Little Sister
Had a little trouble posting, sorry if this shows up twice.
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| | - Keep as is. -
| L i t t l e s i s t e r | Monday, February 25, 2002
| |
| by d.LiNeAtE |
| [d.lineate@yahoo.com] |
| |
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* Archive: Ephemeral/ yes - Gossamer/ yes - Anywhere else/ please
ask
* Rating: PG
* Category: V
* Keywords: M/S (partnership) - Scully POV
* Summary: Another letter. Is it really Samantha's this time?
Disclaimer
----------
The X-files characters are not my creation and I lay no claim to
them. They belong to that 'awesome guru' Chris Carter, to 1013
Productions, 20th Century [FOX] Broadcasting. This story is fan
fiction. No money is made from this. No infringement intended.
Creative effort: mine.
===========
I open the door to find him slumped in his office chair.
"Take a look at this, Scully."
"What is it, Mulder?"
"Letter."
"Another one?"
He nods. Extends his arm toward me, letting go of the thin piece
of paper as it falls into my hands.
"It's her this time, Scully. I know it is."
"What makes you so sure?"
"I ... I just know it's her."
I hate what this is doing to him. Each time he gets one of these
letters, he believes it's her. This time, though, he seems somehow
more convinced. I lower my eyes to the single page, worn, and pick up
the brand-new, torn envelope. The handwriting is frantic, hurried,
and oddly enough, it matches his own. Mulder knows this is not good
enough to convince me, but I indulge him in this. As far as his
sister Samantha's concerned, I always do. I feel I owe it to him.
Standing in front of his desk, I read.
It's horrendous.
Incredible.
Moments later, I reach up and brush tears away, my own, careful to
not let them spill on the letter. It's so damn precious.
"You believe it's her, don't you?" I ask again, already knowing
the answer.
"Why are you crying?" He looks at me in disbelief, convinced of
many things, but not of the fact that I might be able to accept that
this one letter is actually hers.
"What she's described, Mulder, it's--"
He simply nods, then buries his head in his hands.
I don't know why I believe it's her this time, really I don't. The
way this is phrased, it is almost as if Mulder could have written it
himself. Don't get me wrong, I'm not accusing my partner, not in the
least. I don't think he's that desperate, or even able to trick
himself this way. A terrible feeling takes hold of me. It all fits, I
can practically taste the truth. Seeing him like this, it pulls at
me. I ache for him. Poor Samantha. So sad. The date on the letter
indicates she must have written this at age sixteen. And it is not so
much the things she has now informed him of, but the way she went
about it. Gentle. Innocent. Telling her story the way a child would.
The decision to mail this letter to him now, after all this time, to
not rewrite a single sentence, to leave her words exposed and naked,
honest, open ... It must have been so hard on her.
I feel bad for having read this, for invading their space.
"She suffered, Mulder."
He lifts his head from his hands, nods.
"She suffered terribly." I repeat.
I don't know how this letter reached him in the first place. Why
was this sent to him now? Did she send it? How can we really be sure?
Maybe someone else did. I take another look at the page, then the
envelope, comparing the handwriting. The writing on the letter does
match the envelope, with the difference of a number of years. Why did
she send this letter to him now? And did she, really?
"How come she--"
He looks up at me. "Remembers what happened, when I don't. How
come she remembers me?"
That's not what I meant to say, but there's more on his mind now,
and so I agree. I go with it. "Yes."
The words come gradually, one by one. "I don't know, Scully. I
can't be sure that the things she's described are ... that they
really happened."
He's blown away by all of this, I can tell, as am I. Some of the
things his sister mentioned do not match the neat, clean version of
American family life he knows. Maybe that's the real source of his
nightmares, his inability to accept the truth.
"Abuse, Mulder." I finally say. "She's clear about that. Who--"
Surely not him.
"I don't want to discuss it." His face seems pained, troubled. He
lets his body fall back into the chair, relaxing into it. He looks
lost, defeated. How much of this did he know? I let my eyes wander
over the letter. How much of this did he forget, and how much did he
choose to forget, hiding it away in his own mind, so comfortably, so
adamantly within the story of alien abduction. How badly can one man
refuse to face the truth. So ironic. How could I not have seen it?
How could he have been this blind? Why? How could he not have seen
that she was taken away because ...
"This is terrible." His voice breaks on a sob.
"I know." I say, desperately wanting to lighten the mood, but the
words I need refuse to surface. "I know, Mulder." I turn the envelope
around, open it, and find a small note inside.
"What is it?"
"It says Samantha's been wanting to contact you for a few months
now. She's known for years who she is, who you are, where you live.
She's afraid that you might hate her for leaving you."
"Leaving me! Leaving me? I can't believe this." Tears fall from
his eyes, liberally. "How can she feel guilty about leaving me?"
I wish I knew. I try to make him see, even though I know he'll
never stop blaming himself. "She obviously loves you very much."
"How can she ..."
This is getting too difficult for him, I can tell. "Mulder," I
start, but he won't let me finish.
"I love her." His voice cracks. "Why would I hate my own sister,
Scully? It doesn't make sense. It ..." Words fail him. He looks up at
me, uncertain. Hurting. Hurting because she doesn't trust him enough
to come to him. After all these years, a single letter, explaining.
"Perhaps she's in no position to trust anyone. Have you considered
that?"
He laughs. "Runs in the family, doesn't it." He shakes his head
suddenly, fighting the tears but not succeeding.
"It's okay." You can tell me, Mulder. You know you can.
He gets up out of his chair, and faces me. Angry. He's shouting at
me. I let him. He needs to get it off his chest. "I was supposed to
look out for her, remember. My parents trusted me, because they knew
I had a close bond with my sister. Don't you understand! They ...
They trusted me, and I betrayed that trust." He hits the filing
cabinets next to me with a closed fist, and I jump at the sound. How
could this one event have almost completely wrecked his life like
this? "Damn it! One time, one time I turn my back on her. Just one
time and this happens."
He's taking this too far. "You were close, she knows you didn't
mean to let her out of your--"
He nods vigorously. "We were close, Scully. Really close. I doubt
that I can explain to you how close. She ..."
"I know how much she means to you, Mulder."
"She means more to me than you'll ever know, Scully. This goes
beyond ... I love her. I treasure her. You know why? She looked up to
me, she admired me." He smiles through the tears. "I used to tease
her all the time." His face grows animated with memory. "She used to
love it." Then his face darkens. "Even my parents, they couldn't
understand why I was so fond of her. Or why she responded to me the
way she did. I remember her looking up at me, gazing at me. Smiling.
Big innocent eyes. She ... And I was supposed to be there for her. I
let her out of my sight once and ..."
"Why did you?"
"I don't know. Friends teased me, picked on me. Boys don't drag
along their little sisters." He pauses, takes a deep breath. "I was
suddenly tired of her following me around like a, like a puppy dog,
and I tried to ignore her for a while. She cried. I pretended not to
care. And then it happened."
"Mul--"
"Scully! I shouldn't have left her alone like that. They took her.
And. She, she was unable to talk. She screamed, Scully. Screamed like
I've never heard anyone scream in my entire life. It's like they were
killing her. Her little hands reached out for me, begging me to save
her. And I just stood there. Didn't move. I didn't help her, Scully.
You understand! I didn't help her. I let them take her."
"Mulder, I'm sure she--"
"I can't forget the screaming, Scully. Nightmares. I keep hearing
her scream at me, just scream, accusing me of not helping her. And I
can't ... can't get rid of it. That voice. And sometimes ..."
"Sometimes you hate her for it?"
He nods again.
I understand. This is hard on him. Still is, even after all those
years. So much guilt. So much pain. And for what?
"Mulder. Mulder, look at me. Mulder. It's not your fault. You were
a boy. What could you have done? Nobody, least of all your parents,
should have given you that responsibility."
"Yeah, but they trusted me."
"You were a boy, Mulder. A boy. No one has the power to prevent
bad things from happening to the people they love. No one. Bad things
happened to her, things you could not have foreseen. You looked out
for her the best you could. You love her. She knows that, believe me.
I don't think she's ever forgotten. She knows you love her, and I'm
sure she loves you very much. She doesn't blame you." I'm vaguely
reminded by the soft faded paper in my hands. "Look." I hold up the
letter to him. "Proof." I never thought I'd feel so good saying that.
A soft smile curls his lips.
I gather up my courage. Enough of this. I wipe the tears away
brutally, my left hand almost attacking his face, determined to get
it straight once and for all that he shouldn't feel guilty about any
of it.
"Listen to me, Mulder. I am sure she understands. All these years,
you never gave up looking for her. She knows that."
"Does she?" He takes the letter from my hand.
"I'm sure she does."
He nods, looks at the date on the letter.
"Have you read this, Mulder. Really read this? Opened your mind to
it?" I'm sure it's a silly question to ask, but the emotions might
have been too much at the time to fully comprehend the things she's
been trying to say to him.
He nods once again.
"She loves you very much, Mulder. You have to know that."
"She doesn't want me in her life. She could have--"
"That's not what I read. That's not what this is about."
"It's not?"
"I think it took a lot of strength to write to you. Wherever she
is now, I think that remembering all of this, what happened to her,
saved her as well as you."
It looks as if he might believe me.
"Mulder, I don't understand why they took her from you. All I know
is that, because of what happened, she probably went through hell to
get this to you. She doesn't blame you at all, that's why you should
not blame yourself."
"I do. I can't help it."
"Mulder, there's no reason to. She wants you to know that. I think
she sent you this now to make sure you know what really happened. Are
you ready to face what really happened, Mulder? To believe it?"
He simply looks at me. "I don't know if I can, Scully. It's--"
"The most difficult thing you've ever done? But you have to face
this, Mulder. She's had to. I think she wants you to go on with your
life, so she can go on with hers. Wherever she is."
"You think so?"
I smile up at him gently, nod once.
"You think it's as simple as that, Scully?"
"Yes, Mulder." I take his hand in mine and lightly squeeze. "I
really do think it's as simple as that." I look at the note, turn it
around and smile, then lift it up for him to see. "Phone number."
He takes the note from my hands, stares at it.
"Why don't you give her a call?" I whisper.
I know he will, though it might take him a while to make up his
mind about this.
"She's my little sister, Scully." Mulder suddenly says. Relieved,
I can tell. Proud. He's laughing through the tears as if he's just
made a marvelous discovery.
"I know, I know." I pull him into a hug.
"She found me."
"Yes. Yes, she did."
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Marleen Garcia (aka d.LiNeAtE)
http://bluneon.gq.nu