From: CRHarmony@aol.com
Date: Wed, 9 Feb 2000 15:22:15 EST
Subject: Shattered Dreams
Source: direct

Shattered Dreams
Written by LJP - CRHarmony@aol.com
Rated PG
Keywords: MSR
Spoilers: None whatsoever.
Summary: Memories are stirred at the sight of an old 
photograph.
Author's Notes: I got an idea and went with it.  This was 
written at one sitting, but I went on and revised it later.  
Thanks a bunch to Candice and Cindy for your help with the 
story.  All feedback should be sent to CRHarmony@aol.com.  
Disclaimer: The X-Files belongs to Chris Carter, not me.  
Enough said?

***

The photograph showed a happy couple.  It was framed in 
dark mahogany and lay on the mantle of her house.  She went 
to it and just stared several times each day, trying to 
remember how it was, but not being able.  Picking it up in 
her hand, she fought back a tear that was threatening to 
fall.  It pained her to see them so happy.  It pained her 
to know that, in the end, everything fell apart.  It pained 
her to know that she'd never see their smiling faces again.

The photo was clear and bright, almost as if it had been 
developed only days ago, when in fact it had been years.  
The man was taller than the woman, almost by a head and a 
half, and he was standing behind her, his arms wrapped 
around her waist.  He had dark hair, and a lock of it had 
fallen into his eyes, but neither he nor she had time to 
move it before the picture was snapped.  If it had been 
moved, the photo would have looked artificial, for the lock 
had always done that.  His eyes were hazel, though the 
bright sunlight in the photo had caused them to seem green.  
He was smiling, a rare achievement for him, as his life had 
been pained and his face never bore the look of true 
happiness until that day.  The woman he was with had red 
hair, cropped at her shoulders, and eyes like the ocean, 
blue and bright.  Her skin was fair, a contrast to his 
darkness.  She also smiled, though she had once had more 
practice than he.

They were dressed for the picnic, him in his khakis and 
dark green polo shirt, her in a pale yellow sleeveless 
sundress.  The wind had been blowing that day, and from 
looking at the picture, it was obvious by the way her dress 
flowed sideways, showing her white sandals.  A golden 
necklace sparkled around her neck.  They really were happy.  
Happy that they were together, without aliens or mutants or 
government conspiracies to keep them apart.  Happy that 
they were free to love each other the way it had always 
been meant to be.

But the happiness had been taken from them like a snap of 
the fingers...

After everything they had been through together.  After 
everything they had seen.  After all the gunshots and the 
abductions and the hostage situations, it seemed impossible 
that one rainy night and a drunk driver could kill them.

It was a cool night in March, only weeks past her birthday, 
which they had spent in the Caribbean celebrating.  Dinner 
had been at her mother's that night.  A late birthday 
treat.  It wasn't terribly late at night, maybe around ten 
or eleven, but not past midnight.  The rain had started 
only minutes ago, and he was driving at a safe speed.  They 
talked in the car about birthdays and weddings and 
children.  She said something funny and he turned to smile 
at her.  When he looked back up, it had been just in time 
to see two headlights come blaring at them, swerving into 
them, and causing their car to soar over the embankment and 
into a ditch.

The car that had hit them skidded sideways and came to an 
abrupt halt on the other side of the road.  The driver was 
barely sixteen, only had his license for two months.  The 
alcohol tests proved that he was well over the legal limit.  
He was in the hospital for a day with a mild concussion and 
a few scrapes and bruises.  And he would spend the next 
year in a juvenile detention center.  The punishment was 
not nearly severe enough for what he had done.

It was later said that they hadn't felt a thing and that 
the impact had been so great that they had died instantly.  
The car was totaled and the bodies unrecognizable.  The 
only identification were two wallets with government issued 
badges inside them.  And a golden cross necklace that was 
found almost twenty feet from the wreckage.  The funeral 
was held one week later.

She replaced the photo on the mantle and brushed away the 
tear that had slid down her cheek.  Reaching up the her 
throat, she gently touched the gold cross that now hung 
there, a memorial to the daughter she would never see 
again.  Glancing up at the time, she knew she had to go.

Within moments, she was there.  The day was dark and 
gloomy, an eerie familiarity hung in the air.  Her steps 
were slow and she reached the gravesight later than she had 
hoped.  Falling to her knees, she wept for her children, 
who had died in an instant, from a stupid choice someone 
had made.

Two roses were set on the ground under the tombstone, and 
through watery eyes she read the inscription for the 
thousandth time:

"Here lies Fox William Mulder and Dana Katherine Scully.  
May they find their truths in heaven above.  `Dreams are 
answers to questions we haven't learned how to ask.'"

Finis