Title: "Black Wings I: Grapefruit Moon"
Author: Ashlea Ensro
Feedback: Loved it? Hated it? Want to publish it in a sleazy magazine and
change the ending? Let me know at theconsortium6@hotmail.com
Rating: PG (implied sexual situation)
Category - SRA
Spoilers: Musings of a Cigarette Smoking Man
Keywords: Pre-XF, Cancerman/Mrs. Mulder
Summary : Teena Mulder meets one of her husband's co-workers.
Disclaimer: You know who owns these people. The song "Grapefruit Moon" is
by Tom Waits.
Thanks to tyger1013 for saving this from computer-oblivion!
Author's Ramblings: First off, I know the dates are screwy. This takes place in
February 1961, and I'm not using the timeline suggested by either "Musings"
or "731." Both of those episodes are somewhat conflicting, so I've decided to
make my own timeline.
Secondly, Scully and Mulder aren't in this. Just a warning.
Finally, this is the first story in a developing series. There's more to come if
you like this sort of thing.
This is dedicated to C.A., whose shadowy presence showed up once more in this
story, and who should really quit smoking one of these days.
"Now I'm smoking cigarettes
And I strive for purity
And I slip
Just like the stars
Into obscurity..."
- Tom Waits
There was a killer in her living room and she didn't even know it.
He wasn't a killer then, not really, not yet. He was only a boy, his heart,
weighed against an ostrich feather, would register nearly free of sin. But a dark
future was visible in his eyes, as if at twenty-seven he was already an old man,
already aware of what he would become.
She stood in the doorway, an apron around her waist, watching the young
man sip drinks with her husband. They were about the same age - the stranger
was taller and thinner, attractive in a gawky sort of way. His voice, which he
seemed to use rarely, was so quiet she could only make out her husband's side of
the conversation.
"Can I get you anything?" she asked, clearing her throat.
The stranger smiled, shaking his head. "Thanks." he said. Her husband only
grunted - he was slipping in his chair. Drunk, she thought to herself. A cigarette
dangled limply between two fingers.
"Bill?"
No response. The boy met her eyes and smiled. She could tell he was on
leave - his auburn hair had grown past the regulation Army length, one stubborn
lock falling in his eyes. He kept brushing it back - she wished he wouldn't.
"This is my wife, Teena." Bill drawled, not introducing the stranger by
name. Teena turned and went to stand on the porch outside.
"Women." she heard Bill snort. She knew he'd be out cold in a few minutes
- she had gone past the point of being embarrassed. She didn't even know his
friend, so it didn't matter. Not really.
It was night, a full moon. She was staring up at the stars when she heard
footsteps behind her. Too light and quick to be Bill's.
"Hi." The boy's voice, strangely shy.
"Hello." She looked in through the window, seeing the light on in the
kitchen. "Where's Bill?"
The stranger laughed. "I managed to drink him under the table. Don't ask
me how. He's asleep in the chair."
A blush rose to her face.
"It's okay. I put out his cigarette - he won't burn the house down."
She realized how close he had come as he sat down on the porch beside her.
She could feel his breath, turning to blue mist like a puff of smoke in the cold
air.
"You don't smoke." she said.
"No." He knit his fingers together in a nervous gesture. "I can't stand the
stuff."
"Bill's trying to quit - he eats sunflower seeds because he can't keep his
hands still."
"I know. I've seen him."
"Are you good friends with him?"
The young man's clear eyes looked up at the sky. "I don't suppose I'm good
friends with anybody." he replied.
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Don't be. Your husband takes pity on me, you know. One isn't expected
to be antisocial in the Army."
"Are you?"
"Am I what?"
"Antisocial."
He shrugged. "I don't require the constant company of people I don't like in
order to amuse myself, if that's what you're asking."
"I can't picture you in the Army." she said.
"You don't know me."
"Do you like it?"
Another long stretch of silence. "I don't mind it." he said.
"It's a good life."
"So I'm told."
"What do you do, I mean, on your off-time?"
"I write."
She looked at him quizzically. "You write?"
"Novels." He laughed again. "Or at least I try. I haven't had much luck at
it." He lifted a hand towards her face, then stopped abruptly as she flinched. "Did
you hurt yourself?"
She touched her cheek. "Sorry?"
"You have a black eye. Did you have an accident?"
"I...yes. I bumped into a door." She giggled apprehensively. "Hasn't Bill
told you how clumsy I am?"
He looked away from her. "He never mentioned it. Maybe you should get it
looked at."
"It's only a black eye." She half-covered it with her hand, suddenly self-
conscious. He had a way of conveying a multitude of thoughts with only a few
words. And now he was on to something else, staring up at the sky again.
"What are you looking at?" she asked. She felt like a teenager on her first
date.
"You can see all the stars from here. Where I come from, they're blocked
out - lights, buildings. Here you can see everything."
She picked at a nail. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"
He nodded. "I just keep thinking...about how many secrets there are, how
many things we don't know." He lifted a jagged stone from the porch, turned it
over in his hand "When I was a kid I used to think there was a man in the moon.
That he was smiling down on me. He was my friend, I used to talk to him when
I was lonely." He tossed the rock far off into the grass. "But there's nothing up
there, really. Just rocks, and dust."
She wondered, silently, at the sadness in his eyes. As if the destruction of a
childhood dream by modern science could be that important to him. She
wondered who this strange, lonely man really was.
"Maybe there are things science can't see." she said, regretting the words the
moment they left her mouth.
"Maybe." he said. And his hand was on hers - he was looking away from
the sky, towards her. "Bill is very lucky to have you." he said.
"I know."
"No, you don't." He touched the bruise on her eye, no longer nervous or
shy. "If you were my girl I'd treat you properly."
"I don't want to talk about this." Teena said.
"We don't need to talk." For a brief moment he looked vaguely
uncomfortable. "Teena..."
"Who are you?" she whispered.
"It doesn't matter." he replied, drawing her in close for a kiss.
***
Afterwards they lay together on the porch, the sky a sparkling blanket
above them. It was cold - February, and she curled close to him for warmth. She
lay her head against his chest, wondering if those really were tears she saw in his
eyes.
"Cigarette?" she asked.
"I thought you liked me because I don't smoke."
She didn't respond, instead pulling out a pack of Morleys from her
crumpled jacket. She lit one and offered him another. He shrugged, then lit it,
his fingers fumbling in the cold. Inhaling, he coughed, smoke seeping from his
lips in ragged puffs.
"You've never smoked in your life."
"My mother was a chain-smoker. It turned me off."
"You don't get along with your mother?"
He shrugged. "She's dead. Lung cancer."
"I'm sorry."
"I was very young at the time."
They lay there in silence for a long time.
"Bill would kill you if he found out about this." Teena said finally.
"I know." He smiled. "And I ought to kill him, for hurting you."
"It's...not important."
"It is to me." In the moonlight he looked beautiful, not the awkward young
man who sat in her living room choking on Bill's cigarette smoke. He was
young, yes, but he was never innocent, his eyes were deep and knowing. No one
could hide secrets from him, she thought, not even she who lived in secrecy.
She loved him, this nameless beautiful boy, she could feel life from him
growing within her. She had never felt so aware of the universe in all its
complexities, the cold snow and the warmth inside her body, the moon and the
stars turning the night as bright and piercing as day. She was beautiful when he
touched her, more alive than she had ever been in all her life. And if he would
only ask her, she would take his hand and run with him to the place where the
shimmering ground met the shimmering sky.
But he did not say the word. He did not know the words to say. He stood up
slowly, looking to the light in the house, at Bill Mulder's slumped form at the
kitchen table.
"I have to go." he said quietly.
Teena closed her eyes, then nodded. "I know." she said.
He swallowed hard, then started to walk away. His auburn hair - like a fox's
tail, she thought - was the only color against the black sky and the white snow.
"Wait." She ran to catch up with him. For a moment they both held their
breath, hoping against hope.
He stared at her.
"Aren't you going to tell me your name?" she asked.
He thought about it for awhile. "It's better that you don't know." He leaned
over and kissed her forehead with genteel formality, above her bruised eye.
"Goodbye Teena."
She watched him turn, walk away towards the car parked at the end of the
driveway.
Goodbye. (
geocities.com/earthworm1013)