TITLE: A Place in the World (1/1)
AUTHOR: Nynaeve
E-MAIL: scully@on-net.net
RATING: G
CATEGORY: V, story, H (a little), pure, utter fluff!!
KEYWORDS: MSR, RST, brain candy
SPOILERS: various tiny ones for series.
SUMARY: Scully's birthday approaches and it causes some reflection on her
part.
DISCLAIMER: Chris Carter... yadda, yadda, yadda ... 1013 ... blah, blah,
blah. Bottom line: not mine. The title and Mary Chapin Carpenter lyrics
aren't mine either.
FEEDBACK: Yup. Love it. Keep it all in little folders, specifically marked
for each story. Respond to all of it too.
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Anywhere, just let me know please where it's going
so I can visit. Spookys - feel free to archive.
DEDICATION: To the usual, A and J. A Place in the World

FEBRUARY 21, 2000 MULDER'S OFFICE
There are lots of milestones in life. Some are events and others are simply
numbers to which we've assigned some weird value. Some of these we remember
with great clarity, we record with photographs or in write about in
journals. Others recede into the back of our memory, pulled out and
unwrapped when we need a comfortable place to go. What some among us
consider major events, others dismiss with a derisive snort and a nod of
their heads. They aren't even the same for everyone, these milestones by
which we mark the success or failure of our lives.
As I approached another birthday I couldn't help but think about these
things. I thought about the family I'd seen at lunch. I had used my lunch
hour, not for sitting down and eating, but, as I do fairly often, for
running errands that my life investigating X Files seems to prohibit. I had
dropped off my dry cleaning, stopping afterwards at a little sandwich shop
for something I could take back with me. As I had paid and turned to leave a
family caught my eye. The mother and father looked a little harried, which
wasn't surprising considering they were in the process of shepherding three
children out of the shop. The youngest was about seven and the oldest
probably twelve. I really couldn't help smiling to myself as I heard the
father mutter something about "the wisdom of taking them out of school so
they could vacation when no one else was." I would bet anything those kids
will be on the beach in Florida during next year's Spring Break.
Still, it made me think. I guess I was still thinking about it when Mulder
came back from his own lunch. I looked up at him briefly, before returning
to the paperwork in front of me, paperwork I wasn't making any progress on.
Mulder noted the detritus of my own lunch spread out before sitting down to
read a case file. I don't know how long I stared at the papers,
accomplishing nothing.
"Scully?"
Mulder had a quizzical smile on his face when I looked up and his voice held
a laughter I hadn't heard in a while.
"Yeah?"
"You hoping if you stare at it hard enough that paperwork will finish
itself?"
"Huh?" I looked down, aware for the first time I had done next to nothing
since returning. "Oh...ummm... I was thinking."
"About?"
"What?" I paused, wondering what I really had been thinking about. "Nothing,
really." He snickered at me.
"Must have been a whole lot of nothing."
He stood up and crossed the tiny room to my desk, setting himself down on
one edge of my desk, cracking sunflower seeds between his teeth.
"Come on, Scully. It must have been something. You were a million miles
away."
"No, Mulder, really. It wasn't anything," I insisted. He kept staring at me
until I lowered my eyes and stabbed at the piece of paper on the desk.
Without a word, he took the pen out of my hand, despite my protests.
"Scully," he said softly. "You're starting to worry me." I sighed, ducking
my chin to my chest briefly. He was still staring down at me when I looked
up.
"It was stupid, Mulder." I told him, my voice exasperated, more with my own
thoughts than his need to know. "I was just thinking about my place in the
world." A look, quizzical, gentle, understanding, crossed his face. He stood
up and pulled a chair over. He sat down and faced me again. He said nothing
but the look in his eyes told me to continue. "It's ... um ... just that
I'll be thirty-six soon," I started.
"Day after tomorrow," he interrupted. "And you're worried I'll forget your
birthday yet again?" I smiled at him and shook my head, laughing a bit.
"No," I assured him, still chuckling. "Although I am wondering what you
might be planning for an encore after last year's batting practice." He was
about to respond when I added, "Not that I need to worry about that until
oh, late April at the earliest." He grimaced at me and placed his hands
theatrically over his chest.
"Scully," he exclaimed, grinning, "I'm hurt." He paused and we regarded each
other, letting the words we both knew were there lie unspoken. "How 'bout a
little one on one? We could work on your ...jump shot." He waggled his
eyebrows suggestively at me. I balled up a napkin and threw it at him. He
dodged it easily.
"And anyway," I told him, "I just happen to have a very consistent jump
shot, thank you very much."
"You know, Scully, I want to believe, but I think I'm going to need proof of
that," he teased. I shook my head at him and looked back down at the papers
in front of me. "Good try, by the way, Scully, but you aren't going to get
off the hook that easily."
"What hook is that, Mulder?"
"What you were thinking about. So, your birthday is coming up and..." The
smile left my face, replaced I'm sure by a reflective look. I shrugged my
shoulders.
"I saw this family when I was picking up lunch. It made me think."
"About?" His voice was serious and thoughtful. I sighed again and shook my
head a bit.
"The things we're 'supposed' to accomplish in our lives. All those
milestones society marks off for us. We're judged on how many of those
almost arbitrary markers we pass." He reached across the desk and took my
hand.
"Since when has Dana Katherine Scully cared about what 'society' thought?" I
smiled in acknowledgment of his words.
"It's not so much that, Mulder. It's ... I don't how to explain it. Those
milestones are important for a reason. I guess I'm afraid of missing out, of
ending up with regrets, feeling like I cheated myself." I brushed away the
tears that had formed in my eyes, hating myself for getting emotional like
that.
"You want to stop the car before it's too late to do anything else but keep
driving." I nodded at him and brushed more tears away.
"What have I done with my life, Mulder? I mean, I love working on the X
Files. This work is ... you know I couldn't do anything else anymore, but by
most standards I haven't done *anything* with my life, not since choosing a
career. It's like my life is a big black hole." He looked at me, not knowing
what to say. I continued. "I've never ... truly fallen in love, never gotten
married. There aren't going to be any children. I've never traveled anywhere
cultural or educational or even just entertaining for fun... I've never
published anything. The list goes on. Even stupid things. Do you know how
long it's been since I've been to a movie? watched stupid, mindless TV? For
God's sake, Mulder, I've never even watched "Martha Stewart"!" I stopped and
looked at him. He was trying diligently not to laugh at that last complaint.
A smile broke onto my face and I giggled though my tears. Mulder was shaking
with silent laughter. "OK, OK," I agreed, giggling still. "That's probably
not much of a tragedy." He shook his head. He choked out,
"Not unless you have a desperate desire to sheer your own sheep, clean,
card, spin, and dye the wool yourself, before knitting it into an authentic
Irish cable knit pattern. I mean, when you have a few spare hours on the odd
Saturday, Scully." The image struck me as immensely funny and I couldn't
help laughing harder at it. Somehow, Mulder ended up in my vision of all of
this and the thought of Mulder with knitting needles was too much to bear. I
put my head on my desk and laughed harder than I've laughed in a very long
time. We both laughed for quite a while. My sides ached and the tears now
rolling down my face had nothing to do with sorrow. When I could speak again
I said,
"Thank you. I needed that." Mulder was still laughing, though it was
definitely mixed with groaning now.
"We both did," he gasped at last. In a few more minutes we were both calm
and Mulder informed me he would be taking me to dinner on my birthday and I
should be ready to be picked up at seven.
FEBRUARY 23, 2000 MULDER'S OFFICE - 9:00 P.M.
"Mulder? work?" I whined as he ushered me into the office. "It's my
birthday; it's after nine, and ...and ... I don't want to." He smiled
mysteriously at me.
"Have a seat, Scully. I want to give you your birthday present." I looked
down at the silver bracelet he'd given me at dinner.
"But, you already did that." He shook his head.
"That was the decoy present. This is the real one. And don't bother asking
me to tell you what it is. You'll see in just a moment." I watched as he
powered up his laptop, which was hooked to the projector he kept around. He
turned off the lights except the small one on his desk. With a flourish, he
indicated a chair. I sat down and waited. He pulled a second chair next to
mine, hit a few buttons on the laptop, and slid into place next to me. He
slipped an arm around my shoulder, "I know it's not what's showing at the
multi- plex, but I think you'll find it interesting," he said.
The Power Point logo came up and Mulder's computerized slide show began. I
gasped at the first slide. A photo collage of myself, lettered over with the
words "Milestones in Dana Scully's life" popped up. I blushed furiously at
the next slide. It was one of those you wish your parents had lost ages ago,
but they seem to treasure beyond belief - me, getting my first bath.
Somehow, in a day and a half, Mulder had done this, had obviously contacted
my mother, gotten these photos, scanned them in, and put this together. My
life unfolded before me, from that first bath to my favorite Halloween
costume to my seventh-grade science fair project (which won first place).
There were pictures of me with my siblings, playing, fighting, posing. I saw
faces from high school I'd almost forgotten and pictures from college I
should have forgotten.
Mulder handed me a Kleenex when the image of my father hugging me upon my
graduation came up. I grew apprehensive as the 'show' continued. What could
he have found in my life after medical school? I saw my picture from the day
I graduated from Quantico, chuckled at my attempts back then to look like
Clarice Starling. Then there were images of our cases. I had no idea where
he'd found the photos, some of us, some of the people we'd helped, the
criminals we'd chased down. Some of the slides were of my field reports,
even autopsy findings. The last had been taken by some over-eager journalist
on our last case, the one with the LaPierre girl. Mulder and I were hunkered
down in that field, discussing something. Neither of us had eyes for anyone
or anything around us, so intent were we on each other.
As the screen darkened the computer began playing a song, softly, one I
didn't know. He leaned into me and whispered,
"Happy Birthday, Scully." I looked up at him through eyes shining with
tears. I took my bottom lip in my teeth.
"Mulder," I said, voice full of emotion, "I don't know what to say." His
face was half hidden in the shadows of the dim light, but I could see his
smile.
"Just tell me you know your life isn't a black hole, Scully." I shook my
head.
"No." I was crying again. "It isn't."
"You said you were wondering about your place in the world. Scully, your
place is unique, yours alone. It's right in front of you. Stop looking so
hard. It's taken me a long time to find mine, to stop running, and so many
times, I came close to missing my way, but I've found it and I'm going to
hold on tight." Then I heard the lyrics that were floating over us.
'Could be one more mile, or just one step back/in a lover's smile, down a
darkened path/Friends will take our side, enemies will curse us/ But to be
alive is to know your purpose/It's your place in the world/Your place in the
world/Your place in the world.'
I smiled at Mulder and mouthed "Thank you" since the lump in my throat would
not allow any sound to pass. Mulder laid his forehead against mine then and
he looked into my eyes.
"Do you really think you haven't accomplished any of those traditional
goals, Scully?" he asked. His voice was soft, as if he were trying to
disguise the fear he felt in what he was asking. He need not have been
afraid. I knew what he meant.
"No, Mulder. I've definitely achieved one of those goals."
"Which one?" I smiled.
"Hopefully the same one you've achieved." He looked at me carefully,
watching the smile twitch at my face. "The one about truly falling in love,"
I told him. His hands came up, cupping my face.
"Oh," he whispered. "*That* one." His mouth came closer to my own. "Yeah,
I've got that one covered, too."
"I need proof, Agent Mulder," I whispered back teasingly. Somehow, the fact
that we shared our first real, passionate kiss in the basement office fit
the two of us perfectly. Ah, milestones.
END