Subject: NEW "Beginnings and Endings", MSR, R (1/2)
Date: Thu, 12 Aug 1999 17:27:56 -0800
From: Char Chaffin 
Organization: University of Alaska Information Technology Services
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative

TITLE:  "BEGINNINGS… AND ENDINGS" (1/2)
CATEGORY: Pre X-Files, Mulder/Scully Marriage (yes, you read correctly),

  Angst up the wazoo
RATING: Strong "R", for sexual situations and some adult language
SPOILERS: "Pilot", mostly
DISCLAIMER:   I want them, but I can't have them…
FEEDBACK:   GOD, yes!  I'd beg, but it's so undignified (please please
please)
WITH THANKS TO:
The following amazing authors: My so-dedicated Beta-Muse, Hillary
(Foxsong), who always seems to understand my strange need to write pre-X
fic, and encourages me shamelessly,  to Shoshana for her advice and help
with some of the more technical aspects of time and space, to Sister
Moon for keeping me focused on the realities of pre-X lore, and Hester
(Stormlantern), who reads my stuff and loves me, regardless …

SUMMARY: After spending countless hours, wondering about that band of
gold on Mulder's finger… this is what must have gone down…oh, so long
ago…

"Beginnings… and Endings"

Part One:  "A Beginning…"

May, 1989

The beat of the pounding rock music blaring through speakers hung along
the walls of the bar echoed in the floorboards underfoot and actually
caused the overhead light fixtures to tremble.  The dance floor was
crowded with gyrating, bouncing bodies; each table surrounding the tiny
floor packed with drinking twosomes and threesomes.  Solitary bar
patrons flocked at the counter, where the haze of smoke lay low in the
thick air - the smell of beer permeated every corner as well.  Behind
the bar, three bartenders zigzagged back and forth amongst every
conceivable bottle of alcohol, mixing drinks in a frenzy to keep up with
the orders shouted out to them by the harried cocktail waitresses; four
of them, each balancing huge trays of beer, hard shots and exotic drinks
with umbrellas and cherries impaled on plastic swords.

O'Malley's on a Friday night… and Saturday promised to be even worse.
O'Malley's was the most popular bar in Lexington; the building was at
least one hundred years old and the history of the place drew tourists
and locals alike.  Booze prices were very reasonable, the music was
always good (albeit too loud) and anyone who was anyone made it a point
to stop there for a drink or two when in town - the famous as well as
the Average Joe.  Carpenters and attorneys rubbed elbows with musicians
and artists; schoolteachers paired up with young, pouty actors and jaded
producers, out on the dance floor.  Everyone ended up at O'Malley's on
the weekend; it was a tradition.  It was THE place to be…

It was goddamned hot in here, he thought, struggling to reach the open
door before he suffocated within the cloying haze of smoke, beer and two
hundred different fragrances of perfume.  Beer in hand, he fought
against the sea of bodies coming through the swinging doors, much as a
solitary salmon might struggle to swim upstream against the downward
flow.  Sweat beaded his brow and ran in small rivulets down his face; he
wiped at it with an impatient hand and continued on his forward,
snail-like crawl to the doors… finally reaching them and staggering out
onto the sidewalk with an audible "whoosh" of relief.  He leaned against
the brick wall of the bar's front facade, and drank a long swallow of
beer, draining the last of it and tossing the empty bottle into a nearby
bin.  Almost magically, another full bottle appeared at his elbow, and
he looked up with a silent grin of thanks aimed at the young waitress
who placed it in his hand, waved off his proffered money with a
careless, "It's been covered, hon," and popped the cap for him.  She
winked at him and disappeared into the noisy bar, and he let the cool,
clean spring air blow over his overheated face as he took the first
sip.  Closing his eyes as he leaned his head back, he wondered, not for
the first time that evening, why he'd chosen to come here, instead of
dinner at Tonya's… why he'd stood her up.  It wasn't the first time he'd
done that to her… but she never complained… she never seemed to care how
off-hand his treatment of her had become, lately.  She loved him… as she
was so fond of telling him… loved him and of course could forgive him
anything; anything at all.  Love did that to a person, she was always
quick to assure him - love was all encompassing, all forgiving… and as
far as he was concerned, all-smothering.

Earlier in the evening, standing in front of a full-length mirror in his
bedroom, staring at the polished, expensively-dressed image facing him…
he was feeling anything but loved… he felt smothered, by the clothes… by
her professed "love".  Tonya was 'loving' him into a whole separate
person, someone more acceptable to her…, and he didn't like this person
reflected there in the mirror, he'd decided; as he'd defiantly ripped
off the damn tie which was suddenly strangling him… tore off the
tailored slacks, made of an expensive wool which scratched lightly at
his skin; flung them in a corner.  She'd picked them out for him, the
other half of an expensive charcoal suit which fit him like he'd been
born in it, and never failed to cause a minor bit of havoc at work when
he wore it… he hated that suit.  He'd stood in his silk boxers… fuck
them, too, he thought with a grimace, as he shimmied out of them and
tossed them on top of the growing pile of discarded clothes:  a silk tie
in muted shades of mauve, maroon and gray; the offensive charcoal wool
slacks; the thin silk boxers.  He looked at himself in the mirror… still
wearing the shirt.  He hated that shirt… cream colored Egyptian
silky-feeling cotton; tailored, button-down collar; embroidered emblem
on the pocket… his family crest.  How in frigging hell had she found an
illustration of his family crest, much less figured a way to have it
embroidered onto a shirt, for Chrissakes?  With a mean tug, buttons
flying in four directions, he whipped off the shirt and threw it on top
of the boxers.  Naked and unfettered, stretching hugely in front of the
mirror, a cool breeze wafting over his bare skin… searching his face for
any more signs of her attempted branding… finding nothing but him.  He
nodded, finally satisfied… finally feeling like himself instead of a
carbon copy of someone she was trying to mold in his image.  He strode
over to his wardrobe and started grabbing; all his favorite things.
Gray tee shirt, tiny holes around the hem… over his head it went.  Faded
black jeans, old and soft, tight in all the good places, a tear in the
thigh on one side… he tugged them over his long legs and slim, bare
hips; screw the underwear.  He hated to be contained.  If God had meant
for his package to be tied up in underwear, he'd have been born with
jockey shorts covering his newborn wang.

Black cotton socks and his Doc Martins; broken in and comfortable, a
hell of a lot more comfortable than those damn tassled loafers she'd
talked him into buying.  He picked up a brush, brought it to his head…
then abruptly threw it into the sink and ran his hands messily through
his thick, dark hair, almost making it stand on end, then shook his head
hard and let the heavy locks fall where they may.  He looked at himself
in the mirror… and saw himself grinning back… at last.  This was the
real McCoy, he thought in sudden delight… free.  Unfettered, he thought
again… yeah.  That was a good word for his liberation… he was done with
fancy tailored clothes and underwear and shoes that pinched.  Time
enough for wearing that shit when he was stuck at work for ten hours a
day… the nights were his.  He grabbed the most disreputable leather
jacket he could find and bounded out the door… and found himself at
O'Malley's, along with several hundred other people.  And although he'd
been suffocated in that mire of human flesh and beer… he'd been a
willing participant in the suffocation… and that made all the difference
in the world.  He sighed and gulped more of his beer… remembered hearing
his machine beeping as he'd run out the door.  Of course, it had been
Tonya… he was exactly three minutes late, the high, slightly nasally
voice whined on the phone… where was he?  Had he forgotten about the
dinner for the Whitneys?  Mother and Daddy were expecting him to partner
her… where was he, whine… whine… whine.  Want some cheese with that
whine, Tonya… you uptight bitch?  God, he hated that woman.  Maybe he
should tell her how he felt about the way her controlling nature was
slowly driving him off his onion… maybe now would be a good time to
break off the engagement, before she bought the fucking ring and told
him to ask her to marry him… but not before he put on the proper suit…
He'd grinned in sudden and lighthearted amusement, and got the hell out
of there.

Now, pleasantly buzzed from the beer and light-years away from Tonya and
her proper little dinner party… he turned back into the doorway of the
bar to get another beer… and got nearly plowed under by the gaggle of
laughing and giggling women exiting the bar at the same moment.  He
grabbed onto thin air to steady himself… found his hand landing heavily
on a soft warm body… and the force of his stumble sent them both to the
ground, with him on top of a very indignant, screeching female… he shook
his head to clear it, and looked down to see what he'd landed upon…

Holy Mother of Gouda cheese… all the breath left his body in one big
whoosh as he stared down into the face of the woman he'd knocked over.

She was… exquisite, that was the only word his addled brain could find
to describe her.  Absolutely perfect.  His dazed eyes drank in every
feature as he lay on her, unable to move an inch.  She stared back just
as hard.  He took rapid note of the impossibly blue eyes, large and
well-spaced; the tiny straight nose and the sweetly curved lips, painted
a soft red… the pale creamy skin, dusted with golden freckles… small
body but curved in all the best places, clad in a pretty pale green
dress which had crept up over her slender legs and shapely thighs; a
shade of green which set off her long, wavy red hair… he was enchanted.
A redhead… he loved red hair.  Thick, silky red hair, winding around her
delicate neck and curling over her small shoulders and down her back and
clinging like baby kisses on the front of his gray tee shirt… somehow
his hand had found its way underneath the nape of her neck, cradling it;
keeping it off the sidewalk… and he still stared at her in rapt
fascination… and his other hand had landed on her soft, rounded breast,
covered in the thin material of her dress.  She wasn't wearing a bra,
his foggy brain told his growing erection, in utter glee.  No bra! No
bra! Bare nipple, Guy… what d'ya think of that, Hand?  Hand had to agree
it was a magical moment; that moment his brain confided to his hand and
all five fingers about the bare breast.  Hand had a mind of its own, he
was rapidly finding out… because it took full advantage of the moment to
cup that sweet spot tenderly… and he watched her wide blue gaze get even
wider, with amazement at his audacity… and her mouth  opened to yell at
him, just as his swooped down and buried itself in hers.  She drew in a
sharp gasp, which turned into a moan as soon as his tongue started
stroking hers.  And she began to warm to him, began to kiss him back…
she tasted of cherries and coconut and some sweet alcohol; grenadine, he
thought, as his mouth deepened the kiss and their tongues mated wildly.
She pushed her breast harder into his hand, as her own fingers gripped
the front of his tee shirt and yanked him closer.  The kiss went on and
on, there on the hard ground; people walked around them and over them;
some ignoring the display completely; others cheering with good nature
and a little envy, as they walked over them, moving in or out of the
bar.  A foot which came a little too close to their heads, and stepped
on her hair, caused her to gasp in sudden pain into his throat, and he
broke the contact long enough to gape at her upturned face in
dumbfounded shock; to realize they were lying in the middle of a busy
sidewalk with people walking on them and over them, kissing and necking
like there was no tomorrow… and his hand had somehow found its way
underneath the edge of her loose dress and was actually cupping bare
nipple.  His open mouth dropped even further, and he locked panicked
eyes with her rapidly-amused ones, as she softly queried, "If you move
first… you could pull me up with you… and then we'd both be on our feet,
together…"

Her voice was soft and sweet, a little low for one as young as she
appeared, but it suited her, he decided, as he slowly rose to his feet
and tugged her up beside him.  Standing, she was very small and
delicate, barely coming to his chest… her head could have tucked under
his chin with room to spare.  He kept a grip on both her hands, and
stared down at her in bemusement; she gazed up at him in much the same
manner, hair all tangled and spilling over her shoulders and halfway
down her back, dress gaping at the neckline, sliding down over one small
shoulder.  He stared and stared, with only one thought in mind: how
marvelously perfect… everything about her.  Every small inch of her,
every tiny freckle, every miniscule pore on her flawless skin… every
eyelash and every strand of her red hair, each pretty fingernail and
golden hair sprinkled on her soft little arms.  Her eyes were dilated
with the desire which still hung in the air between them, eyes which
were devouring him in much the same way as his, on her.  She whispered,
low in her throat, "God… look at you.  I have never seen anyone who
looked so good… as you… felt so good…" her voice petered out as he
yanked at her, hard; pulled her back into his hard embrace and buried
his hot face into her silky hair, shuddering.  She wound her arms about
his waist and hung on tightly.  Neither spoke for the longest time,
content to just hold to each other and let the feeling, the need, build
and build, until with a combined gasp they pulled away from the embrace,
just far enough to press hard stares into eyes gone dark with that
feeling, the need… and without a word they turned and walked into the
street… and into the first waiting taxi they found.  They held hands all
during the ride, not speaking, not looking… both of them sitting with
eyes closed, their linked hands the only connection.

Into the darkened apartment… no lights needed; he knew where every stick
of furniture was placed, and he had wrapped both arms around her hips,
and had lifted her high against his chest, holding her that way as he
walked though the silent shadowed rooms.  She'd laid her arms along his
shoulders and never broke eye contact as they moved into the bedroom and
he set her down, so gently, upon the cool cotton comforter.  The blinds
were open, and enough moonlight filtered in through the slats to
illuminate the room in a natural imitation of candlelight… still not
breaking eye contact, he pulled at his shirt… she tugged at her dress.
She was nude beneath, not even a pair of panties.  He gawked at her in a
fever of awareness, and kicked off his boots as she pushed at her
low-heeled shoes; his hands went to the buttons of his jeans… then
paused, as he remembered he was bare beneath them… and suddenly her
small hands were pushing his aside gently, as she finished unbuttoning
the jeans, and pushed them down his strong thighs and down over his feet
where they were kicked away to join the boots.  And her eyes raised
slowly, up long, muscled calves, up further to lock on the fullness, the
utter beauty, of his erection; long and thick and waiting patiently… for
her.  She ran a single finger down its ridged length, barely hearing his
hiss of indrawn breath as she touched him, a half smile of wonder upon
her face.  Sitting there in the edge of his bed, just looking at him, at
eye level with her enchanting face… she could have stayed in that
position forever, just looking.  He placed a hand on her cheek and
forced her face up to his, noting with amazement the flushed skin and
the way she wet her lips with that little tongue… he didn't want to wait
any longer.  He pushed at her, settling her back upon the pillows, and
sliding over heated skin and slender limbs, until he had positioned
himself above her, and with one silent murmur of need, slid into her on
a long, fevered glide of flesh and heat.  Both gasping at the feel, the
fit… so good.  Both moving so slowly, almost languidly, as if they had
all the time in the world… which they did.  There was no hurry here; no
need to be at a specific place, at a specific time; no timetable, no
pressures.  Easy and free… unfettered.  That word again, his mindless
mind tossed out at him, as he wound his fingers through her flaming hair
and held her face close to his as he moved deeply through her and
watched with pleasure each reaction of her beautiful face; she
alternately gasped and moaned with the emotion pounding through her…
eyes flickering open and gazing into his soul while their bodies moved
faster against each other, now kissing deeply as they both reached out
for it… she got there first, crying into his open mouth as she shuddered
around him, and he followed mere seconds later, groaning into her neck
as his body spent itself in an endless spooling of release.  And as he
lay upon her, still within her satin warmth, he didn't worry about being
to heavy for her to bear… he wouldn't separate from her… and she would
not have let him.  They fell asleep in that position, never moving an
inch, not even to pull the comforter up around their cooling bodies… no
combined strength between them to make the effort.  They slept unmoving
through the rest of the night, until one weak ray of sunlight slitted
through the blinds, and hit the pillow where his head lay pressed into
her neck.

He felt the warmth before the brightness roused him, enough to gain an
awareness of where he was, and who lay beneath him, cushioning him… he
looked down with half-closed eyes.  God… so lovely.  He brushed at a
lock of red hair, pushing it off her cheek, just staring, unable to look
away.  He'd never in his life felt even a morsel of the kind of emotion
which she'd stirred up inside him… all his past intimate associations
crumbled into nothingness compared to her.  He stroked her bare
shoulder, ran a trembling finger over one soft breast and rosy nipple.
His mouth followed, and he kissed her gently, pressing sweetly against
her; enough to awaken her, but not so much that she wouldn't be able to
refuse, if she didn't want him again.  Underneath him, she stirred; one
hand slowly moving up his arm and behind his head to hold his mouth
against her as she shifted her body, still mostly asleep; until she'd
maneuvered herself to lie open beneath him, making it easy for him to
slip into her drowsy warmth, rocking against her with long, lazy
strokes… like the ocean, she thought dreamily… rocking in a small ship
on the wide, calm ocean.  Long and wet and rocking to and fro, until
with a soft gasp into his ear, she convulsed around him and pulled him
under the waves, too.  And as they surfaced, as they came fully awake,
and kissed their first kiss of the day… he finally spoke, for the first
time since the night before; he held her gaze with eyes gone dark with
overwhelming emotion, and whispered, "Please… don't leave me… promise
you'll stay… promise me?  Stay with me…"  She couldn't look away from
him; her own eyes flooded with sudden tears.

"For how long… how long should I stay…?"  So softly spoken he could
barely hear the words… but hear them he did, and he smiled and kissed
away her tears.

"Forever… stay forever, 'kay?"  Her answering smile was brilliantly
blinding, soaking him in warmth and sudden love.

"I can do that… I can stay that long… but not a moment longer…is that
alright with you…I'm sorry… I don't even know your name - and I guess I
should know that, if I'm to stay with you forever, shouldn't I?"   He
grinned with such a light heart, and kissed her lips sweetly.

"My name is Fox… but you can call me Mulder…"  She cupped a hand around
his jaw, and pressed her thumb against his beautiful mouth, as he spoke
his name to her, feeling it on her skin… liking it very much.  She
whispered back just as quietly, as softly, to him.

"Mulder… my name is Dana - but please, call me Scully…"   He tried it,
tasting it on his tongue, in his throat.  It slid around in there and
fit nicely, he thought.

"Scully…" he held her close and kissed her eyes, each cheek… her mouth…
breathing her name into her soul, warm and fresh from his.  "Scully… do
you believe in the existence of… love at first sight?"  He waited… and
felt her answer in the smile which curved against his neck, in the
little niche where her face pressed on his skin.

"Oh, yeah… I believe…"

Part Two:  " The new Beginning"

March, 1993

He was bone-tired… bone-tired, and past the ability to sleep; had been
overtired for so long.  He needed someone to come along with a club and
conk him over the head… that would work, he thought as he refilled the
coffee cup and sat back down at his desk.  A small blizzard of slides
and files lay in a jumbled semblance of order, all over his desk; the
light from the slide viewer making his eyes itchy and red.  He rubbed at
them, irritably, and re-set the glasses on his nose; with a weary sigh,
he began sorting again, not quite sure what he was looking for but
knowing he'd recognize it when he saw it.  The individual colored slides
of young bodies, all lying face-down, most partially bare, began to blur
into one single body as he rubbed at his eyes again, and slowly pushed
away from the desk, standing and stretching hugely, trying to stay
awake.  He drained the cup and poured another, lifting it to his lips…
and suddenly as if it were yesterday, hearing her teasing voice, right
there in his ear:

"Aren't you afraid you'll just float right away, drinking all that
rot-gut coffee?  I hope you know I don't have a lifesaver on me,
anywhere…"  He remembered her flushed nakedness as she'd poked fun at
his coffee habit, standing there in the kitchen without a stitch on,
giving him major grief… and he'd dumped the dregs in his cup down the
drain, and lunged for her, breathing coffee breath all over her, causing
her to squeal and protest loudly as he pressed wet coffee kisses
everywhere, until she stopped protesting and started kissing him back
hotly, unmindful of his breath, or anything else beyond their connected
lips, and bodies…

With a grimace of self-disgust, he forced the images from his mind,
shaking his head hard; tossing the half-full cup of coffee in the
trash.  That was a long time ago; it had happened to someone else, some
other Mulder… not the Mulder he was today.  He dropped back into his
chair and faced the slides again, without much enthusiasm.  It had been
a little while since he'd allowed himself to think about her… he
supposed hearing her name again today, after all this time, was what
brought it back, the pain fresh as if it had happened yesterday…

At first, the relationship had been so amazingly wonderful… they were
deliriously happy… everything was perfect.  After that initial 'weekend
of wonder' as she'd jokingly named it, they'd seen each other every
night; would have spent every waking and sleeping hour together if she'd
not had classes to attend and he'd not had a job to do.  When she'd
found out he worked for the FBI, she had been very impressed, and had
asked him endless questions.  Just a few credits shy of graduating
herself, majoring in pathology and forensics, she knew that medicine
would have to be her chosen field, her one singular passion… but the
idea of the FBI Agent wouldn't let her go, and she found the notion
quite exciting.  However, at the moment she was content to finish and
get her degree, to apply her professional talents wherever needed… and
to cash in on her personal talents: making Fox Mulder happy.  She must
have succeeded very well, for he was happier than he'd been in a very
long time – happy enough to throw caution to the wind, and propose
marriage to her, only four short months after they'd met.  By then she
had moved into his apartment, which was bigger than hers, and had a huge
aquarium which could not have been  moved.  She had never much liked her
apartment anyway – so she'd made herself very comfortable, in his.

Their relationship was fragile back then, and both were careful to
nurture it along; careful to celebrate their passion without stepping on
toes, if it could be helped.  They never argued much, and always made up
in gloriously apologetic detail, after one of their infrequent
disagreements occurred.  They'd already declared their mutually-undying
love for one another, and had celebrated the pledge in every room of
their apartment, including the outside balcony… By almost mutual
consent, they had not told their families much about each other, except
to say they each were "seeing someone"… and each had yet to meet the
other's respective parents, and siblings.  Mulder would have been
content to keep Scully away from his parents indefinitely… for they were
not what he'd have considered the easiest people to get to know.  After
years and years with them, he still didn't understand them… and he saw
them very infrequently.  Scully seemed very close to her family, though;
she'd told him a little about the clan, and he knew she had a sister and
two brothers… but no names had really been mentioned.  Truth be told,
they'd been so caught up in their newfound feelings for each other…
they'd let just about everything else slide, quite willingly.  They had
holed up together, in their apartment… coming out only long enough to
attend to such mundane routines as work, and classes… Scully had called
her mother, once or twice… had apologized for not getting in contact
sooner… then had sighed hugely in relief as her mother teased her gently
about being "all wrapped up in her new guy".  Surprisingly enough, she'd
seemed to understand their need for each other, and only each other…
Mulder supposed Mrs. Scully would start fussing about it, sooner or
later… but by then he'd be ready to face a roomful of Scullys.  Time
slipped by them in a haze of need, of learning about themselves, as a
couple instead of just two people, hanging out.

Then, before they knew it, four months had passed, and they'd decided to
celebrate this momentous anniversary in the place they'd come to call
their own: O'Malley's, where they'd begun their relationship, right
there on the sidewalk (literally) in front of the place…
Also by then, Mulder knew what he wanted…knew he needed Scully with him,
in every sense of the word…and so on a Friday night, four months after
the fateful Friday on which they'd met… Mulder found himself down on one
knee, in the middle of O'Malley's, with a ring box in his hand, sweating
with the fear of doing something so right, it could almost end up being
wrong – if she refused.  But, she didn't refuse; she'd looked down at
him, kneeling on the sticky floor of a noisy bar, blaring music all
around them, a diamond ring winking at her from a blue velvet box – a
hopeful smile lighting his face, his wide hazel eyes – and she'd begun
to cry; had sunk to the floor in front of him, and had wound her arms
tightly about his shoulders and clung to him while the entire bar
erupted into cheering and applause, all around them – and had whispered
a shaky "yes" into the warm skin of his neck.  They had kissed, still on
the floor, and someone had run over to them and had opened a bottle of
champagne over their heads, letting the bubbly cold liquid explode all
over them, while they gasped with the wet cold, into each other's
mouths, and fresh cheering broke out again.  And for the next hour, one
after another bar patron had bought them drinks and had toasted their
future, finally allowing them to leave when Scully passed out in the
ladies' room; Mulder picked her up, none too steady himself, and poured
both of them into the nearest taxi which sped them off to their
apartment with a hundred bar buddies in the street in front of
O'Malley's yelling good wishes and waving them off.  A week later,
they'd married, privately… almost secretly, which had much to do with
the kind of work in which Mulder had found himself embroiled… something
called the "X-Files".  He wouldn't speak much of it, and she didn't ask,
not back then.  But he wore his wedding ring proudly… a rounded gold
band, engraved on the inside with two simple words: "Love, DKS."  Her
band was identical, with the words, "Forever, FWM".  Those words became
the focus of their marriage, their love…and its ultimate downfall, as
well.  And they still hadn't said a thing to their families… by letting
it go on so long, in such private circumstances… they'd unknowingly set
the course for the way they'd always deal with their association… in
whatever context it would become…

Mulder wiped at eyes suddenly wet with tears, and set his eyeglasses on
the cluttered desk; made a determined effort to drop it; to push the
past out of his mind.  He had a new case, and this one was going to be
tough to deal with, mostly because of the circumstances, but mainly
because for the first time in a very long time… he had a new partner.
And he didn't want a new partner, but he wasn't being given a choice.
His AD was being a prick about it, a suspicious, insensitive prick…
never mind that his solve ratio was higher than any other agent – never
mind that he put in killing hours on cases, stretching his own neck time
and again, his own life on the line each day… pouring his own blood into
the solving of each case.  Never mind all that; it wasn't important.
What mattered was the nature of his work; the cases he solved, the
questions he asked… the places he dared to go.  The heat he was applying
to the powers above was getting uncomfortable, and they wanted to rein
him in… so they were siccing a new partner on him, in hopes of catching
him out in some way.  Mulder laughed bitterly, rubbing again at his
eyes.

If they only knew the half of it…

to be continued...
Subject: NEW "Beginnings and Endings", MSR, R (2/2)
Date: Thu, 12 Aug 1999 17:30:19 -0800
From: Char Chaffin 
Organization: University of Alaska Information Technology Services
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative

TITLE:  "BEGINNINGS… AND ENDINGS" (2/2)
CATEGORY: Pre X-Files, Mulder/Scully Marriage (yes, you read correctly),

  Angst up the wazoo
RATING: Strong "R", for sexual situations and some adult language
SPOILERS: "Pilot", mostly
DISCLAIMER:   I want them, but I can't have them…
FEEDBACK:   GOD, yes!  I'd beg, but it's so undignified (please please
please)
WITH THANKS TO:
The following amazing authors: My so-dedicated Beta-Muse, Hillary
(Foxsong), who always seems to understand my strange need to write pre-X
fic, and encourages me shamelessly,  to Shoshana for her advice and help
with some of the more technical aspects of time and space, to Sister
Moon for keeping me focused on the realities of pre-X lore, and Hester
(Stormlantern), who reads my stuff and loves me, regardless …

SUMMARY: After spending countless hours, wondering about that band of
gold on Mulder's finger… this is what must have gone down…oh, so long
ago…

continued from part 1...

They had been married six months when the first major crack appeared in
the fault line of their relationship.

Mulder had been deeply involved in what first had appeared to be a
simple kidnapping case, in upstate New York; Scully, immersed in finals
and away at the lab almost every night, had not noticed the changes in
her husband.  They had not seen each other, except in brief passing, for
almost three weeks; but strangely, it had seemed to bring them closer
instead of slicing at their love; both understood the necessity of the
separation, and it was treated casually.  They made sure to get in at
least one good bout of "naked pretzel" (Mulder's favorite description of
their sexual antics), usually in the shower, before they went their
separate ways each day.  But then, Mulder, assigned the new case,
discovered he had a great deal of field work to do; had to catch a plane
to Saratoga Springs…and they  found themselves apart, for the first time
since they'd met.  Scully assured him it wasn't a problem, as they stood
in the middle of the airport frantically kissing… no problem at all.
Finals were very close and she would be buried in it, anyway… they'd
kissed one last time, and he'd walked away, tall and darkly handsome in
his black trenchcoat and dark suit.  And as she watched him leave,
determined not to cry… something about the way in which he moved from
her side, in his stance, the tilt of his head… sent a chill through her,
as if for one tiny moment she was gazing into a future moment, seeing
him leaving her again, but this time, for good.  She'd shivered and
slowly turned away, to start back home.  He'd only be gone a week… just
one week.

But, it would be one month before she would see him again… and by then,
the beginning of the end had come upon them… and it was just about too
late to save themselves from the pain which they'd inflicted, on each
other… too late.

The first few days were slow ones for her, in spite of all the studying
she'd had; the hours away from their apartment. He'd called her every
night, from the little cabin he'd rented for the week - and they talked
for a couple of hours, she giggling breathlessly on her end while he
described, in lustful detail, all the delicious little things he would
do to certain parts of her body, as soon as he was able to get his hands
on her.  She'd said outrageous things back to him, in a low rasp of a
voice which made his toes curl as he listened to her, over the phone.
Those conversations got them both through the first few days.  After a
week, however, the calls came less frequently, and when he did call, his
voice had a harried, rushed sound to it… as if he'd been sitting on the
threshold of some major event, and the call was keeping him from it.  It
worried her some, but she didn't agonize over it… she knew how focused
he sometimes got on his work - it was one of the things she loved about
him.

By the second week, he'd stopped calling… and he wasn't registered any
longer at the cabin when she called the motel office, in a panic to see
what was wrong… he had checked out and had left no word as to his
whereabouts.  She'd tried calling his office, but the secretary there
had refused to give her any information… because they had never told
anyone of their marriage… and his office didn't know her from Adam… his
office thought she was a crank.  So she sat in her apartment, worrying,
wondering where he was… what he was doing… if he was even alive.  She
went through absolute hell, not knowing who to call; not having a phone
number for his family.  Somehow, in between the wondrous sex several
times a day, and the hectic schedule which had become commonplace to
them… they'd continually put off the telling of their marriage, to their
families… who thought each of them were still in 'dating' mode.  As the
months had slipped past, it had become more and more difficult to say
anything… For Mulder, he just didn't care; but Scully's dilemma was a
bit different… she knew the sort of hot water she'd have been in, with
her family, for letting it go so long… so she said nothing at all, and
compounded the problem.  It wasn't one of her more shining moments…

So, not only did their respective relatives not know about the wedding…
she didn't even know if his mother and father were still even married to
each other… didn't know if he had any brothers or sisters.  She'd even
dug around in some papers she found in his old, beat-up desk, looking
for an address book… not finding anything.  He'd talked, very briefly,
about living in Martha's Vineyard… and so she'd called Information,
trying to find a Mulder somewhere… only to discover nothing.  His
parents had either moved, or were unlisted.  She sighed in frustration…
stupid, stupid.  In retrospect, of course it was stupid - to be that
ignorant of each other's past, and families - but they'd only needed
love, as the old song went; "All you need is love"… well, they had
plenty of that.  But they were so selfish with it - only doled out
morsels cautiously, and never gave any to their families.  They hoarded
it all with true greed, keeping their cards very close to the chest.
Never dreaming it would come back to bite them… head in the sand,
big-time.

So, Scully tried to concentrate on her finals, which was just
impossible; her grades came very close to suffering, but her pride
refused to let it go down that way.  Her final grades were excellent…
but she was frazzled, close to the edge.  And she still hadn't heard
from Mulder.  It had now been over two weeks; she was way beyond the
common boundaries of worry… she was stark, raving… pissed.  In fact, she
was so pissed she couldn't even articulate to herself, much less anyone
else… and since she'd not yet told her family about her marriage, she
did not dare call them now and vent, knowing full well their reaction
would be… less than desirable.  Her stomach curdled just thinking about
it.  So, after her finals, she sat in the apartment, and worried some
more… and cried, a lot… and wouldn't answer the phone, unless it was
him… in other words, she wouldn't answer the phone.

Finally, a little over a month after he'd walked away from her, in that
airport… he came home.  In the middle of the night, he strolled into the
apartment as if he'd only been gone an hour or so, just enough to run
down to the corner store to buy a loaf of bread.  Although he entered
quietly, she'd heard him at the door; she'd fallen asleep on the sofa,
and by the time he'd gotten in the door and locked it behind him and had
turned on a lamp, she was sitting up, looking at him through red-rimmed,
burning eyes; in a low voice as burning as her eyes, she grated, "Where
the fuck have you been…?"  His head jerked toward her voice, and he
paused in taking off his trenchcoat, staring at her, expressionless…
until with a small shrug he pulled the coat off and laid it over the
armchair and said in a perfectly normal, perfectly inflectionless voice,
"Hi, Scully… you still up?"  That was all he said - after a month or
more of absence, and several weeks of gut-wrenching worry… five words.
That was all.  No kiss, no hug… no begging her forgiveness… no
explanation.  She gaped at him in utter and complete shock, as he moved
into the kitchen and got a glass of water and gulped it, before placing
the glass in the sink and turning off the kitchen light and shuffling
back into the living room and tossing a casual, "Goodnight - see you in
the morning" in her general direction, not even looking at her… before
he walked into the bathroom, and closed the door… and locked it as
well.  Six words, that time… each hitting the space between them with
the tinny resolution of water drops in an empty pail… She had not moved
a muscle. Her mouth still hung open… her face still a mask of shock.
But two fat tears filled her eyes and spilled over onto her cheeks… even
though she sat like a frozen statue… crying icicle tears.

How long she sat there on the sofa, shivering with the cold of her tears
chilling her face, she didn't know. When she could muster enough will to
move, she swore she could almost hear her bones creak, with the wintry
despair blowing through her body, as she slowly rose and walked very
carefully to the bedroom door, and walked in, certain she'd find him
asleep… hoping he'd be blissfully unaware of her as she walked to the
edge of the bed and wrapped both hands around his throat and throttled
him senseless… and with those thoughts beginning to swirl inside her,
feeling the warmth steal over her; the warmth of anger – actually, no,
not anger… something much more lethal than anger.  Fury didn't even
begin to cover it… whatever it was, her entire body was suddenly hotly
consumed with it, something so powerful and explosive which she'd never
in her life felt before; a blend of too much worry and despair and
loneliness and hurt, more hurt than she could grasp… and she reached out
a hand to him, curled there on his side of the bed… and got a good
handful of blanket, and yanked, hard.  The blankets flew from him and
hit the floor, leaving him in silhouette on his side, face pressed into
the pillow… fully clothed.  He'd not taken off a thing, not even his
shoes.  And his eyes were open, and staring straight ahead, empty
sockets of such monumental misery that she couldn't act upon her anger;
could only slide down into a limp little pool on the floor, next to him,
and stare at those eyes.  Twice she tried to speak; her voice failed
her… then, she heard him sigh, and his head turned just a little – just
enough to train those dead eyes upon her.  His words were soft and
hushed… and delivered in a flat monotone that made the hairs on her head
stand up, as she listened.

"You can keep this place… I'll find another one.  I know you like it
here.  I'll take the aquarium apart on the weekend… after I find another
apartment.  I may have to leave some of my stuff here for a little
while, in case there's a waiting period before I can sign a lease and –"

"SHUT UP JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP MULDER AND TELL ME WHAT'S HAPPENED TO YOU
OR SO HELP ME I'M GONNA KILL YOU WITH MY BARE HANDS…!"  Her screaming
words jolted him out of his catatonic monologue faster than he could
blink; and now he was facing her fully, sitting up on the bed, in shock
at the spitting fury of her tone; she'd jumped up and was staring him
down, both hands clenched into tiny fists and fury smoldering from every
pore.  She screwed her eyes tightly shut, drawing huge, shuddering
breaths… then in a softer, yet still angry voice, spoke again.  "Mulder…
you have got to tell me what has happened to you, why you haven't called
home… why you just disappeared.  You must know how scared I've been,
what kind of horrible thoughts have been going through my mind… you've
got to understand that… can't you?"  He nodded, just a tiny one, and
rubbed at his eyes, which were red-rimmed, from lack of sleep, it
appeared.  He reached out a cold hand for one of hers, still clenched
into fists… but she couldn't let him touch her, not just yet; still not
ready for that, not until she got some answers.  She wasn't going to let
him off the hook that easily, not at all.  He sighed again and struggled
briefly with the words, then held her eyes with a gaze overloaded with
regret and sadness.

"Scully… I don't know… where to start – Christ, I can only imagine what
I've put you through… actually, no I can't… can't even find words harsh
enough for what I've done… Jesus you must really hate me…" He wiped
sudden tears from his eyes and tried again.

"I've been on an emotional roller-coaster for a month… started out OK,
with this damn kidnapping case… Oh, God, don't even know if you can
understand this… I can't quite comprehend it all, myself…

"Scully… I've thought long and hard, about this… and I keep coming back
to the same conclusion… and it's a conclusion I can't ignore.  This past
month, away from you and concentrated solely upon this case, really
brought it home to me… in the harshest possible way.  But I'm glad it
was so harsh… because I can deal with it now… and I wouldn't have been
able to do it otherwise, if I'd stayed home… with you.

"I don't think I can stay married, right now… don't think I should be
married, to anyone… I can only say how sorry I am to have dragged you
into a situation that I wasn't able to handle… was not mature enough,
yet… to handle.  Right now, my work is pushing itself to the forefront
of my life… and I can't let go of it… not yet.  Something else has got
to give… and it's going to have to be the personal side of me."
Scully's jaw dropped open in shock; whatever she'd been expecting to
hear… this wasn't it.  His eyes, wet with misery, gazed sorrowfully into
hers; shoulders slumped, defeat in every line of his body… while she sat
frozen yet again, knocked for a loop yet again, by his words.  Less than
three hours, babe, she thought inanely… knock me over flat dead like
road-kill, once again, in record time… he was getting quite talented at
this.  She took a deep breath and tried to gather her thoughts, before
she let him have it, right between the eyes.

"Mulder… do you mean to tell me you've suddenly decided that after less
than six months of marriage, after everything we've become to each
other… after all that, you're letting a goddam job come between us, for
the flimsiest reason I have ever heard in my entire life!!"  She jumped
off the bed and faced him down, breathing erratically.  "How about the
truth this time, huh?  Tell me you've got cold feet; tell me you're
fucking somebody else… but don't blame it on something as
inconsequential and stupid as a job!"  Mulder stared up at her, numb
with the virulence of her words… then he was on his feet as well, and
shouting right back at her.

"My 'stupid' job is very important, and not only to me, Scully… I'm
sorry I hurt you, sorry I strung you along with me, when I should have
left well enough alone… but I thought I could handle it, thought I was
ready to take on all the marbles.  Well, I'm not!"  He paced a tight
circle around the room, hard and fast…then faced her again, eyes boring
down on her white face.

"Until I have matured to the level where I can do it all… I think we'd
be better off apart…" His voice gentled, and he laid a hand along her
tightly-held cheek.  "I really am sorry, Scully… I do love you, you've
got to know that!  But I don't have enough of myself to give… not right
now…" His words trailed off at the sudden blazing of her blue gaze, as
she ripped her face from his hands and stepped back.

"Love, Mulder?  Maybe you should look it up in a dictionary, because you
haven't got a clue."  She turned on her heel and walked out of the room,
tossing over her shoulder, "You can keep this place – I always wanted to
live in Georgetown, anyway…"  Her last words stung worse than hailstones
on his tender ears - and were just as icy.  He sank down onto the bed in
a fetal heap, as the resounding slam of the front door echoed through
the silent apartment.  With all his waning strength, he fought to keep
himself from running after her… from falling down on his knees in front
of her, begging her forgiveness and telling her everything - but he
couldn't do that to her; couldn't suck her down to his level.  He
wouldn't… wouldn't ever tell her, never… because, if she knew… she would
never let him go.  And he needed to be let go, at this point in his
sorry life… he needed to be alone.

His life had a new direction, a new purpose… and her shiny, clean future
would only become as rusted and spent as his past had become… if she
stayed.  He leaned his weary head on his folded hands, and finally gave
in to the urge to cry…

Now, in his basement office at FBI headquarters, Mulder remembered that
awful night; the night Scully left him.  He'd only seen her briefly,
maybe once or twice, as they both waited for the divorce to become
final.  She had called him on the day she'd been served the papers - for
he'd initiated the proceedings, unwilling to garnish any kind of false
hopes, that this untenable situation could be worked out.  She'd called,
and begged him to see a counselor with her, hoping he'd at least think
about it… but he'd declined, albeit gently.

"No, Scully… no counseling.  It won't help, anyway.  What's a counselor
gonna say, anyhow?  I already know I'm doing an unspeakable injustice to
you… even though I'm also doing what's best for you - letting you go, so
you can find someone who can share everything with you instead of just
little pieces, here and there…"  Her angry reply had cut him off… and
cut him to the quick.

"Knock off the "This'll hurt me more than it hurts you" routine, for
God's sake, Mulder… it doesn't wash, not anymore.  It all comes down to
this:  I loved you, enough to share every nuance of my soul with you…
and you wouldn't return the favor.  That's it… that's all there is to
it.  Nothing more… a real no-brainer, if you ask me.  If you loved me,
half as much as you claim… you would have let me help you deal with
whatever you seem to be going through… you would never have pushed me
away, never."  She was crying openly now, her breath hitching with sobs…
each hoarse intake of air slicing at him like a dull knife.  His eyes
filled with tears of his own and slid down his face in icy heat, as she
sniffled on the other end of the phone, and fought to regain control of
her voice.  When she spoke again, it was steady and cool.

"The papers will be signed and sent back today, Mulder - I trust we
won't have to speak again.  I'm not contesting anything… I don' t want
anything.  I'll be looking for a new place…" And with that final,
softly-spoken statement… she hung up.  He held onto his phone for the
longest time, listening to the empty sound of a dead connection… then he
slowly laid the phone down in the bed, curled into a little ball… and
cried…

Part Three:   "Endings"

With a sigh of utter weariness, Mulder got to his feet, there in his
office… reached out a hand to replace a thumbtack on his "I Want to
Believe" poster, and gathered up discarded slides to put away.  He'd
kept a vital handful out, knowing when his new partner got there, he
would need to show them once more, anyhow.  He re-filled a coffee mug
with lukewarm coffee and leaned on the corner of the desk, staring at
the poster.  "I Want to Believe"… how very appropriate those words
seemed now… for that was exactly what he'd heard himself say, almost
four years ago, in a small office in a small town in upstate New York…
where a psychoanalyst sat facing him, and with soothing, sing-song
words, had put him under… and had regressed him, back into his
childhood… back into dark days filled with an unspeakable horror, so
terrible that the only way he'd survived it had been to block it so
completely from his mind that he would barely recall anything about it…
would barely recall having a sister named Samantha.

Samantha, whom he'd thought had been kidnapped and most likely murdered…
at least, that's what his parents had been telling him, for over
twenty-odd years… Samantha, whose fate had been better than death… but
also so much more terrifying.  And he'd had that goddamn kidnapping case
in upstate New York, to thank for it… for the knowledge which ripped
apart the tenuous relationship he'd had with his parents, and had cost
him a wife.  That knowledge had morphed him into a relentless seeker, so
determined to find the truth of one fateful night in his young life that
he'd turned his back on everyone, and everything… had turned his back on
love… to get what he was so positive he'd needed - and still needed to
this very day - to continue validating a reason to exist in the world.
He sank back into his chair, the coffee forgotten, as he replayed it
again, in his mind - as if he'd not already done so many times…

When he'd arrived in Saratoga Springs, and had checked into the Robin
Hood Motel and Cabins, he had found several messages from a Sheriff Ron
Pritchard, and had hurried to check into the cabin he'd been assigned
and return the messages.  Sheriff Pritchard was an amiable enough voice
over the phone, but Mulder had heard the worry, and the weariness,
behind the pleasant tone.  "Agent Mulder, can we meet as soon as
possible?  I know you just got in, and you'd probably like to get
settled, but - "  Mulder had interrupted him politely, and had assured
him it was no trouble.  The sheriff guaranteed he could be there at the
cabin in ten fast minutes.  Actually, he made it in eight.

The sheriff was tall and extremely thin, as if he'd been on the hunt for
food for years and had never found it.  Thinning pale brown hair,
sharply-focused gray eyes and a firm handshake which bordered on pain,
he'd shaken Mulder's hand until it felt numb and made his bony ass
comfortable in the only armchair in the room, while Mulder sat on the
bed and sipped at the latte which Pritchard had insisted was for him.
"Never drink the stuff myself," he'd declared, in a surprisingly deep
voice, "But I know you agents need your caffeine…"  At Mulder's puzzled
look, the sheriff expounded a bit on that rather strange statement.  "My
brother's an FBI agent, down in Texas - drinks a gallon of this stuff
when he's out in the field working a case."  Mulder smiled and nodded,
as if the explanation really made sense to him.  Abruptly, Pritchard
changed gears and became the cop again, handing Mulder a file and
filling him in on the basic case.

"Lucy Esposito, aged ten - lives with her divorced mother in south
Saratoga, over on Milton Road.  In a trailer with rather flimsy doors,
although both are deadbolted to the skies… Mary, her mother, has been
having problems with the ex-husband and had extra locks installed  just
a week before Lucy was taken.

"Lucy was reported missing at about one o'clock in the morning, exactly
five days ago - her mother was out on a date, had left Lucy with her
regular babysitter, Cathie Franklin… Cathie'd been taking care of Lucy
for about three years and according to Mary, is completely
trustworthy."  Both men looked down at the color photo in the file… Lucy
was a lovely child, with long dark brown hair braided into two plaits on
either side of her head, and pale green eyes.  Mulder had stared
intently at the photo… the dark hair and those braids.. an image of a
young, thin little girl in a flowered nightgown… childish voice
gleefully calling him "Butt-Munch"…he'd shaken his head, hard… and
focused in on Pritchard's narrative again.

"According to Cathie, Lucy'd gone to bed at ten o'clock and she'd stayed
in the living room, watching TV.  About eleven she ordered a pizza,
which was delivered by her boyfriend Mike Haskins, who works at the
local Pizza Inn here in town.  They ate the pizza and watched TV and
swapped some spit, I suppose… then around one o'clock, the dog started
barking its fool head off and Mike went outside to check… and Cathie
went into Lucy's room to make sure she was OK.  She said the bed was
torn up, sheets all over the floor… and Lucy was gone.  No blood,
nothing out of the ordinary, except for the torn-up sheets, something a
little girl wouldn't be able to do even if she was a wild sleeper.  She
called Mary immediately and Mary called me."   Pritchard paused and
flipped through some more photos, showing Mulder a shot of the room,
with its sheets flung everywhere.  And for some reason, Mulder found
himself focusing in on the window, visible in the shot… the open window…
but that light… the blinding light behind the sheer curtains… he shook
his head again, and looked at the photo again - and the window in that
photo was closed, and there were only blinds… no curtains.  He was
confused; what the hell was wrong with him?  He forced himself to
concentrate on Pritchard's voice.

"Mr. Mulder… Mr. Mulder?"  Pritchard was looking at him strangely;
Mulder rubbed at his eyes, and apologized for his lapse into the ozone
layer.  "I was just saying… why don't I take you over to the Esposito
place now, so you can talk with Mary and see for yourself?"  Mulder
nodded and stood up, stretching hugely, then met the sheriff's amused
eyes wryly.

"Sorry, Sheriff - postponed jet lag from my last field trip… I'm ready
when you are."

Northern Pines Trailer Park was nestled so far off Milton Road it wasn't
even visible from the highway.  Mulder wasn't familiar with these
places, but this particular park was huge, and laid out in actual
streets.  The Espositos lived at Lot 23, in a spacious trailer with two
doors, as Pritchard had stated, each door sporting about six deadbolts.
Mulder made a mental note to ask the mother about the father and his
supposed harassment.  Mary Esposito had answered the door; a small
woman, dark-haired like her daughter; pale and weary to the bone she
looked, standing there at the entrance to Lucy's room, trying not to
break down yet again.  In a soft voice, she'd gone over the night in
question again, only sobbing once, when asked to describe what Lucy had
been wearing.

"A pink flowered nightgown, Mr. Mulder… just a little thin nightgown,
and no panties either!  Oh, God… no panties.  Lucy hates sleeping with
panties on…" she'd buried her face in her shaking hands and had sobbed
against the sheriff's chest.  Mulder turned to look further into the
room…

And saw her, pale and screaming, against the windows, tangled in the
lace curtains; nightgown fluttering in the open frame, floating on her
back, hair streaming down in a dark cloud, wide scared eyes and tears
falling fast and hot down her cheeks, crying for help, so, so
frightened, beyond anything a child so young should have to face…
crying, screaming louder, for him… "FOX…!"    Lucy Esposito… no, not
her.  Mulder looked again, almost squinting in his effort to see the
child… and slid to the floor, against the wall in a boneless heap, as he
recognized the little face, with horrifying clarity…

His sister, Samantha…

Slumped in his chair, numbed mind re-hashing it all, every detail of
that month from hell… Mulder again searched for answers that had never
seen a question assigned to them, almost four years ago.  The eagerness
with which the Esposito family had accepted their child's kidnapping, as
just that… without asking themselves for any alternatives… was very
worrisome - much the same way Mulder's own mother had accepted
Samantha's disappearance.  Or, at least, the little façade she'd
presented to him, every time he'd asked her… God, he could still hear
himself asking her.

"Mom, why can't I remember the night when Sam was kidnapped?  Why can't
I remember seeing it happen?  I was right in the room with her…"  his
young voice was always in plead-mode… and his mother's brusque answer
was always the same.

"I have already told you, Fox, many times… you were so devastated by
what had happened that you blocked out much of the memory, as a way of
protecting yourself from the pain of remembering... that's the way the
human mind works…"  The young Mulder had not given up the need for an
answer… not quite yet.

"Mom… I want to be hypnotized… I've heard you can remember buried stuff,
in your head, if someone hypnotizes you… I want to do it…"

"No… absolutely not.  Let it go, Fox… please.  I can't bear it anymore…
just let it go, for me…" Her tears had stopped him from asking, for a
very long time.  He'd never mentioned it to her again, but he'd tried to
do some digging, on his own, never coming up with anything concrete…
until the day he'd watched in horrified fascination as his sister
floated through the window of a mobile home, in broad daylight, in the
middle of the woods in upstate New York… screaming his name.  That very
afternoon, he'd contacted a psychoanalyst at Saratoga Springs Memorial
Hospital… and made an appointment.  A few days later, he'd sat on a sofa
in Dr. Edwin Carmelita's office, listening to the soothing, sing-song
voice lulling him into a place of past security… taking him back,
further back from that fateful night… establishing a relationship, in
his mind, with his sister, and his parents, the better to understand his
grief.  He'd relived again the sibling bickering between them, the silly
name-calling and the petty fighting… saw the showdown in their living
room that night, for control of the TV remote… experienced once more the
utter terror of the lights, flashing outside the window, the shaking
room, knocking over pieces of the board game on the floor… and the
screams of his sister as she was lifted by unseen hands, and taken
through the open window… felt his own frozen inability to save her, to
summon the strength to reach out even one hand, to stop her from being
taken… and once more Mulder collapsed, in tears which wrenched at his
soul, his very sanity… and screamed for his sister, even as her
terrified cries filled his ears… once more.

When the session was over, and Mulder listened to the tape that had been
recorded… he'd scarcely been able to believe what he was hearing.
Abduction… alien abduction.  It made sense… finally, something made
sense.  He'd listened to the entire thing, tears flowing endlessly down
his drawn cheeks… right up to the final answer he'd given Dr. Carmelita,
as he'd been asked, "Do you believe…?"  He'd heard his soft, unhesitant
reply to that question… and the surety of his answer bit at him, hard…
and he'd suddenly and with utter certainty, known which path his life
would now have to follow… he'd known.  He'd reached out a finger, to
press the rewind button of the recorder – to hear his answer, one more
time… to reaffirm…

"I want to believe…"

Mulder leaned back in his chair, in his basement office, and wiped the
lingering moisture from his face.  He'd wanted to believe, almost four
years ago… and that need had not lessened any, not at all – in spite of
everything it had cost him, in friendships, family ties… lovers.  No, he
amended in his mind, just one lover… just one wife.  The biggest
sacrifice of all, because he'd been so consumed with it; with the need
to find his sister, to unravel the mystery shrouding her abduction; so
consumed he'd felt himself saturated in it. Too frenetic in his new
passion to even call home, when deep down inside he'd known what he was
doing to Scully… how his behavior was tearing at her soul.  He knew –
and he never did a thing to stop it.  Like watching someone else saying
those hurtful things to her, not him, never him – just some other
Mulder, telling Scully he couldn't be married… though he'd continued to
wear his ring, for a very long time, after the divorce was final.  He
wasn't sure why; somehow the warm gold banding his finger gave him
comfort… A way of saying sorry for the pain he'd caused her, after he'd
come home from am month of tearing at his own past, in the midst of
trying to discover Lucy Espositio's fate…

Home, after a month of searching for answers, both to the Esposito
girl's kidnapping as well as his sister's.  Sad to say, Lucy's fate was
eventually easier to figure, for her father had taken her, in the middle
of the night – and in his crazed need to hurt his ex-wife for leaving
him, he'd killed his daughter, suffocated her with a pillow as she lay
sleeping in the unmade bed of a motel room in Maryland, where he'd been
holed up.  Suffocated the child, and then he'd hung himself, leaving
behind a short note of regrets for his actions, and his wedding ring, on
the nightstand next to the dead body of his child.  Mary Esposito had
suffered a full mental and physical collapse when she'd been informed,
by Mulder and Sheriff Pritchard, their eyes bleary with exhaustion and
sorrow – and she'd subsequently been sent to the Utica State Mental
Hospital, for observation and treatment.  Mulder had packed up his gear
and left the Robin Hood Motel, without leaving any kind of forwarding
phone number – and had flown out to the Vineyard, to confront his mother
and father about Samantha.  The results of that confrontation were too
painful to even reminisce about… so he firmly clamped down on the little
VHS unit in his head, and slowly pushed himself to his feet, glancing at
his watch as he did so.  An hour…

He had an hour to compose himself and get his shit together, in more
ways than one… an hour before his new partner was due to arrive; the
partner he was dreading, even more than any other partner who'd been
unfortunate enough to be paired with him, for his single-minded quest
for the truth drove them all away, one by one… A new partner that he
didn't want, couldn't have, couldn't contemplate the next
God-only-knew-how-many years of working beside… and somehow, some way,
they would have to find a way to work side by side, giving and receiving
the utmost trust in each other, for that was the way of a partnership…
at least that's what all his past partners had always told him, at about
the fourth or fifth time he'd go off and ditch them, off on his own,
hunting down a lead.  He sat down at the desk and flicked the switch on
the slide viewer, pushed his glasses on his nose again, and prepared to
run through the slides once more…

And the knock on the door caused him to jump and drop three slides on
the floor; he hurriedly scooped them up and took refuge from his nervous
stomach to call out, "Sorry, nobody down here but the FBI's most
unwanted…"  Helplessly wondering how to handle this most difficult
newest portion of his life… deciding he'd play it by what he observed;
by being the profiler for himself… by watching, and waiting…

On the other side of the door, already starting to turn the doorknob,
his new partner smiled to herself, albeit a bit grimly, muttered under
her breath, "Oh, but I want you, Mulder… you have no idea…"  Thinking
she'd been in such a panic, since she'd discovered exactly what her new
position within the FBI was going to be… having to make a split-second
decision about the way she'd proceed from here – finally vowing to just
start anew, as if they'd never had a history… wondering how long he'd
let her get away with it.  We shall see, she thought, fighting down the
last of the panic - and then pasting a more genuine smile on her face,
she opened the door and walked through and up to her ex-husband with a
hand stuck out to shake his, looking directly into eyes she'd not seen
in almost four years, as she said, just a trifle mockingly, "Agent
Mulder?  I'm Dana Scully; I've been assigned to work with you…"

The End… or, the Beginning… of a beautiful partnership…?  You Decide…

Feedback is treasured and allowed to snuggle on satin pillows and will
be hand-fed peeled grapes…  at char@chaffin.com, or fncbc@uaf.edu

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