From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 11 Dec 2003 08:47:49 -0000
Subject: The Sound of a Train at Midnight by little cat feet
Source: direct


The Sound of a Train at Midnight

by little cat feet

Rated: PG

Summary: They both have memories, and now they're
making a new one.

Archive:  feel free

Feedback: no, but thank you very much anyway

Kudos to my beta Goddess

Website: http://www.geocities.com/littlecatfeet1013



"Do you hear that?" Scully murmured against him, drowsy from 
their lovemaking.

"What?"  He stretched, enjoying the luxury of having her in 
his arms. It was a bliss in which they seldom dared indulge.

"Train," she mumbled.

Mulder was quiet for a long time, so long that she opened 
her eyes and fixed them on his solemn face.  "Mulder?"

He shook his head slightly, quickly, as if discarding 
unwelcome thoughts.  She suspected he was thinking of her 
abduction, and the train car where she'd been certain she 
was held, but that was so vague, so unreal to her now, that 
she simply couldn't associate it with the tranquil memories 
of her childhood.  

"You like trains, do you, Scully?" he asked, his voice 
lightly teasing.

"When I was a kid, my Grandma Howard lived next door to a 
train track. Every time we'd visit, the train would come by 
in the middle of the night and wake us up."

"And that's a fond memory?" he queried, and in the dim light 
that made its way into the bedroom, she saw his raised 
eyebrows.

"Well, after a couple of nights, you got used to it.  Of 
course," she allowed," then it was time to go home, and on 
the next visit, you had to get used to it all over again."

She propped herself up on her elbows, awake now.  The 
fingers of one hand lightly stroked his arm.  "I guess 
there's something comforting in the sound.  Trains at night 
remind me of Grandma's cooking, and of my Aunt Julia, who 
always gave us money as we were leaving. She was sick, and 
stayed in her room most of the time, but as our parents were 
loading up the car, she'd come outside and dig around in 
this little coin purse she had and give us all a quarter."

"Aunt Julia was a big spender."

She grinned and playfully socked him in the stomach, then 
laughed at his mock, "Oof!"

"A quarter was riches to a kid back in those days, Mulder.  
Mom and Dad would stop at the dime store in town, and we'd 
all spend our money on something that they hoped would keep 
us quiet on the ride home.  I remember one time Charlie 
bought a cap gun, and I really thought my father was going 
to throw it out the car window before an hour had passed."  
She smiled, her eyes closed, reminiscing.  "Mom intervened. 
She promised him another quarter if he'd let her hold it all 
the way home.  The next trip, we all bought cap guns."

Mulder couldn't help laughing at the mental image.  "So 
money was more important to the Scully kids than the toys 
bought with Aunt Julia's present?"

"Wasn't money important to you when you were a kid?"

"Sometimes."  He didn't elaborate, and Scully wondered if 
she had somehow opened an old wound.  You never knew, with 
Mulder.  He kept himself so private, even from her.

"What do trains mean to you?" she asked, still gently 
rubbing his strong forearm.

Mulder rolled over onto his stomach.  "If you'll expand your 
area a bit, I'll tell you."

Scully sat up.  "So the cost of getting this information out 
of you is a backrub?  Come on, Mulder, you can just admit 
it.  You're not subtle."

He didn't answer, just wriggled his shoulder blades in 
anticipation, and with a feigned sigh of exasperation, 
Scully began to massage. "All right, give," she ordered.

"Well, there weren't a lot of trains around when I was a 
kid.  That's the way it is when you live on an island."

He smirked up at her, and she out-smirked his smirk.  "If 
there isn't more to this story, your backrub is over."

"For me, it was sound of the ferry."

"A nice, pleasant whistle?"

"More like a commanding boom," he grinned.  "But still, 
familiar and comfortable.  Whenever my dad would go away on 
business, Sam and I would always listen for the ferry on the 
day he was to return.  Sometimes it was after we'd been put 
to bed when we'd hear the horn. She'd sneak into my room and 
we'd whisper together, wondering what presents Dad had 
brought us.  If we were really brave, we'd creep out onto 
the landing and listen to him and my mother talk."

"Did you ever hear anything good?"

His head moved slowly from side to side.  "Nothing I wanted 
to hear," he told her soberly.  "But that's not the point.  
The point is, until Samantha disappeared, there were good 
times even in my family. The sound of the ferry can still 
make me feel them."

Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them away.  She stopped 
her massage and leaned forward, her naked chest against his 
soft back. "I'm glad," she whispered.  

The train whistled again, closer now, and Mulder turned 
around to embrace her.  He pulled her into his arms and 
tucked her head just below his chin.  It was their favored 
position, one that fit them like a well-used glove.

"It's funny," he commented.  "In all the years I've lived 
here, I don't think I've ever noticed that train before.  I 
wonder how many times it's passed.  Hundreds, probably.  
Maybe thousands. And it took a quiet night with you to make 
me hear."

"We'll make a new memory for you, Mulder.  From now on, 
whenever you hear a train, you'll think of me, lying here 
with you.  Years from now, if we should somehow be 
separated, that sound will bring us back together."

He pictured himself across the years, suddenly without her, 
and the image made him hold her more tightly still.

"I'd rather think of the here and now."

They lay in silence for a while, but the night was winding 
down and they both knew it.  Finally, reluctantly, she 
pulled away.

"I have to go, Mulder."

He held on to her for another few seconds before whispering, 
"I know."

She dressed hastily in the near-darkness, her movements 
jerky as she fought against the swell of emotion that 
threatened to overwhelm her; she didn't want to leave him 
like this.  He always seemed so alone and vulnerable when 
they parted.  She'd see him at the office later that day, 
and his armor would be in place, but Scully would still 
think of him as defenseless, the way she saw him now.

She leaned over to kiss him, and he pulled her into an 
unexpectedly passionate embrace.

"One of these days, Scully," he promised fiercely.  "One of 
these days we'll leave here and just be together.  Somewhere 
safe."

But there was no safe place, that they both knew.  
Nonetheless, she kept up the myth.

"One of these days," she echoed, and then was gone.

Mulder lay in the darkness without her, swallowed a lump in 
his throat, and again heard the distant whistle.

He felt like crying, but instead bravery dictated the slight
smile he forced himself to wear.

This memory would sustain him until the next stolen night,
he knew.  

Eventually, he even slept.



********************
The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

--Carl Sandburg
********************