"Sinking Sand" Anna Renick Story Rating: PG Category: MSR, Angst Spoilers: Requiem, TINH, DeadAlive, and a passing nod to Bob Seeger. Archive: I'd be honored, just let me know where. Disclaimers: The X-Files are owned by Fox Television, Ten Thirteen Productions, and Chris Carter. Scully belongs to Gillian Anderson. Mulder still belongs to David Duchovny. No infringement intened. Don't sue. Summary: Anger has been identified as the second stage of grief. Feedback: Needed more than I'm willing to admit. Please send to limecityprod@aol.com Author's Notes: This is in response to a Scullyfic Improv Challenge. Elements and other comments appear at the end. What if my heart Had walked right past you What if my eyes Had never asked you To come and take the chains That kept me weighted down If you never saved me Oh, I know I'd still be Walking in sinking sand Flying with no place to land Oh, I'd be lost Searching for you Heaven would be out of reach My soul left incomplete That's where I'd be Without your love "Without Your Love" (Kirstyn Osborn, Stephony Smith & Cathy Majeski) Skinner had insisted that she take "some time off". Off from what? Cleaning her apartment until the sun rose and it was socially acceptable to eat breakfast food? Or perhaps he had in mind time off from staring out the window watching the stars until all the little pinpoints of light merged together like some long dead Impressionist's painting of an empty sky? Or maybe what he really meant was time off for him. So he could just get through the day without feeling the need to call down to the basement and ask her some meaningless question in an effort to assure himself that she was...what? Okay? Or even better, fine? (Mulder's dead. I'm alive. Will there be anything else, sir?) Ten days after the funeral, Skinner had called her into his office and informed her that he was placing her on leave. Family Medical leave, or vacation leave, or sick leave. He'd let the HR folks sort it out. She was going on leave. She knew he expected more resistance. (Didn't he realize that resistance was futile? Oh, that was the other resistance. The big one. The one the powers that be had apparently chosen to ignore. Like the dirt that fell from her hand to crumble against Mulder's casket. Fallen by the wayside and lost in the grave the living dug to hide themselves from the final truth.) But in the end, what was the point? He was her boss, he was big, and if need be, he was armed. So, why care anymore? (Oh, that's right. I'm supposed to care. They still expect me to care. They really don't get it. Crack investigators without a clue. Someday this might be funny. But for the time being, it is just not worth the effort, boys.) So she went back to the basement, gathered her purse and her pre-natal vitamins, listened to Doggett assure her he would take care of whatever came down the pike and she wasn't to worry about a thing. Just come back whenever she was ready. (Come back? Why? Oh. Right. The X-Files are my life. Of course, that can get you tortured, murdered, and left in the woods, but thank you for giving purpose to my life.) Okay, fine. Thanks. No, she didn't need any help. (I think I can carry my own purse, Agent Doggett.) So she sent home to sit on the couch like a good little pregnant agent. Her mother had called earlier. She knew she should appreciate the call, but the dutiful daughter could not handle falling apart on the phone at the moment. Okay, good. Thanks. Tomorrow. She promised. Yes, she would remember to eat. And the vitamins. The baby. She knew he would. (Damn all this past tense.) The couch wasn't a bad bed. All things considered. And one could basically live there during the day, trips to the bathroom and the kitchen aside. Nights were a different story. Minds have a tendency to wander in the dark. Nights were memories of footsteps in the hallway and knocks on the door and candles and bottles of wine and being alive. If you stayed up all day, shouldn't you be able to sleep through the night? Evidently she had missed the class in med school where they learned how your body ignores the rules when you need them the most. Maybe another pillow would help. But the pillows were in the bedroom. She knew she was avoiding the bedroom. Okay. So what? She had her reasons. And the rest of the world could just go to hell if they had a problem with that. Except the rest of the world wasn't here and they didn't know. It was just her. And the numbness that was keeping her sane. But her back really hurt and stretching had gotten a little awkward. She was going to have to get another pillow. (Deal with it. Get off the damn couch and deal with it. Gonna hide here forever?) Okay. But only because she had to go to the bathroom. Again. (Hey, at least I'm in the hallway. What? No applause?) She avoided looking in the mirror as the water washed the soap from her hands. She had perfected the art of avoiding mirrors during the past couple of weeks. Why look? She wasn't feeling particularly inspired to do anything about it anyway. Not at the moment. For the moment, she wasn't Dr. Scully. Or Agent. Scully. Or Dana. Or Scully. She was someone else she didn't know or recognize. They could all meet each other again after the world righted itself. The pillows were still in the bedroom. All she had to do was close her eyes and get the damn things. She stood in the doorway until the throbbing in her back prevailed and she stepped inside. Walking purposefully to the bed, she grabbed two pillows. As she turned to leave, one the pillows brushed the top of her bedside table and knocked a small wooden box over the edge. It fell to the floor, spilling its contents at her feet. "Dammit." She threw the pillows against the headboard and with one hand on the bed, reached down to retrieve the box. Although its white paint was faded and chipped on the corners, the black letters on top were as vibrant as the day she had painted them almost thirty years ago. "Top Secret - Keep Out" Sinking down to the floor, she whispered, "No boys allowed." It had been a year... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Come on, Scully. A secret box? You expect me to be able to resist that?" Mulder grinned. He was busted and he knew it. She had walked into the bedroom to find him reaching for the small white box sitting on her dresser. Dressed only in jeans with one of her towels slung over his shoulder, his hair still wet from the shower. The sight of Mulder in her bedroom, less than fully clothed and with no life threatening injuries, was still a relatively new experience and one worth savoring. She crossed her arms and waited for an explanation. "The mirror in the bathroom is all fogged up." "Uh, huh...." Mulder had shown up about an hour earlier. Which was about two hours earlier than scheduled. He had returned home from a pickup game to find the water off in his building. Seems a pipe in the basement had broken and the plumber was on his way. And had been for approximately two hours. Reasoning that Scully would prefer a clean dinner companion to a late one, he stuffed some jeans, a t-shirt and sweater in his gym bag and took a chance she wouldn't mind if he used her shower. "So give, Scully. What's in the box?" Crossing to the dresser to stand in front of him, she picked up the box and replied, "Secret stuff, Mulder." "I figured out that part. Your secret stuff?" Fingering the lid, she nodded. "I made it when I was eight. With my dad one summer when he was home on leave." "Hmm," he absorbed this new piece of Scullylore. Scully the woodworker. "I don't remember seeing it here before." "My mother found it when she was sorting through some closets. She gave it to me when I went over for brunch after Mass last week." "Why the top secret clearance?" "One word. Bill. He could be a real pain at times." His grin returned. "Gee, imagine that." She grinned back at him, "Well, you know, no boys allowed. That sort of thing. Plus I was going through my secret agent stage. Code words, hidden messages. The whole bit." "Shades of Emma Peel?" "I think she was a little before my time." "Thanks for the reminder. No spandex, huh?" "Mulder, I was eight." "Right. Sorry." Her eyes were drawn to a drop of water as it rolled down the side of his face and slipped down his neck. She looked up to find him staring at her. She cleared her throat. "You're dripping." He dutifully rubbed his hair with the towel. "So, do I get clearance, Scully?" Oh, right. The box. He was talking about the box. "Well, I don't know, Mulder. What's the password?" He leaned forward until she could see nothing but the pulse beating at the base of his throat and whispered, "I'll have to think about that." Stepping back, he reached for his shirt behind her on the dresser, "But in the meantime, how's dinner coming? I'm starved." She laughed. "Almost ready. I just came in to take a quick shower, assuming there is any hot water left, and change. Would you mind pouring the wine?" "You sure you don't need any help in here?" "The wine, Mulder." "Yes, ma'am. Coming up...." He bowed, pulled the sweater over his still damp head, and headed for the kitchen. Scully was learning that dinner with Mulder was, well, fun. Not that she should be surprised by that fact, but there was a difference between sharing a meal on the weekend because they wanted to and eating cold pizza in some half star motel in Middle of Nowhere, Wisconsin after a hard day chasing the monster of the week. Not necessarily better different, but definitely different. After all, watching Mulder's mind at work when fueled only by adrenalin and anchovies was sometimes worth the flashing neon and diesel fumes. Still, even after all those late nights in the field, it was nice to know that they had something left to say to each other that didn't involve mutants or lights in the sky. She knew he was genuinely interested in what she had to say. In retrospect, she wondered why that surprised her. Even when she was silent, he listened. So, although he didn't mention the box again during dinner, she knew he was only biding his time. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ He woke to the sounds of thunder. The room was dark save for the light from the street light filtering through the sheers to dance in shadows across the bed. The pillow next to his bore the indent of where her head had been; the covers were pushed aside. For a moment, he felt the old fears rising to the surface. Then he heard a gentle sigh behind him. Rolling over, he saw her standing before the window staring out into the storm. He slipped out of bed and moved to stand behind her. "Hey, I thought I was the insomniac around here, " he whispered as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his lips against her hair. "I guess you're a bad influence on me." "Thunder wake you?" "Always does." He didn't know that. He pulled her closer. Her skin was smooth and cold against his chest. "You're cold, Scully. Do you want to come back to bed?" She seemed not hear him as she pressed her index finger to glass. "Did you ever notice how someof the rain drops are drawn together as they run down the pane, but there is always at least one that seems determined to race to the bottom all alone?" He reached his hand forward to cover hers. "When I was little and my father was at sea and it stormed, I used to think that the storm would stretch out over the water to his ship. I could picture the ship rising and falling in the waves. I would get out of bed and say a special prayer to God, to keep him safe and dry and bring him home. I was afraid that if I didn't wake up during a storm, if I didn't say a prayer, that something bad would happen to him. That it was just me and my link to God keeping him safe out there." "Who's to say it wasn't?" She crossed her arms around his, rested her head against him, and whispered, "Sometimes, I just miss my father, Mulder." He watched the drops of rain roll down the window pane and wondered why Scully's God had seen fit to trust him with this moment. "I know." They had both lost so much to finally find each other. Still he knew there were holes in their lives that would never be filled. They stood together until the storm moved away and the thunder became merely an occasional rumble in the distance. Scully turned and lifted her hand to touch his cheek. "It's cold, Mulder. Take me back to bed." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It wasn't the last night they spent together, but it was the last time they mentioned the box. She knew he hadn't forgotten it. Someday she assumed he would ask about it again, or perhaps some night she would simply surprise him with a little glimpse into her childhood. She thought they had plenty of time for that. They both did. When people fall in love, they think they have forever. After everything they had been through, seen, overcome, they should have known better. But they didn't. And so they simply lived and loved and thought they had all the time in the world. Until Mulder left and didn't come back and then it was too late. Scully sat on the floor and looked at the box in her hands. At the pictures and trinkets of a childhood lived in a world where little girls played unaware that their futures had been decided by forces unseen and unrepentant. She could almost hear his voice. < Is that you, Scully?> <'Fraid so, Mulder.> (How do I tell this child that the father who would have loved her, curls or not, is never coming home? There must be a good reason I have to tell her that, Mulder. I just can't seem to find it anymore.) (Dammit, Mulder, we could've had a dog. We could've stopped the car, and gotten out, and had a dog and a life together. A life where one of us didn't stand in starlight and wait to be taken somewhere the other couldn't follow.) < Hey, I know what this is. One of those weeble wobble guys, right? Sam had a bunch of those. She'd leave them everywhere. I was always stepping on them. Wait a sec - what's this? Teeth marks? Yours or Bubba's?> (I didn't want to be right this time, Mulder. I want more time. I want forever. I want fifteen seconds. I want there to be no Oregon, and no Montana, and no cold forest floors, and no lights I can't reach in time, and no North Carolina, and no cemetery covered in snow, and no ugly hole in the ground, and no coffin meaning I can never touch you again. I don't care about aliens and starlight and things I can't change or stop. I want to walk off that elevator seven years ago and have it start all over again and have everything be the same and everything be different and not end this way. Not with me here and you somewhere far away in the ground or in the stars where the only place I can hear your voice is in my head. I just want us again, Mulder.) The room had grown dark. Carefully, she closed the lid on the secret treasures of her childhood. Someday she would open it again. With their child. Maybe some night when the sky was filled with stars so close you could almost reach your hand out to catch their light. Or perhaps on a night when the wind and rain raged against the world outside. But either way, this time she promised herself she would not wait until it was too late. The End. Author's Note: While there was a lot about "DeadAlive" I loved (such as ResurrectedMulder!), the leap from Scully's stoic grave side performance to "three months later" was just too much for me. This is my attempt to address what may have occurred during that period. As noted above, this was written in response to a Scullyfic Improv Challenge. Lorri said, "Come on! It'll be fun!" I am so gullible at times. This story would not exist without her gentle poking, insightful and patient beta work, and one particularly late night IM. You're a true gem, little girl! Elements were as follows: A golden retriever - Jean Someone opening a secret box - Lruth Scully showing someone her old baby pictures - Revely Mulder and/or Scully waiting for the plumbers to arrive - Mara A barfing bubba - Peb A weeble wobble - Lorri