TITLE: The Mall
AUTHOR: The Oral Fixations
E-MAIL: jules.v@ntlworld.com or nurseowens@clara.co.uk
ARCHIVE: Anywhere if you ask us first :-)
WEBSITE: http://www.geocities.com/puritycontroller/
KEYWORDS: MSR and a pinch of angst
SPOILERS: Sprogfest, sad Christmassy MSR
DISCLAIMER: We've borrowed the 'ship for a while.
No-one at 1013 seemed to be using it anymore. Bastards.
We may give it back... Or not.
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Christmas Eve 2001
I take another sip from the Starbucks cup, trying to lean over
the rail of the upper level, simultaneously trying to melt into the
background.
It's nearly time.
The Christmas shoppers stream below me, a sea of heads and
brightly coloured packages moving from one shop to the other.
No-one is still, no-one stops, unless it is to look into the
bright glistening windows of shops they are passing in such a
hurry.
My ears are saturated with excited chatter and festive music,
my nose assaulted by the cinnamon, egg nog and mulled wine
aromas that seem to drift around every corner.
I'm trying not to think about it.
About how Christmas *might* have been this year.
For both of us.
I look at my watch again, tapping my finger on the side of
the rapidly cooling cup. Anytime. Anytime now.
I look back down at the heaving mass of people and my stomach
drops.
She's there.
I see her stop by a bench at the small seating area.
She bends slightly, and fusses with the pushchair in front of
her, unclipping the straps and lifting the small form from it.
She sits and looks around nervously, lifting the cap from the
baby's head and loosening it's coat as she scans the faces
around her. She looks up and I dart back behind the pillar
quickly. I'm sure she can't see me, but I don't put
anything past her - I've seen those senses of hers in action.
His hair is still that red-gold colour.
Her hair is longer, the longest I have ever seen it.
I miss them, God I miss them
She's fussing with him again, cradling him against her
as she smoothes his hair down, gently stroking his head
over and over. Her lips are moving, and I just know she
is talking to him, whispering what's happening as she
picks him up again.
I move nearer to the rail as she pushes forward on the
bench and settles him onto her knee facing out into the
crowd.
I bite my bottom lip.
She's showing him to me.
She's making sure I can see him.
Oh Jesus. He's wearing the tiny baseball shirt
that I bought for him shortly after he was born.
I fumble in my pocket for the camera Frohike gave me and reel
off a few shots. He promised me that this ridiculously small
piece of digital gadgetry will take the close-up shots that I
desperately need.
I'm not convinced but I snap away anyway.
Christ, my hands are shaking.
She strokes his hair again, and then quickly moves her
hand to her face, scrubbing a tear away before she rests
it back on his leg, running down to play with the fastening
on the tiny shoes.
Tiny training shoes on tiny feet.
I can't believe how fast he's growing.
He taps her hand rhythmically with his pudgy fist, his mouth
moving as he sings unheard baby songs to himself.
Her left knee jiggles slightly, and I'm not sure if its nerves
or an unconscious effort to soothe him.
They are so beautiful.
I edge nearer to the rail again, trying to get closer to them
both, trying to absorb every atom of them, how they look,
imagining I can hear their voices, breathe in their familiar scent.
That I can feel their warmth.
I want to go down there.
Suddenly, a figure is in front of them and I tense, panic surging
inside me. I see her tense as well, the way she pulls him back
into her body, wrapping her arm around his middle as her other
hand reaches under her coat to her belt.
Her gun, I realise. Even here, even here she wears her weapon.
She stops suddenly and I can see recognition in her eyes.
The figure as it turns and sits down next to them, reaching
for Will.
I sigh to myself when I recognise her mother.
She lifts her grandson into the air and he laughs, kicking his
feet with delight and grabbing for her hair.
Scully suddenly becomes restless, shaking her head when her
mother starts to walk away from the bench with William in her arms.
Mrs Scully points to a toy shop and then pats her daughter's
shoulder, raising a finger to indicate that she only wants to
take him for one minute.
Praying that she won't take him far, I shift from one foot to the
other and hold my breath. There's so little time.
Every second is precious.
The two of them seem to have a heated discussion for a moment
and then Scully reluctantly nods, sinking down onto the bench
once more. I guess the meeting with her mother was unexpected.
Sadness burns behind my eyes as Will is carried away, his chubby face
bobbing against Mrs Scully's shoulder as she disappears into Kaybee's.
I look back at the bench.
She sits with her elbows on her knees, hands covering her face.
Is she crying?
Look up Scully, please.
A moment later she does.
Straight at me.
My heart thumps in my chest and the camera starts to
slip out of my hands.
Oh shit.
I can't move my feet.
Those fabulous blue eyes pierce me for several agonising seconds
before her gaze slides away to the Christmas tree on her right.
Is she is smiling?
Did I just imagine that?
Now she is fussing with the vast array of shopping bags at her
feet, putting them in some sort of order.
There's a large carrier from Toys R Us, two from Mothercare, one
from Eckerd, and several smaller items which I know are from the
bookstore around the corner.
Which leaves one very expensive looking bag that she is now
holding beside her on the bench.
She hesitates and chews her lip before slowly turning it around
so that the store logo is clearly visible.
I know she's blushing and I can't stop my face rearranging itself
into an idiotic grin.
Victoria's Secret.
Oh Scully, you devil.
I'm amused to see her stuff it quickly underneath the pushchair
when she spots her mother returning, kicking it out of sight beneath
the diaper bag with one foot while smoothing down her sweater and
fixing her hair.
I want to see what's in that bag.
What the hell did she buy in there?
Ms Scully has bought Will a Santa hat, and the little guy isn't
very pleased about it. In fact he's looking rather pissed.
Scully smiles as it slips down over his eyes and two angry little
fists start grabbing to remove it. They both laugh.
And she glances my way again. Barely a flick of her eyes,
but it's there.
Yeah, Scully. I'm watching. I'm still here.
Much fussing with Will continues. He's fighting as he's strapped
back into his pushchair, his face red with indignation, his body
writhing to avoid the straps. Like mother, like son. Always
fighting.
Mrs Scully soothes him, and is now trying the tried and tested
candy method, which seems to work. Scully looks at him and then
gives her mother one of her best eyebrows.
Will grasps the candy cane and stuffs it in his mouth greedily,
despite Scully's obvious disapproval.
Maybe he's like me after all.
While her mother is distracted with her bags, Scully looks right
in my direction again, turning to retrieve her gloves from the bench.
She smiles one of her most dazzling smiles, and mouths very
slowly 'Merry Christmas, Mulder'.
I lean slightly forwards over the rail and mouth back the only
thing I want to say: 'I love you'.
A wave of sadness seems to pass between us and then she nods
imperceptibly, then turns back to her mother, both of them
melting back into the Christmas crowds.
And pocketing the small camera, I do the same.
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