filled.  There was only one question that ran through my mind, in a
continuous loop.

Why?  Dear God, why?

He'd never had the chance to be married, or to have children; never
had in reality, that conjured image of the perfect suburban home with
the white-picket fence.  And even if that wasn't what he still wanted,
what about anything else that he had?  Yes, he'd travelled to many
places in the world, often in two countries within as many days.  His
life on the road and his success with Broken were a part of all that
he was, but what about all that he still had left to do?

What about the rest of his future?

A lifetime of opportunities and promises had been ripped away from one
of the most deserving people I'd ever had the fortune to know.  He was
so bright, charming, understanding, and had always been such a great
friend.  He'd had so much to live for, and so much ahead of him.

He hadn't even seen Christmas day.

And what about the ones he'd left behind?  As selfish as the thought
was, it always circled back to why.  Why us?  Why now?

Why did it have to hurt so much?

I could feel moisture on my cheeks, and knew my cover was blown.  If
Mulder was watching me, as I presumed him to be, he'd know that I was
awake.  Sure enough, I heard the bed across the room creak slightly,
in response to weight moving from it, and heard soft footsteps tread
their way over to my side.  I resigned myself to the simple truth of
the morning, that Mulder was here and Tristan was gone.  Opening my
eyes, I faced the bitter sunlight.

He was sitting there, beside me now, as sleep-rumpled as could be.  I
couldn't offer him words, but he offered me several tissues to wipe
away my tears.  Silently, I accepted them.  He watched as I tried in
vain to compose myself, and in his eyes I could see flickers of worry.

He spoke the first words of the morning.  "Are you okay?"

His voice was hoarse, and his tone was quiet.  In my head, and in my
fractured heart, I knew that I was far from okay.  Somehow, though, as
much as I trusted the man sitting beside me, I could feel the air
abuzz with awkwardness.  The many things unsaid surrounded me, and
made me unable to let down my defenses enough to admit the turmoil I
was still in, in the aftermath of all that had occurred last night.
All I could do was provide the automatic response.

"I'm fine."

What a lie that was.

For a fraction of a second, I thought I saw something akin to anger
flicker across his face.   For a few moments, he sat absolutely still,
looking at the clock.  I wanted to say something to fill the empty
silence, that seemed to scream of uneasiness, but found that nothing
came to mind.  Slowly, he nodded his head and stood up.  As I watched
him go, I had to wonder:  was I watching him go, for good?  Would this
latest occurrence come between us, to a point where we couldn't go
back to what we once had?  It shouldn't have been able to do that, I
knew.  We were stronger than that.  But how do you bring up a subject
as delicate as that, when you don't even have the strength to face the
day ahead of you?  How does the other person involved bring it up,
when they're probably embarrassed, hesitant, and uncertain of what to
do?

How would we move on from here?

I thought, for a brief moment, that maybe I should just say something
about it.  Right here, right now, no more fooling each other about the
significant impact of what last night had brought.  The subject was
painful, and awkward to bring up, but there would never be a right
time to do it.  I opened my mouth--

--And into the room burst Chelsea.

She flew onto my bed, as I pasted a look of happiness onto my face.
"Well, Merry Christmas, young lady!"

Her eyes were wide open, sparkling with the enthusiasm, excitement and
wonder that can only be present in a child.  "Aunt Dana!  Santa came!
You told him that we'd be here, and he came!"

I was perplexed, for a moment, about Chelsea's claim.  I'd told Santa
that she would be at this house?  Where did she ever hear that?  As it
turned out, I didn't have to wonder for very long.

Chelsea had spotted Mulder, and bounced brightly over to him.  "You
were right!  Aunt Dana does talk to Santa!"

Ah-ha.  Apparently this was something I had missed last night, while
in the kitchen with my mother.  I could feel Mulder's eyes upon me, as
he lifted Chelsea into his arms.

"Yes, she certainly does.  But since your aunt was up pretty late last
night, making sure that he knew where you and Aidan would be, why
don't we let her rest for a few more minutes?  Let's go make her and
your parents some coffee, then we can wake everyone up."

"Okay!" she agreed, easily.  The two left the room, and I watched them
go.  It was quite a picture, Mulder with a young child.

Eventually, everyone in the house rose to greet the day.  My mother,
brothers and I were somewhat subdued, but it went unnoticed by Chelsea
and Aidan.  The two were enraptured with the toys they unearthed from
the gift-wrapped boxes.  It occurred to me, in passing, that Mulder
and I had neglected to bring our gifts for each other with us.
Presents for the rest of my family had been packed with everything
else I'd brought, but we'd planned on exchanging gifts after dinner.
Oh, well, just another thing that last night had caused to go awry,
though it was rather insignificant in light of everything else.

We had our traditional Christmas breakfast, afterwards.  Mulder and I
sat stiffly beside each other, as we ate rather mechanically.  We
listened to the idle chatter that floated around us, neither of us
contributing a word.  This did not go unseen by my mom.  On several
occasions I saw her worrying glance, and felt her intuition beginning
to kick in.  Sound the alarm, Mom was onto us...

It wasn't until early afternoon that she approached me about it.  I
was sitting on the sofa in the living room, deeply in thought.  I had
a lot to think about, and contemplate, here in what could only be
called The Day After.  In this downtime, all that could be done was a
lot of introspection.

I broke out of my thoughts when my mother sat down beside me.  Her
expression was filled with concern, and I could sense the question to
be put forth.

"Is everything all right, sweetie?" she asked.  "You look a little
lost."

"I feel kind of lost," I admitted, grateful for the motherly warmth
she exuded.  "This whole thing with Tristan has me a little adrift."

Her brow creased, slightly, and I got the impression that she was
having a debate with herself, in her mind.  When one side seemed to
win out, she spoke again.

"Is that all that's the matter?"

Though I knew she was probably referring to her observances at
breakfast, I didn't feel like giving out any information that dealt
with my relationship with Mulder, at this time.  Instead, I acted
puzzled.  "That's all - that's enough."  She nodded in agreeance, but
still appeared unconvinced.  "Why do you ask?"

"Motherly concern," she replied.  "I was just wondering if maybe
something troubling you and Fox.  You two seem pretty quiet around
each other."

I gave a tiny shrug.  "Yeah, well..."  I spread out my hands, a
gesture of helplessness.  "I'm just pretty shaken up right now."

"I know you are, Dana," she said, giving me a hug.  Pulling back after
a moment, she looked me squarely in the eyes.  "I'm just trying to
help."

"I know that, Mom," I whispered.

She gave me a small smile, and left me then.  Unsettled by our
conversation, I turned my attention to the happenings at the other end
of the living room.  Mulder was down on the floor with Aidan and
Chelsea, serving as somewhat of a human jungle gym.  The three of them
were having a great time.  I heard Mulder chuckle as my niece and
nephew knocked him down, and the childish squeals and giggles that
ensued were a sound that was magical.  For all of Mulder's problems in
relating to many adults, he was wonderful with children.  He would
make a terrific father.

But for him to be a father, there had to be a mother.  First, a wife.

And suddenly, my thoughts went back to the ring.

* * * * *

Nothing improved at all, the rest of the day and night.  Dana and I
hardly spoke at all.  I don't know if her brothers or their wives
noticed this, but I was certain that Mrs. Scully had.  I dreaded the
point in the night that we would go to bed.  The confines of the room,
shared with the uneasiness we had about one another, made everything
incredibly claustrophobic.

The night was once again a very long one.  Neither of us slept much, I
knew.  Lying in the smothering darkness, I listened to Dana's
breathing.  She was awake for most of the time that I was, and she
knew that I was not sleeping, either.  There was so much that we
should be saying.  But where to even begin?  I pondered all the
possibilities.

*"Scully, about last night..."*

Yes, indeed, what about last night?  Apologize for the ring?  As sorry
as I was that she found it under the circumstances she did, I wasn't
regretful for the thoughts that had brought me to that point.  I loved
Dana, so very, very much.  I wanted to be with her for the rest of my
life.

*Don't you think that will be rather difficult, given the fact that
you can't even have a conversation with her right now?*

It was almost as if we were in agreeance not to bring up the painful
subject around each other.  I'm not sure if we could, anyway.  We
might as well have both been speaking foreign languages,
incomprehensible to the other, for any communication we'd had in the
past day.  I used to pride myself on being able to read Scully, no
matter what the situation.  Of course, it had never been so personal
before.

And through the night, we did not talk.

I couldn't even tell if she wanted to.  From the moment we rose from
our beds the next morning, she avoided all eye contact with me.
Everything felt so strained, and so stifling.  I think, most of all,
we needed an escape from this precarious position we'd been forced
into.

After breakfast, I thought perhaps it was time to make a graceful
exit.  Dana, Bill and Tara, Charlie and Melanie, and Chelsea and Aidan
had all gone ice skating, on the little rink set up in the backyard.
It was time to let Scully be with her family, I knew, as I could feel
the tension that loomed between us mounting even more.  I think we
both needed some time apart.  Quickly, I packed everything of mine,
and headed downstairs.

Upon nearing the living room, I heard a voice address me.

"Fox, I want to talk to you for a moment," Margaret requested, as I
walked past.

I took a few steps backward, and into the room where she sat,
knitting.  "About Dana?" I asked.

"About her and you, actually," she said, putting the wool and needles
aside.  "Come, sit down."

I followed her instructions, and turned my gaze to face her.

"I have a feeling that what's happening with Dana is more than
Tristan's death," she began.  "I know my daughter well enough to sense
that.  Tell me, Fox, am I right about this?"

All I could do was nod.

"Look... I understand that this might be something private, that you
don't want to share with me and I respect that, but is there anything
going on that I should know about?"

What could I say?  The last thing I'd ever want to do is deliberately
lie to Margaret, but I didn't want to betray anything that Dana might
want to keep to herself.  Helplessly, I looked down at my hands.

"I know that something's wrong with my daughter, and also with you,"
she said softly.  "All I want to do is help."

It would do no good to deny the fact that something was most
definitely not right, between Dana and I.  So, after first breathing
deeply, I decided to confirm her suspicions of something being amiss.

"We both want to help Day... but I don't know how to fix this," I told
her, most likely looking hopeless and forlorn.

"Fix what, Fox?" she asked gently.

I remembered the ring, and felt that to be the best means of
explanation.  I pulled the box out of my coat pocket, and handed it to
her.

"How to fix this," I said.

Margaret looked first at me, then at the box.  Carefully, she opened
it.  I saw a flash of surprise glimmering in her eyes, as she softly
closed the velvet case and handed it back to me.

"I see..." she murmured quietly.

"Mrs. Scully... I didn't mean for it to happen the way it did.  I
mean, I'd planned on asking Dana to marry me on Christmas Eve, but I
wasn't going to do it with the state that she was in.  She discovered
the box by accident, and we haven't really talked about it.  I never
actually said the words to her, and right now all that is kind of
lying between us."

"I know you would never do anything to intentionally hurt her,"
Margaret assured me.

"I love her so much."

"I know."

We sat there in thoughtful silence for a few minutes.  Finally, I
mumbled an excuse about needing to leave for home.  I thanked her for
having me over, and wished her a happy new year, then hurriedly
escaped the room.  I could only hope that Margaret was coming up with
a way to undo the damage I had inadvertently caused.  It was looking
like she would be the only one who could.

Continued and concluded in part 3/3...



REKINDLING IV: INTO THE FIRE (3/3)
by Jennifer Farwell
rfarwell@foxnet.net

* * * * *

Mulder's departure was both something of a disturbance, and a relief
to me.  It had been growing increasingly uncomfortable to be around
him, especially when I knew that my mother had noticed something wrong
between us.  I didn't know if Bill or Charlie had caught onto this,
but if they had, they were keeping that to themselves.  I was
appreciative to be surrounded by family, as I was drawing on them for
the strength that I didn't have.  It was a comforting thought.

What unsettled me, however, was that Mulder had left without even a
goodbye.  Though it shouldn't have seemed like such a big deal, given
the circumstances we found ourselves in, it was.  It was a signal to
me that things were falling apart, fast.  I knew that he was not the
only one to blame, here, that I was a large part of it.  In spite of
that recognition, it still hurt.

Late that night, as I sat in the living room watching TV, I heard my
mother come into the room.  She sat in the chair to the left of me,
without a word.  She stayed silent for a long while, until I couldn't
help but look over at her.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she questioned.

"Talk about what?" I replied.

She was sitting calmly, and her voice matched her position.  "About
what happened between you and Fox."

It sounded almost like she knew, but she didn't.  There was no way
that she could.  Sighing, I drew my fingers through my hair in
distraction, and answered her.

"I told you, Mom, I'm just upset about Tristan."

"Dana Katherine, your father and I raised you to tell the truth.  And
given the fact that the truth is what you and Fox try and seek, every
day in your line of work, I'd advise you to start practicing your own
policy."

Her words were sharp, but her tone was not.  She was still kind, and
caring.  However, she was also confusing me.

"Mom, it's late... and I'm a little unsure of what exactly you're
after."

"Okay then, fair enough."  She paused for a moment, her gaze piercing
right into my eyes.  "How much more is the issue with the ring you
found upsetting you?"

"What?!"  The word flew out of my mouth.  "How did you know...?"

"I had a little talk with Fox, before he left this morning."

I couldn't believe it. "He told you about the ring?"  She nodded.
"Why?"

"Dana, he didn't just come up to me and announce it.  I stopped him
before he left, because I wanted to help.  You two make each other
miserable when you're having problems.  You've been through so much
together, and when I can see something wrong, well... I have to
meddle.  I'm your mother."  She smiled at me, and I couldn't help but
weakly smile back.

"Okay, so you know about it.  You know what happened."

"Well, I can infer what happened," she responded.

"Then maybe you can tell me what to do?"  I suggested.  "We can't talk
to each other... it's so hard.  It's like, I can only deal with so
much at a time.  I don't want to bring up the subject, but I want to
fix this."

My mother spoke seriously, then.  It was when she was serious, that I
always listened and took things to heart.  "Dana, you can't fix
anything by avoiding the issues."

"I know," I whispered, quietly.  "But I don't know what to do.  You're
my mother, you have to have some advice.  Tell me what to do."

She thought for a few minutes, but when she spoke again, she was
shaking her head.  "I can give you suggestions, but I can't tell you
what to do.  No one knows what to do, but you and Fox.  I know I'm
supposed to be the one who can solve everything - at least, that's
what you're supposed to think that your mom can do when you're a
little girl.  It's like when a mother tries to teach her child to walk
- there's only so much you can do, mere suggestions of how to move
your legs.  It's something that you have to do for yourself, though.
Only you can know what feels right, and how to keep your balance."

"Can you help us find our balance?"  I asked, downcast.  "We need to
do something... but I think we're both afraid to try to do anything."

She looked at me, trying to be supportive, but troubled, as well.  I
knew how much she cared about Mulder and I.  She knew how much he
meant to me, especially after last year.  I'd come to her, completely
broken, the day he'd vanished without a trace.  This time, he had been
in plain sight, but we couldn't reach each other.  I don't think she
wanted us to hurt ourselves, anymore.

"I think what you two need... is each other."

It was an obvious answer, but not exactly the one I'd been looking
for.

"I know that, Mom," I assured her, "but how do we relate to each
other, again?  There's so much that we're trying to avoid, wishing
that there was an easier way around it, or maybe believing that if we
ignore it, it will go away.  There is no easier way, though, and it's
not going to disappear.  We both know it, but we still can't find the
words to make this better."

She stayed silent for a few moments, and I wondered if this was
perhaps the end of our conversation.  I'd opened up to her, in hopes
that she'd have some magical advice, but I knew that had been foolish.
Like she'd pointed out, a mother could try to teach her children how
to walk, but ultimately, the children had to do it for themselves.
Mulder and I would have to find our own way out of this problem.

My mom surprised me, when she spoke again.  "Sometimes, honey, to heal
an infection, you have to bleed the wound a little more.  You two are
going to have to talk, even if it's uncomfortable.  If you don't, I'm
afraid that you might lose one another.  I think that would be the
biggest mistake of all, don't you?"

I nodded.  We would have to talk, but I wasn't ready for that, yet.
Perhaps I was being cowardly, and still trying to avoid the pain of
it, but I told myself that first I would get through Tristan's
funeral.  And after that, what would be, would be.

* * * * *

December 30th, 1997

The day before New Year's Eve was the day of Tristan's funeral.  It
was time to try and say a final goodbye to the friend I'd grown up
with, and had so many memories of.  When I walked into the church,
that betrayingly mild winter morning, I felt a bit of surprise.  I
guess I'd been stuck back in the days of high school, when Tristan and
I had had our group of friends, and was expecting those faces.  What I
saw, instead, was a lot of unfamiliar ones.

Of course.  Tris had been on the cusp of stardom.  Recognizing this
fact that had never really dawned on me, before, my eyes also wandered
to a group of men in one of the front pews.  The faces were familiar,
a memory from just over one year ago.  These were the remains of the
group Broken, aptly suiting their name, today.  One of them was
looking at me, and stood to greet me as I hesitantly made my way to
where they were seated.

It was Shandy Williams who extended his hand to me.  "Hi, Dana," he
said, searching my face from a vague recollection.  We had only met
briefly the year before, when Broken had played a concert here in
Washington.

"Do you remember me?" he continued.  I nodded.

"Hi Shandy," I replied.  I looked at the three men beside him, who
were now also standing.  I hadn't met them last year, and Shandy
remembered this.

 I saw the sorrow that lingered in his dark green eyes, and the same
feeling echoed in the gaze of three men beside him who had also risen.

He turned to them, and made brief introductions.  "Dana, this is Davin
Shalley, Jamie McLowry, and Austin Lethridge."

Shandy became quiet after that, as was everyone else.  Really, there
was nothing to say.  After greeting them, I excused myself for a
moment. Saying that we were sorry would do no good.  We both felt
probably equal amounts of grief, each of us playing a large part in
the life of the young man we were to bury, today.   I saw the sorrow
that lingered in Shandy's dark green eyes, and the same feeling  was
echoed in the gazes of the other three men.  At a loss for anything
else to say, I excused myself.

I headed towards the casket, thankfully closed.  It was here that I
offered a prayer over him, wishing for him better things on the other
side of existence.  When I turned back to sit down, I saw my mother
and brothers sitting near the front, and joined them.  The church was
nearly filled, with people that I both knew, and did not know.  Some
were relatives, some were old friends, and some were simply fans of
Broken.  In that instant, I could see how much Tristan's passing had
affected many people, and somehow felt an overwhelming sense of pride
in my friend.  Though he was gone, now, he had touched many people.
Somehow, he had shared a piece of the goodness that was him.

When the service was over, the minister made an announcement to the
body of mourners who sat, somewhat tearfully.

"The family thanks everyone who came to say goodbye to Tristan
Saunders, but ask that only relatives and close friends of the
deceased continue on to the cemetery."

And so, a smaller group of us made up the procession that would be
there, to protect the one we cared about, until he was finally laid to
rest.

I wasn't hearing anything, and wasn't seeing anybody, until my mom put
something in my hand.

The minister's voice floated through the stillness of the air.
"...Ashes to ashes, dust to dust..."

I looked at my hand, and in it was a yellow rose.  In the silence that
ensued I laid it rose onto the casket, a symbolization of our
friendship only interrupted by death.  I felt tears streaming down my
cheeks, and choked back on a sob.  When all the flowers were laid upon
the coffin, and we had observed it for a few minutes, the group of
mourners began to dissipate.  I, with my family, began to leave as
well.

We had only taken a few steps when I felt my mom looking at me.  When
I turned my head to meet her glance, she only lightly squeezed my arm,
and moved away from me in a different direction, along with my
brothers.  Puzzled, I started to follow, when I felt my eyes search
the area where we had just been headed for.

It was then that I saw him.

* * * * *

I'd seen the moment that Dana placed a yellow rose onto Tristan's
casket, and by some link we had, still undeteriorated by all we had
been through, felt the pain that she was in.  This would be her last
goodbye to a very good friend.  To some people - namely, those that we
worked with - Scully often came across as cool, and unfeeling.  I knew
how sensitive she was, though.  I could sense how deeply she was
hurting.

I didn't know why I was here, other than that I wanted to see her.  I
think, somewhere in my mind, I felt that I could be here for her; that
she'd know of my presence and maybe find a comfort in it somewhere,
even after all that had happened.  We were both so confused.  I hadn't
heard from Day since I'd left Margaret's house several days ago, and I
had to wonder what the future would hold for us.

For all my wondering, though, when I saw Dana walking with her mother
and brothers, I was suddenly only concerned about the present.

I should have turned back to my car, and left without her seeing me.
Who was I to remind her of more unpleasant things, on a day already
laden with that?  Who was I to assume that she would take any
consolation in my being there, lurking at a distance?

I didn't turn away, though.  I was rooted to the spot.

And then she saw me.

She stood, frozen on the path that ran between the many headstones.  I
wondered if she'd turn away, but by some miracle, she did not.  She
was looking right at me, into my eyes, and it gave me the courage keep
walking to her.  Something happened then, though.  Something, that in
the course of any relationship, was of great significance.

She met me halfway.

* * * * *

Mulder was there.  He had been waiting for me, on the fringes of the
cemetery, wanting to be there but not wanting to intrude.  Despite our
distance during the last almost-week, he was there for me.  As I
looked at him, into the eyes that were an insight into his heart, I
felt the tuggings of the bond that had always joined us together.

I met him, halfway.

When we were together, for the first time since he'd left my mother's
house, he wiped a tear from my cheek.  I tried to smile at him in
appreciation of his gesture. When I looked at him, though, it was all
I could do to keep from bursting into a fresh round of sobs.  I could
see his heartache reflected in his eyes, the expressive windows to his
soul.  I could feel my own pain welling up inside of me.  It was not
pain for losing Tristan, but agony for losing myself; for losing
Mulder, too.  We'd been through too much to let this crumble, now.
But still, we were losing sight of each other, with no visible route
back onto the right path.  In the past few days, we had tread so far
away from one another that we were too far away to see who we were.
We had gotten through numerous difficult situations before, together -
too many to count.  Together, we could get through this.

We owed ourselves at least that much.  We needed to try.

But I could see in Mulder's tear-clouded eyes, and feel in his
tentative embrace, the uncertainty on what to do.  He'd been waiting
for a signal from me, and letting me lead since the night of Tristan's
death.  Hindsight was 20/20, and I could see that now.

I would have to be the one to get us back on course.  Still, I needed
time to think about what I was going to do.

When all remnants of my tears had been wiped away, and when I'd taken
the time to find Mulder's hand and squeeze his fingers with my own, I
whispered to him a tender thank you.  I could see a light starting to
shine deep within his eyes, like a beacon of hope.  I could only pray
that he could continue to be patient, while I figured out how I was
going to fix the mess we were immersed in.

"Do you need some company, Day?" he asked gently.  I think he wanted
to assure himself that he was reading me right, and that I was willing
to let him in, again.

I didn't want to disappoint him, but fate always seemed to have it
that way.  "Actually," I admitted, "I'm heading over to the reception
at the Saunders'.  I want to be there for Sarah and James, to see if
they're okay."

Any light which had sparked was suddenly blotted out by an immense
darkness.  I saw Mulder stiffen, withdraw, and felt a sharp stab
pierce into my heart.  I wanted to yell out that no, I hadn't meant it
as a rejection of him.  I was simply telling the truth about my plans
for the rest of today.  I knew that I'd probably want to be alone
after being surrounded by all the people Tristan had been closest to,
to come to terms with myself and help put the worst of my grief at
rest.  I silently pleaded with him, to please understand.

Instead, he turned away.

He was a good few feet distanced from me, when I finally realized that
he was leaving.  Quickly, I ran after him and caught his arm.  He
stopped, but did not turn back to me.  When I stepped in front of him,
and searched his face, I saw tears beginning to fall down his cheeks.
My heart constricted.  I loved him so much, but we were in so deep.

It shouldn't have been this way.

He bent his head down, perhaps to hide himself from me.  We'd been
doing that for far too long, now, scared to intrude into the other's
comfort zone.  All it had taken was these past few moments to come to
a definite decision.  Some way, somehow, we were going to put an end
to all this misery, and we were going to do it before the new year.

"Look at me," I commanded, quietly.  Slowly, Mulder did as told.  "I
did not mean that I don't want you around.  Yes, I'm going to be with
those people closest to Tristan, tonight, but that in no way means
that we should be turning away from each other, now."

He sniffled, and harshly wiped a tear from under his eye.  "I think
it's a little late for that, Scully.  I think we already have." 

His tone was so full of sorrow, it was like he was watching someone or
something dear to him die.  And I guess, on his end through his
perception of what was happening, he was.  I wanted to help him.  We
needed each other, to begin to heal again.  Together, we could be
whole.

"Maybe we did, but I think it's about time we turned back.  Don't
you?"  He said nothing, but simply nodded.  I took this as a sign to
continue.  "Okay then.  See?  We're getting back on track, already.  I
do want your company, Mulder, just not tonight.  Can you understand
where I'm coming from?"

He nodded again, apparently unable to trust his own voice.  I was
finding it a miracle that I could trust my own.

"Good.  I'm glad.  So tell me, do you have any plans for New Year's
Eve, tomorrow night?  Because I think I'm really going to need your
company, then."

He seemed a bit surprised by my invitation, but there was relief mixed
in with that, as well.  "You name it, Day, and I'll be there."

I smiled at him, feeling a weight slowly lifting from me.  We were
taking the first steps back to what had been a great thing.  "Tomorrow
night, 7 o'clock.  My apartment.  I know it's not the wildest New
Year's Eve bash happening--"

"But it's the only one I want to be at," Mulder concluded.  And then,
like the sun rising after a long, and bitterly cold night, he smiled
back at me.  It was a wonderful thing to witness.

On a sudden impulse, I leaned in to hug him.  I felt his arms come to
encircle me, and the familiar weight of his chin rest on the top of my
head.  We stayed there for a good minute or so, until a chilling gust
of wind came blasting upon us.  We pulled back, reluctantly.  Before
heading in the direction of his car, Mulder spoke to me once more.

"7 o'clock.  I'll see you then."

As I watched him retreat, I began to wrack my brain.  I had just over
24 hours to come up with a way to reverse all the damage that had been
done.

* * * * *

December 31st, 1997

In all the time I'd known Mulder, I'd never dreamed that I would one
day be breaking into his apartment.  Well, not breaking in, exactly -
it's a little more legal when one has a key, but it was still entering
with the purpose of removing something from the premises, unbeknownst
to the occupant of the residence.  Sliding my key into the lock, I
turned it to open the door, and slipped stealthily inside.

I'd finally come up with a plan, a way of once more opening the lines
of communication we used to be frequent users of.  It had come to me
last night, in the wee hours of darkness that followed the reception.
I'd been lying in bed, unable to sleep.  The reception had been more
upbeat than anything else had, this entire week.  I had talked with
Shandy, Davin, Jamie and Austin, who were really a great group of
people.  I was glad that Tris had been surrounded by such wonderful
people in the last few years of his life, when we hadn't seen each
other all that often.  We had traded stories, good memories.
Surprisingly, some of the guys had already heard the stories that I
told.  It was like they'd known me through Tristan, and I felt a
connection with the four men.  I had a feeling that we would probably
see more of each other, throughout our lives, joined through this sad
event.  Perhaps something good had come from something bad.

I had been thinking about everyone - Tristan's parents, my family,
Broken... and Mulder.  I was reflecting back on the week, and
everything that had happened.  Though Tristan had been laid to rest,
there was something in me that had not.

The proposal that wasn't meant to be.

I could still see the ring in my mind, falling to the floor.
Everything had been so surreal, that night, and not dealt with very
well at all.  It was time to change that, and it could only be done by
going back to that night.

I was going to find the ring.  I'd had it in my hands once, and not
done anything about it.  Tonight, Mulder and I would have to confront
it, again.  First, though, I would have to find it.

It had been a strange plan, that had formed in my mind.  It wasn't
even a very sure one, for it relied on circumstances beyond my
control.  Mulder would have to leave his apartment, before I could go
inside and find the ring.  What if Mulder didn't leave?  What if he'd
returned the ring?

Somehow, though, fate was on my side.  Maybe that was a good omen for
what tonight would bring.  From where I had parked, down the street, I
saw Mulder leave his apartment.  In that window of opportunity, I
hurried up to his place, where I was now.  I looked first in the
cluttered living room, in drawers and on tables.  When it did not turn
up, a horrifying thought startled me.

What if it was still in his jacket?

I was pretty sure that was where he'd put it, Christmas Eve night.  It
had scared me to think that the ring was still with us, haunting us,
at my mother's house.  I hadn't wanted to deal with that, just then.

But now I wanted to deal with it.

Please Lord, let it be here...

I entered his bedroom, on a last resort.  I knew this room was seldom
used, but it was the only other place I could think that the ring
would be.  I looked on top of a dresser, and on his nightstand.  My
eyes even skimmed the top of his bed.  No ring...

I opened the top drawer of the nightstand, and nearly fell over in
relief.  The black velvet box gleamed back at me, and I scooped it up
with trembling fingers.  I'd found it.  It was time to set this action
in motion.

It was time to have a new start.

* * * * *

Around 6 o'clock on New Year's Eve, I felt my stomach begin to tighten
into knots.  Though I was in great anticipation of spending this
evening with Scully, I was also apprehensive.  After all, there was
that saying about the best laid plans...

I didn't have a plan, actually.  I was relieved that we were still
talking to each other, and that she had invited me over.  However, I
was also fearing that we would have nothing to say.  We would bring up
the subject of the ring, I knew that.  It was the manner in which it
would be brought up that scared me the most, though.

What if it would be an outright rejection of my intended proposal?

Could I handle that?

I was nervous, there was no denying that.  I changed my clothes three
times, and nicked myself shaving more than that.  It was funny, how on
television and in books, men could be portrayed as always calm and
together; in control and in charge.  I envied them, sometimes.  When
it came to Dana, I could be a complete wreck.

I wanted to be with her so much.  The possibility that she did not
feel the same, scared me to no end.

When I was about to change yet again, I caught sight of my watch.
There was no time to stall, by doing that.  It was time to head over
to her apartment.

God, give me the strength to make it through tonight...

* * * * *

Everything was perfect, I hoped.  I had dinner ready for Mulder and I,
the same setup that he'd had.  The candles were lit, and I had soft
music playing in the background.  On the center of the table, I'd
placed the box that contained the ring.  I didn't know if Mulder would
be prepared for this - after all, I hadn't given him any warning that
this was what our evening was going to be like.  I hadn't even known
myself, at the time.

I wanted to do the evening over, without all the catastrophe that had
arisen when it was first played out, one week ago.  I could only hope
that when Mulder recognized that, he would be willing to go along with
it.

At 7 o'clock, on the dot, there was  a tentative knock at my door.  I
looked at the ring once more, nestled amongst the black velvet inside
the small box, and took a deep breath.

It was time.

THE END
December 29th, 1997.

There's one more to go, in this main series - Rekindling V.  As of
yet, it's untitled, but work on it has already began.  Thank you,
everyone, for your endless patience! :)

Have I mentioned that feedback helps me to write faster? <g>  Anything
- words of encouragement, or constructive criticism, or even just
letting me know that someone out there has read this is incredibly
appreciated.  Reach me at rfarwell@foxnet.net.