The Lady and the Tiger. Another possible outcome of the story following 'Anasazi'. This story is in two chapters. The first part I wrote, after reading Windsinger's wonderful story 'Memories', part 5 of her 'Revelations' series. 'Wind', then developed the idea further in chapter 2. The characters of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully are the property of Chris Carter and Tenthirteen .....and no copyright infringement is intended....you all know how it goes! Also acknowledgement and no copyright infringement intended to Frank Stockton's story "Lady or the Tiger". ************************** The Lady and The Tiger. Chapter One by Stephanie Davies (100573.2252@compuserve.com) The smartly-dressed woman in her late thirties raked her eyes across the clusters of people in the lobby as she waited in the line to register for her room at the Los Angeles Airport Hilton. Assistant-Director Dana Scully had driven down from San Fransisco where she had been addressing the American Society of Pathologists on the topic of forensic pathology and investigative technique. There had been two days to kill before her scheduled meeting here at 8 am tomorrow, after which she would catch a flight back to DC. She had stayed overnight in Monterey, and that morning had set off early. It had been foggy. She had driven into Carmel, which was dripping and quiet at 9 am, and bought two croissants and a coffee for her breakfast, and then had set off down the winding highway listening to the Grateful Dead on a local radio station. But as she had travelled down the coast the fog had lifted, and the wild beauty of the coastline was continually revealed as the road twisted and turned. She had stopped for lunch at a roadhouse by the sea near Santa Barbara and wondered, as she had on numberless previous occasions in the past eight years, why she was still doing things like this. And she remembered a dark night and a stale stakeout on a hopeless case in Jackson when, to break the tedium, they had planned this journey. "It has to be a red Mustang, Scully - with the top down and Jefferson Airplane on the radio... Big Sur.." She could hear his voice so clearly, with its slightly nasal twang, and the continual crack of the sunflower seeds... Though intellectually Dana Scully had told herself that Fox Mulder must be dead after the boxcar fire - all the reports had concluded so - emotionally she had never given up hope. To do so would be to lose such a large part of her being that she was not sure she would be able to survive....not as the person she wanted to be. Just to be able to get through each day she had to believe. No body or even appropriate human traces had been found in the burnt -out boxcar. And "Nothing disappears without a trace," the Navajo elder had said. So for months she had expected him; then she had merely hoped for his return. Now she held a passive belief that he was alive - somewhere. But he had not come back to her, and Dana Scully knew Fox Mulder; knew that if he could have, he would have returned to her side. One day, if she believed enough, maybe whatever was keeping him away would end, and she would be reunited with the other half of herself again. She knew it prevented her from moving on, from getting a life and all those things she had dreamed of so long ago - before the day she had walked into Fox Mulder's basement domain - babies, a husband. She had never accepted that a career would necessarily exclude these dreams. Not before Mulder. In those eight years since his loss Dana Scully had risen quickly to her present position in the FBI. At times she wondered cynically whether the guilt her superiors felt over Mulder's loss, particularly when details of the conspiracy against him stood revealed, had played a part in her exceptionally rapid progress through the ranks. But she knew that she was damned good at her job, and no-one could have devoted more time or effort to it. Still, though, whenever she queued at an airport check- in desk, or at a hotel reception , stood in line at an ATM or waited for an elevator, she searched the crowd in case one day she might see him again. Whilst at first she had scolded herself for ridiculous conduct, it had become such a part of her pattern of behaviour that she no longer noticed she was doing it. For this reason, she was was totally unprepared for the feelings crashing through her when, having finally registered and been given her room key, on turning to pick up her bag , across the lobby her attention was caught by a crying child being swept into the air in a man's arms. The child, a little dark -haired boy, dissolved his howls to giggles as the man held him aloft and turned.... And Dana looked at him. And looked again. Her bag dropped to the ground. For a second she thought she would faint, as she pressed her fist to her lips to keep from crying out. Then she broke into a run across the lobby, through the crowd, pushing past people until she was close, till she caught up with the man who had by now turned away, holding the little boy by the hand. "Mulder.....Fox". She grabbed at his arm, and the man turned back at her sudden touch, shocked. Oh God, the sweet scent of him.......her hand rested on his arm as she gazed once more into those animated hazel eyes....and saw , in the length of one breath, that he did not know her. Her hand dropped nervelessly from his arm and she stepped back, away from his personal space which she felt she had invaded. "I'm sorry?" the remembered voice questioned. "Do we know each other?" he added, with an odd inflection. Still they held each other's gaze. He looked impossibly younger. She drank in the sight of him after eight years in her stony desert. He smiled at her......."Excuse me....." A woman was pushing through the crowded lobby. "Sweetheart," he called out to her, "Here's someone who thinks she knows me!" The woman moved close to him, putting her arm around his waist protectively, smiling all the while at Dana. Who stepped back further....and who wanted to run far away and close her mind because she knew something hard was coming.... The woman had bright copper hair, falling in a thick bob to her chin, a dusting of freckles and fearless blue eyes. He said, "I'm Nathaniel Wyatt. My wife, Andrea........and you are....?" Dana Scully looked at the possessive way the wife held her husband. She looked at the dark little boy, quiet now. She looked at the serious-eyed red-headed girl of six who stood at the woman's side - and gave in to her impulse for flight. "I'm sorry, I've got to go....sorry!" and she ran back to her bag, grabbed the key off the counter and escaped to her room. She sat, motionless, for the longest time, hugging herself tightly, as darkness came to Los Angeles and crept around her. ********************************************* Much later, there was a soft knock at the door. He stood there, awkwardly, hesitantly. She tried to think of a reason not to let him in, but he said, "Please....I won't make trouble....I just need to know who I am." Her eyes clouded. He sat opposite her on an overstuffed sofa, cleared his throat and looked up at her."I can't remember anything except the last eight years of my life. They say I must have had a road accident, so badly was a part of my brain destroyed....they don't know how...." But Dana knew how. Bitterly, she recalled that Fox Mulder had returned to her once before with no memory, from Ellens Airforce base in Idaho.How very long ago that was. "I was found wandering Interstate 10 in Arizona in December 1995, with no ID and no memory of anything before." He paused, and the room was so silent she could hear him breathing. "You seemed so sure who I was - it's the only time I've truly felt I might find out about the missing life I must have had. I don't even know how old I am...." He swallowed, then continued. "The doctors said there was no chance of my memory ever recovering....who did you think I was? You called me by a name but I didn't catch it." Instead of answering, Dana said, "You have a lovely family". His face grew soft. Dana had seen that look once or twice, when Mulder had looked at her....but it had never seemed the right time.... "Yes, my little girl Beth's six, and Daniel, he's nearly three. Do you have children?" "No." He sensed the pain, and asked no more. He did not speak for a minute, and then said softly, "You know, you remind me of my wife. When I woke up in the hospital and couldn't remember anything, she was there looking after me - a nurse - and it just seemed so right....I'm sorry - I don't know why I'm talking to you like this. But it's mostly for her and the children that I'd like to know who I am." He leaned forward towards her, his elbows on his knees. "Andrea's parents are both dead, and we'd love to track down some grandparents, and even a few aunts and uncles for the kids...." He smiled that wide, delightful smile, then became more serious. "And I know how I'd feel if I lost Andrea - or one of the kids - and didn't know whether they were alive or dead - year after year. I'd hate to think of someone grieving for me all these years - life's too brief to mourn unnecessarily." How she still loved this man, his kindness and sensitivity. How she wanted to tell him all - to have him hold her tight and whisper that it was alright, that he had come back to her, that the unspoken promise between them could now be fulfilled.... Suddenly into her mind flashed a story she hadn't read since grade-school. Did she love him enough to let him go, to go on with his life and his lady and his children, or too much to lose him again? What if the price of having him back was to see his life torn to shreds by a bitter and painful, potentially dangerous, past? So Dana Scully lied to the man who had given her the precious gift of his absolute trust. "I'm really sorry. I can't help you. I thought - you were my - husband. He left me three years ago. So you see...." Her voice trailed off as his body seemed to sag with disappointment. the voice in her head pleaded for understanding. He tried to hide his disappointment as he stood up. "I'm really sorry to have troubled you..." He held his hand out to her. She hestitated for a second, then took it. His grasp was warm and strong. "I hope you find your husband," he said kindly, "if you want to." "I hope you find what you're looking for ,too," she whispered, and to herself, He turned at the door. "You never did tell me your name." She hesitated. "Margaret O'Brien"....her mother's given name. She shook his hand, and he walked off down the corridor without looking back. She thought of the unseen forces that had raged against Fox Mulder. she thought savagely, But she leaned back against the door as she closed it with a strange, wild smile on her face. Sorrowfully, she whispered aloud, "Oh my love, how could I take your peace away from you. Be happy - you always deserved it." end of chapter one. The Lady and the Tiger Chapter 2 (by Windsinger) Windsinger@aol.com The doorbell rang. Dana Scully got stiffly to her feet from where she had been painting baseboards. Wiping her hands on a rag as she headed for the door, she wondered where the stiffness came from. After all she was still not even forty. Not yet forty. So many years of emptiness lay before her. No, that wasn't entirely true. There was worthwhile work for her hands to do and there was life. It was just that the joy had gone out of it all. She looked around her apartment. How familiar... Which was exactly why, after twelve years, five years after the building had gone condo, she was selling it. Before, as painful as the memories were of seeing him here, sleeping on her couch, sitting at the table eating whatever he could find in her refrigerator, there had been some point to keeping it. Mulder might come back. Oh, she could move anywhere and she knew that, if he needed her, he would be able to find her, but she had wanted to make it as easy for him as possible. No point now. He was alive, he had wife, he had children, he had a smile on his face, and absolutely no memory of anything that had happened before waking up in a hospital eight years before. She opened the door and, standing in the tiny vestibule, there he was, looking hesitant, embarrassed, tall and beautiful and unreal. He was wearing a suit, but not an expensive suit, not like he used to wear. Though she lived with his ghost every hour of every day since she had seen him in that hotel lobby, in a thousand years Dana had never expected to see him again in the flesh, . "Mul- Mr.Wyatt?" "Nate. They call me 'Nate'," he said with a kind smile. And then continued more pointedly, "And *you* they call Assistant Director Dana Scully." Dana blushed. Realizing he was still awkwardly standing in her doorway, she said, formally, "Please, come in." Despite herself she watched every movement he made as he crossed to her living room. There was not a hint of recognition in his face as he took in the room he must sense from her that he should remember. His posture was noticeably more tense than it had been when he was with his wife and children, before Dana Scully reentered his life. He sat on her couch and crossed his long legs. Dana perched on the edge of chair. There was an uneasy silence between them. She began. "I guess you found me out." "Yes," he replied, his eyes level and steady. "Just as you found out everything you could about me." She looked surprised, then guilty. "I didn't mean to pry." "No? You looked into my medical records and my financial statements, and you had my wife and her family investigated." He did not seem angry, but Dana found to her surprise that she could not read him, that she could not tell how he did feel. Dana pressed her lips together. No, she was not going to feel guilty about this. After she had had a chance to think clearly, she found she needed to know. What were the doctors' findings? Did he need any help financially? This much at least, she realized after he had walked out of her hotel room, she had to do. "How did you find me?" she asked. There was that slight smile. His smile. "I may not be FBI any more, but it wasn't difficult. I asked the hotel manager for your name when I asked for your room number. How else would I know what room to come to? I got your FBI affiliation from him after I left, after you lied to me. It was ridiculously easy to find out about Fox Mulder. The local FBI officials all knew the story." His eyes grew troubled and the smile faded. "They knew a lot of stories." Dana swallowed. "Don't listen to all the stories. People tend to exaggerate." "I hope so," he said with something like Mulder's old humor. "The only good thing to come out of this is that the kids love the name 'Fox'. They call me that around the house all the time now. Bugs my wife, but, I told her, it's a phase." There was an uncomfortable pause. Dana breathed, was surprised she could. "What brings you to D.C.?" He studied the texture of the fabric on the couch, more than he looked at her. "For as long as I can remember," he smiled at his own joke, "I've wanted to see the White House and the Smithsonian." The man who looked so much like Fox Mulder stopped. "That sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? After all, he lived here for years." He. "Not ridiculous," Dana said, sincerely. "Just odd." "Hmm. Anyway, the local FBI put me in contact with a Director Skinner. I suppose you know him?" Dana nodded, thought it even more odd that Skinner had not told her he had been in contact. But then, Mulder... Nate, would have no reason to keep secret how he had come to find out about himself or how she had tried to cover it up. Dana herself, had, of course, told Skinner everything anyway. There needed to be closure. Only Skinner felt strongly that Nate Wyatt should be told and had been trying to convince her. Dana knew sooner or later he would have forced the issue so this would have happened anyway. Nate Wyatt was saying. "I just wanted to know if there was anyone who needed to be notified. I found out you had taken care of that, though there really wasn't anyone to notify." "I'm sorry, there's no family," she told him. "Your mother died two years ago. Your sister is still missing." Not a flicker of interest about the missing sister. "If there had been anyone," she continued, "I would have told you at the beginning. Under the circumstances, I thought it was... for the best." He acknowledged her confession with soft glance and then looked at his fingertips. "Somehow, someone changed my fingerprints, not a lot but enough so that there were no matches with Missing Persons. But they did a voice print analysis at the Bureau today and it's close enough. So I guess I'm him. Or use to be." Nervously, he uncrossed his legs and crossed them the other way. "Skinner wants me to accept Workman's Compensation, as well as lump sum retirement and life insurance payments." He looked at Dana closely. She knew the look. It had not changed. "You were beneficiary, but you didn't collect. Why not?" She sat uneasily on a chair across from the couch. The light from the low lamps sculpted the planes of his face. There was no difference from the man she remembered. "We weren't sure, and I didn't need it, didn't *want* it." He nodded, understanding. "Neither do I, but, well, I tested for some college credit and then took a two year course and I'm an occupational therapist now. They don't make so much and I have the kids' college to think about and no retirement." He shrugged. "After waking up, I needed to do something with my life and doing that kind of work, helping people to work through their problems in a constructive way, seemed right to me." Dana felt her eyes begin to swim. They had been burning since he had appeared at her door. An occupational therapist? That wasn't so far from what he had been. "You had a Ph.D. in Psychology from Oxford." Those beautiful hazel eyes opened wide and he sighed deeply. "That's what Director Skinner said." He tapped his skull with those long, slender fingers. "I'm afraid that's all beyond me now. I had trouble enough getting through the allied medicine classes for my O.T. The doctors say my intelligence isn't bad, somewhat above average, amazing actually, considering the amount of brain damage, but I have trouble learning. It takes a lot of concentration." Dana sat as still as a stone. Finally, even her eyes came to rest - and on that fabulous head with its unruly brown hair. How many times had she run her fingers through that hair? How many more times had she wanted to. Now... Noticing her gaze, so direct and clear, Nate Wyatt stopped speaking and looked unashamedly into this woman's eyes. This was why he had come, not to make small talk. She was a strong woman and stared right back, seeming to understand his need and acknowledging her own. Yes, Nate thought, he could see Andrea in this woman's eyes - and then he realized that he had probably also seen this woman's eyes in Andrea's eight years before. Oh, God, had that drawn him to Andrea? Some vestigial memory of this other woman? The doctors had said there was no memory, would be no memory, but what did the doctors know about the soul? His eyes darted around the apartment. She was getting ready to move. That was obvious. Why, he could guess. He felt a stirring of panic. This was a mistake, he realized. He should never have come. Written a letter maybe, but not come. Not looked into those grieving eyes. He had thought about asking if Dana Scully wanted to be friends. She was really the only person Fox Mulder had had. Funny that he should think about the person he had been as a separate person entirely. And this woman seemed - lonely. He thought if they were friends she might find some peace, some connection to the past, he certainly would and so would his children. But now that he had seen her again, he realized, no, that would be too cruel and if he had to look into those eyes much longer... Maybe someday if something happened to his marriage, if Andrea... He couldn't live his life thinking that way. That way was unhappiness for everyone. He knew now he had nothing to look back on except her, sensed that, at least at this moment, she felt she had nothing to look forward to. Awkwardly, he stood up. "I should go." He let his head hang. That gesture. His look. Dana felt as if her heart were breaking. Hearts do break, she was finding out. Not once, but over and over again. She prayed she would not need to speak any more. He fumbled in his pocket, pulled out his wallet. She had half expected him to pull out his FBI ID, but it was just a wallet that anyone carried. He pulled out a business card. 'Nathaniel Wyatt, National Health Services, Occupational Therapist' with address and phone numbers. "In case you ever need anything," he said softly. She took the card with nerveless fingers. She should be saying that to him. Instead he was extending her his sympathy, his compassion, his pity. She could not speak but held up her hand for him to wait. She went into her bedroom, hesitated, jerked open the drawer of her nightstand and pulled out Fox Mulder's FBI ID, stood staring at the picture. One had vanished with him but this was his spare. He lost or damaged so many he always kept an extra. Abruptly, she shut the drawer which seemed empty now and strode with purpose back into the living room. He was standing uncomfortably by the door. He took the folder she offered, opened it slowly, and looked at the picture and the text for a long, long time, willing himself to remember. But nothing came. Nothing. Just a face that looked like his. The signature which he had written over and over on the official papers in Director Skinner's office did resemble his own handwriting but the name had not felt familiar when he wrote it. He looked at her, at the glistening eyes she could not hide, and gently handed the leather folder back. "No, you keep it. It means more to you. Besides, the kids would get an exalted impression of their old dad if I kept that sort of thing around the house." Just as he had declined the service revolver Skinner had offered. What a thing to keep as a souvenir... He extended his hand. "Good-bye, Dana." The handshake, her second, her last, with Nate Wyatt, was warm, solid and brief. Dana closed and locked the door behind him and did not even listen for his footsteps to slowly move away from the door. She had long since slid down to the floor, huddling against the door, crying in great, soundless, gulping sobs. Mulder never called her 'Dana'. End of Chapter 2 (This should end here. It originally did but I, Windsinger, for one, could not bear it. For the realists in the group stop here. For those who must have something more, not a happy ending but something at least better for Dana, Chapter 3, the last, will be posted in a few days.) -- "Too long a sacrifice Can make a stone of the heart." =========================================================================== From: windsinger@aol.com (Windsinger) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: LADY AND THE TIGER (THE END) Date: 24 Aug 1995 19:38:07 -0400 THE LADY AND THE TIGER Chap 3 (the last) by Stephanie Davies (100573.2252@compuserve.com) and Sue Esty (Windsinger@aol.com) Disclaimer: This story is based on the characters created by Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. Used without permission and no infringement is intended. Thanks to DD and GA and all the fan fic writers for inspiration. Thanks to Stephanie for starting this thing and indulging me by letting me finish it. (Sorry the end got so long, Steph.) Thanks to Youkneek who thought Danial was a wimp at first so I fixed that. Author's notes: Chapters 1 (by Stephanie) and 2 (by me, Windsinger) were sent out under one post a few days ago. The story really ends at chapter 2 but for my own peace of mind I had to write chapter 3. For the realists, stop at chap 2. WARNING: What follows is wishful thinking, catharsis, sad and whimsical with a lot of metaphysics thrown in. And, yes, there is a lot of the Theater of the Absurd in my background. There are no completely happy endings. If you want one, I'm sorry, this isn't it. This is, in a way, my own vision of a 'future'. Though the stories are completely unrelated, the idea is mentioned in passing as early as 3/95 in my story MEMORIES ("And if there is a God...I pray he will let me know you again.") The 'multiple personality disorder' spoken of here is a brand new twist... even for me. Call this my Igmar Bergman (not spelled right, I'm sure) phase and I hope it doesn't destroy my credibility for all time as a serious author. If all this interests you, keep reading, otherwise pass it by, but, beware, it is not as simple as it seems at first. The Lady and the Tiger Chapter 3 (by Windsinger) Dana stared around at the fog-wrapped expanse of nothingness. She remembered when she had almost died before that she had found herself in a 'place' something like this. Since then, she had known, as certain as breath, that there was existence after the life we know as life was over, but still she had hoped for something with a little more... variety. Dana took a few steps and looked down at her clothes. She was younger, thirty years younger than that old tired woman laying on the bed in her daughter's home dying. Dead now, it seemed. It was good to feel younger and not encumbered by that failing husk of a muscle and bone. She shook her head, liking the feel of the soft red hair, not grizzled and grey. She had seen enough dead bodies in her life, she didn't want to dwell upon her own. "Dana! There you are!" Her head turned to see emerging from the mist a dark shape. "Daniel!" She ran to him, pushing through what felt like a heavy mass of air, but ignoring it in her haste to reach her husband, to throw herself into his bear-like arms. "Oh, Daniel, it's true," she laughed, hugging him. "I didn't dream it!" "What's true?" the man with the round, laughing face asked as he kissed her with a kiss that stopped her breath for a moment. "That we *do* meet our loved ones on the other side," she finally managed to continue. "Well, that's one way to describe it," he said smiling. He stroked her hair. Oh, he was so big, a real armful. He looked the age he had been when they had met: thinning, dark hair, slightly grey at the temples, the age she felt now, about mid forties. Twenty-five years, they had had twenty-five years. "You came earlier than I expected," Daniel Chesterton said entwining his large hand in hers. "I guess I was eager," she admitted. His eyes twinkled. He always seemed a little like a very earthy Saint Nicholas to her, now more than ever. "Children being a pain?" "They mean well, but they wouldn't give me any peace." "Sounds like them. They get their mothering from you." "From their *grandmother*," Dana corrected. "Remember, you always complained I spent too much time at work." "Just kidding, Sweets," he said planting a kiss on her forehead. "How are they doing, by the way." "They're fine, doing well. Jennifer sends her love. She was certain I'd be seeing you." "What about William and Harriet?" he asked, in mock distress. "No message for their old Dad?" Dana smiled. "They're sceptical. *That* they get from me." "They were wonderful to raise," he said, remembering. "Ever wish we had adopted more?" She laughed. "Three was a handful, but I can't imagine what life would have been like without any one of them. We were lucky at our age that the agency let us have them at all." Out of the corner of her eye Dr. Dana Scully Chesterton noticed a form standing in the mist from where she had come, a woman who looked just like... "Daniel...?" she began, fearfully. He glanced in the direction of the shape that caused her concern and smiled tenderly. "Don't worry. It's just that *he's* coming. We had best move along." "What?" "Never mind, I'll explain." And Daniel put his arm around his wife and led her off to tell her a few thousand marvelous things. Special Agent Dana Scully looked down at her clothes. The suit was one such as she had not worn in forty years and there were the stylish, yet practical pumps, low heeled enough to make running after fleeing felones and who-knows-what possible. She flipped back her shower of red hair as she watched her older self walk off with some man she could not place immediately. Yes, Daniel, her husband, but in a later life. She had wanted to join them, felt so alone here, but they seemed so happy and she did not want to intrude. And, oddly, as the distance between them lengthened she sensed herself becoming estranged from that life, that existence, even while her time at the Bureau so many years ago was coming back to her as clear as yesterday. She heard a sound of hurrying footsteps, detected a swirl in the mist. "Scuuully!" She whirled in the direction of that voice. That dear, impossible voice. "Mulder..." she whispered. she reminded herself as she had almost every day of the last forty years in those quiet little moments when she was alone, when something wonderful happened in her life she wanted to share with *him*. A tall, dark shape moved in the mist to her left, calling her name, then began to move away from her. "Nate...?" she called almost fearfully, almost hopefully. He spun in her direction, his long legs closing the distance between them quickly. He stopped within arm's length, a little breathless. "Sorry," he said in his warm, languid voice with a hint of a smile, "always did tend to get lost in a fog." "Nate?" she asked, hesitantly. Somehow, his form was not clear. "Nate?" Hazal eyes showed for a moment, darkened in disappointment. Had she forgotten him? His voice dropped. "No, Mulder..." His posture showed he was more than hurt. Crushed described it better. She took a step back, then another. "Not... Mulder. You're Nate Wyatt, only he's not dead." She looked around frantically. There must be someone who could tell her what was going on. "I don't understand -" He reached out his hand, his form became more solid, so much so that he touched her, desperate that she not leave him. "It's *me*, Scully. Really and truly. You're confused. That's understandable. It's a very confusing place, at first. Well, still is," he confessed. <*That*,> Scully realized, with something awakening in her she had thought long buried, She had been too shocked to look carefully before. Now, almost fearfully, she allowed herself to look up, to open her eyes fully, to see... And filled her eyes and her mind with the sight of him. He was as young as the first year they had worked together. His eyes would have been glittering with mischief and life, except that they were shadowed with a sudden deep sadness as he looked at her. He wore a dark suit that fit him, oh, so perfectly and his tie bore a pattern of tasteful, little white ghosts. The atmosphere around them was like it had been before, a little awkward, tension like electricity between them. Even the fog seemed right. Scully only wished she had a liverwurst sandwich and a root beer to hand him. No, an ice tea this time. "Mulder," she said, with a delivery perfected from long practice, "if what you just said was intended to make me feel better, it didn't." Special Agent Fox Mulder sighed with relief and the shadows left him. "Thank God, at least, you have my name right." Scully pointed vaguely in the direction where her other self and Daniel had gone, her mouth open but unable to put any of her questions into words. His eyes flashed with humor. "We all have multiple personality disorders here, Scully. Fertile ground for a psychologist." To her continuing bafflement, he explained with a sly smile, "Did you think we each had only one life worthy of being remembered?" Scully was distracted before she could reply and turned her head in the direction of a regular thumping sound. A boy came running up, a boy of about twelve expertly dribbling a basketball. He was of average height for his age but a little pudgy with a pixieish face, a boy on the point of launching into another growth spurt, one, she realized, which would turn him in time into the beautiful man who stood before her. "Wanna play one-on-one, Mulder?" the boy asked, enthusiastically. A look of affection passed over Mulder's features. "No, Fox, I told you, Scully's here now." "Well," the boy asked with a sulk, "what am I gonna do then until Sam comes?" Scully found herself staring and then began, hesitantly, "Samantha will be here soon. I hear she's not doing well." Fox nodded but hung his head. "I'm sorry she's having a tough time of it." Then he brightened, "but she'll be real happy when she gets here. I have so much planned." "I'm sure you do," Scully said with love. She raised an eyebrow at her partner. "Basketball, Mulder?" Mulder shrugged. "You have to do something. Playing harp is not all its cracked up to be." He blew on his fingertips. "I know, I've tried." A slow, tolerant smile forming on her lips, she turned her attention back to the boy. "Tell you what, Fox: You let Mulder and I have a few minutes and I'll let him play with you a little later. I'd like to get to know you myself." "Oh, he's told me everything about you," the boy told her with a huge smile. She glanced up at Mulder's bemused face. "I'll just bet he has." To Fox, "Well, then you have one up on me because he hardly ever told me anything about you." As the boy raced off, Mulder shrugged. "No one ever said death had to be boring." "As long as you're here, I can't imagine how it could be." He picked a direction, seemingly at random, and they began to stroll, not in a hurry. After all, they had all the time in the world. Still, under his skin, he seemed the same Mulder, more energy than he knew what to do with. "Mulder," Scully said seriously, "I'm sorry you weren't there to see Samantha when they returned her." For the first time since she had accepted him, a crack appeared in the perfect contentment he was radiating. "That was hard. Not to be there for her." His head hung in a very familiar way. "I could see it was a rough transition, but you were great. I can never thank you enough. She's had a pretty good life from what I could see." "Daniel had a lot to do with it," Scully said. "He was the officer in charge of the recovery team. I could not have managed without him." "I saw," Mulder said with a frown. "I bet you didn't think I should have trusted him." "He was part of the establishment." "You weren't there. I had to trust someone." He looked at her with respect. "And you chose well, both for Sam and for yourself." His approval warmed her. "I did, didn't I?," Scully told him. "Sam did better than I expected. Though not physically strong, she had faith in herself and she had your example. She has circulatory problems from the years of weightlessness. It won't be long." She paused, uncomfortably. "There's nothing else you regret?" He stopped and studied her, his eyes deeply disturbed. "Of course, there are, but, Scully, if there's one thing I've learned, it's that they would have killed me sooner or later. The way they did it, at least Nate got to live, was allowed to have the life they would never have let us have." Us. Scully swallowed and tried not to let him see she had heard. What could she say? There is some sadness that can never be relieved, some evil that can never be undone. But if it were possible in this place, she would try. He was staring at the ground, shifting from foot to foot, his hands in his pockets, his Fox look again, "I probably would have been a lousy husband, anyway. Most likely a lousy father, too." That tore. Scully sighed and touched his cheek. "You would have done fine, Mulder. If only those bastards...!" Her anger had lit up her skin. She seemed to glow. "Shhh," he said in mock warning, shaking off the clouds that had gathered. "*He* might hear." "*Him*, Mulder? And when do I get to meet *Him*? Because I still don't understand. If Nate's not -" "Not dead? Now that's an interesting situation and one which the Powers That Be have been trying to figure out. My position here is rather unique, Scully -" "Why am I not surprised." Mulder gave her an off center smile. "Two points," he conceded before continuing. "When they cut out my brain, they killed Fox Mulder, not his body but a big hunk of his spirit." He shrugged. "So here I've been for forty years the only spirit who still has a mortal coil. Well, me and young Fox. I've spent a fair amount of my time, vicariously living Nathaniel Wyatt's life. There's this attachment - " He stopped, realizing this was not what he had waited so many years to be talking about. He turned to face her, touched her shoulders feather light with care as if afraid that *she* was not real. There was her perfect skin, that amazing mouth, her eyes, like the sea, fathomless and at this moment only for him. His next words were spoken in deadly ernest. "I've been waiting for you for a very long time, Scully. Such a long, long time..." A silence followed, a silence that seemed to go on for many blissful years in which they just stood and enjoyed each other's presence, imbibing each other's spirit like food and drink and life itself. *** Jennifer Chesterton pulled the covers over her mother's small, thin body. It had been a peaceful death. Under her fingers Jennifer had felt Dana Chesterton suddenly slip away, as if she had accepted death at the first moment it had been offered. "Went to join Dad," Jenni remarked. "You really believe in an afterlife, don't you?" Peter asked, the words a little indistinct from the clef pallet the operation had not succeeded in correctly completely, though his sisters had learned over the years to understand his lisp perfectly. "I want to believe," Jenni said turning her blind eyes towards the sound of her adopted brother's voice. "I'd like to see Mom and Dad again someday." "What did you find, Hare?" Peter asked, looking at his younger sister, her leg braces shining in the sunlit room. Harriet sat with a metal box on her lap. They had found it under their mother's pillow just a few minutes before. They had all seen it many times over the years, and knew it held a special meaning to their mother, but none of her children had ever been given a look inside. "Just letters and cards," Harriet said with disappointment in her voice. "Most from Uncle Fox but a few are from Andrea." Peter limped over to look over her shoulder. "I'm not surprised she kept them. Mom got so misty every time a letter came." "Think he was an old beau?" Jennifer asked. William shrugged. "Who knows. Someone from before Dad. I think her old partner when she worked for the FBI. He must have had an alias or changed his name because I found an old FBI ID one day when I was thirteen and looking for something in her desk drawer. Her partner's name was Fox Mulder." "I always wondered why we called Nate Wyatt, *Uncle Fox*," Jenni mused. "Too bad we never met him or his family in person." Harriet ruffled through the cards and letters. "Well, we certainly heard about every important event in their lives - promotions, graduations, births - we felt like we knew them. Funny, all the letters are dated and yet the oldest one I've been able to find is a card sent at the time of Mom and Dad's wedding. Odd message: 'Director Skinner's kept us up to date. We've been waiting for some good news for you. So happy, Nate and Andrea.'" "Hey, people," William said. "Look at Mom. I swear, it looks like she's smiling." *** Reluctantly, Mulder gently broke contact. Her spirit touching his had filled, for him, an emptiness, a lonely space he had left especially for her, for this moment. "More later, Scully?" he asked softly. "Yes," she breathed, opening her eyes, coming up as if for air. More. "After all, we did say we'd join Fox," he added, apologetically. She only smiled slowly in response. They began walking again, Mulder's step light, almost on his toes. He took off his suit coat and rolled up his sleeves, obviously eager for a good game of one-on-one. Scully stopped, however, placing a hand on his arm to halt him and raised her head as if listening. Something was nudging at her brain. "Something wrong, Scully?" he asked. She shook her head to clear it. "I don't know. Something tells me I should stay here for a little while." He pursed his lips and slung her suit coat over his shoulder. "Best to stay put then. She usually has a good reason for her little messages." Dana looked up. "I thought you used *He* before?" Mulder shrugged, noncommittally. "Depends." They waited. They could almost hear the sound of labored breathing far away. Coming nearer. Scully found the sound a little frightening until Mulder moved close so that she could feel the warmth of his body against his back. "It's alright," he told her. "Someone's coming, that's all. Someone we should meet. I sense it, too, now." The fog thickened in one spot, blocked the light a little that seemed to be everywhere, began to take form. Another new soul was coming onto this waiting plane. Even though there had not been many people to meet, his mother whom he had taken to join his father, Frohike who went who-knows-where, Skinner who left with his ex- wife, Mulder never tired of seeing such arrivals. But this time he had a shock. The figure was male, tall, dark with a touch of grey, slim - and totally confused when he saw them both. "Nath!" Scully exclaimed in surprise and welcome. The new set of hazel eyes slipped from Mulder's face, as surprised as his own, to the woman's. After a moment he recognized her through she was nine years younger than the only two times in his life he had seen her and he had never known her flushed with happiness as she was now. "Dana Scully." He looked around with apprehension but dawning acceptance. "All right," he began, "I can guess what this must be but -" Mulder recovered first. He stepped forward and held out his hand. "I'm Fox Mulder. I guess you've heard of me." Numbly, Nathaniel Wyatt shook the hand, identical to his own. Mulder was thoroughly enjoying the other's discomfort. "You must not have known anyone close who has died so I guess we're your welcoming committee." "You're me..." Nate said lamely. "I'm you..." Mulder put a hand on the broad shoulder. The man had obviously kept up his swimming. "Neither. We are separate. As separate as we can be. Twins, separated at birth when we were thirty-five. Gee, I always wanted a brother..." Nate looked like he wanted to step away. Scully raised her eyes - heavenward. It was obvious, just from the way they were acting, that telling these two apart was not going to be difficult. Nath also wore Dockers and a polo shirt. Clothes her Mulder would never wear. "Don't mind Mulder," she said in an aside to Nate. "He likes to kid around. You'll get used to his sense of humor." Nate seemed very uncomfortable. Uncomfortable and lonely, Scully sensed. "How's Andrea?" she asked with sincerity. The man who looked like Fox Mulder, but who did not look at her at all the way Fox Mulder did, brightened at the name. "She's a lot younger than I and she's in good health. I went quickly, a stroke. A result of the brain damage years ago, I imagine." "It will probably be a while then until she comes," Mulder said, sympathetically. He knew what it was to be alone here. He looked to Scully for confirmation and then turned back to Nate. "If you want, you can hang around with us until she comes. Then we can all move on together." Nate still looked shell-shocked but also relieved and thankful. Scully let her eyes tell Mulder how wonderful he was, then hooked an arm with each of them. They were both sweet and caring men and she couldn't be happier. She didn't even care to find out what 'moving' on meant. That for later. Mulder led them off across the fog shrouded plain. "I have something to show you," he whispered to Scully in unsuppressed excitement. "Extraterrestrials! Do you know, I was wrong all along. They *are* green." Nate's eyes grew positively round and he hung back a little. Maybe the stories did *not* exaggerate. "Mulder," Scully said warningly. "Nate, does not have your appreciation of the weird. You are scaring him." "Okay, later then, when we're - alone," He whispered. He said the last word in a way that sent a warm chill up her back. she wondered. Mulder let his smile rest on her for what felt like an eternity and then moved back to Nate. "Nate, as I remember you play basketball." "A little," Nate said quickly, feeling on safer ground with this subject. "I played with my son on the driveway." "I watched. He went on to play college ball. You should be proud," Mulder told him and Scully definitely detected a hint of envy in his voice. "You should be proud, too," Nath said in the same voice, only it was a little less dreamy and more mature. "They were your genes first." Mulder smiled a small, sad smile. "Granted, but you raised him well. Come on, I have someone I want you to meet." They heard the sound of a basketball and running feet. The fog seemed to thin and there was a hoop suspended literally in thin air. Underneath it shooting baskets were Fox - and Daniel, with Dana standing off to the side watching. The contented smile on her face widened when she saw them. Before he moved off, Mulder let his fingers rest a moment in Scully's palm and looked curiously at Dana, who nodded in Daniel's direction. With a wave, Mulder threw down his jacket and joined Fox against Daniel and Nate. Dana and Scully stood shoulder to shoulder watching the men. "Why are we letting them have all the fun?" Scully asked. "Because we're short." "We could kick them in the knee." "I don't think that's allowed." "Pity." "I know. When they're done, we'll take them sailing. On a nice, rolling sea." "Oh, you are cruel. Does Daniel get sea sick?" "In the bathtub." "Think She'll let us?" "We can only try." They smiled with evil delight. Over the sound of the dribbling ball, they heard a girl's high voice calling, "Fox!" and the sound of her light, eagerly running steps, coming nearer. The End (For good this time.) Windsinger says: Okay, it's odd, but perhaps one way of working through inconsolable grief and who knows, after all, what 'it' is really like? Eternity to work through all our problems and our little idiosyncracies, to heal our wounds, seems more satisfying then everyone starting out perfect and playing harp. (I play harp and after a couple of hours it gets really boring.) For a similar example of dealing with grief, look up MAD HATTERS and MONO LISAS by Idria Barone Knecht (under Mono_Lisas on ftp.cs.nmt.edu). =========================================================================== From: windsinger@aol.com (Windsinger) Subject: NEW: LADY AND THE TIGER, chapter 2.5a Date: 4 Sep 1995 21:59:16 -0400 THE LADY AND THE TIGER Chap 2.5 by Stephanie Davies (100573.2252@compuserve.com) and Sue Esty (Windsinger@aol.com) Disclaimer: This story is based on the characters created by Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. Used without permission and no infringement is intended. Thanks to DD and GA and all the fan fic writers for inspiration. Thanks to Stephanie for starting this thing and indulging me by letting me continue it. (Steph, I'm finished now.) Author's notes: Chapters 1 (by Stephanie) and 2 (by me, Windsinger) were sent out under one post a couple of weeks ago. The story was going to end at chapter 2 but kept growing. Chap 3 was written and posted but questions about Daniel prompted the writing of chapter 2.5 (to sit between chap 2 and chap 3). Make sense to you? THE LADY AND THE TIGER Chap 2.5 (By Windsinger) Dr. Dana Scully huddled under her umbrella as she trudged the last ten feet in the sleety rain to her Georgetown townhouse. Professor of Pathology at Georgetown University, guest lecturer at the FBI academy, expert witness for more cases in the courts than she cared to count, Dana kept herself very busy and she was tired. Seven years before she had left the FBI. Despite the fact that she had worked herself up to a position of power, the decision had not been so hard to make in the end. Once all the questions about Fox Mulder's disappearance in New Mexico had been answered, at least all that mattered, there was no longer any reason for her to stay. The resources, the position she would need to find him if any trace turned up, were no longer needed. She was tired of death and conspiracies. The living was what she needed. To touch the living and not just the dead, and so she had gone back into pathology, using her knowledge and strengths to help identify the ravaging diseases in the living and not just to identify the harbringers of death, to heal others and herself. Still, she knew there was good she could do in her old life and the familiarity of that which she had lived with for so long was a comfort and so she still lectured in Quantico and helped to save the innocent and punish the guilty with her testimony. She also had dinner occasionally with Walter Skinner and his new wife. Skinner married. The mind boggled. Something about finding out the truth of what had been done to Mulder had made Skinner reexamine his own life. He had let his sister fix him up a few times and, amazingly, one of his 'blind' dates worked. Dana sighed, but then she had to admit she never really let any of the men her mother or sister or girlfriends sent her way get even remotely close. They were all so boring. Not that she needed a man. In Washington at this time, no one thought it odd for a professional woman to be unattached, but it was hard coming home to her exceedingly comfortable and exceedingly empty townhouse. And right now her exceedingly empty townhouse was also suspiciously dark. Where were the lights that were timed to come on at dusk? The house has black. Only a couple of small lights upstairs seemed to be on. Dana fought down suspicion. The Shadow people had not bothered her for years. Just a short in one of the light sensors or a couple of burned out bulbs, she assured herself. Carefully, she let herself in by tapping in the combination on the electronic lock. Before she shut the door she stood and listened. The hum of the refrigerator. Noise from Wisconsin Avenue a few blocks away. A neighbor's dog. That was all. Without thinking she flipped the hall switch and the overhead light came on. Certainly no burned out bulb. She hung her wet umbrella and coat on the coat rack and walked carefully into the hallway, heading for the kitchen. She could still feel the sting of the sleet. Tea would be good, but her eyes continued to search the shadows, her ears were still attuned to any noise she did not expect. That was when she saw the man's legs. Illuminated by the hall light, she saw the bottom of a man's long legs as he sat in the large arm chair in her living room, a man dressed in a grey suit. She blinked several times to make sure that what she was seeing was not a trick of the deep contrast of light and shadow. No, a man was definitely there, completely in the dark shadows from the knees up. He did not move. She tried to remember if the gun which she kept in the drawer by the front door was loaded and started stepping back for it. "Don't go, Scully," came a soft, startling voice from the dark. Dana stopped, paralyzed. Not by the words themselves but the voice. After several breaths she took a few steps to the end table beside the doorway to the living room. "May I turn on the lamp?" she asked, neither her voice nor her hand steady. "It's dark in here." "Why not?" came the reply. She turned on the lamp. And caught her breath. Her heart pounded an impossible rhythm in her chest. "Nate, how did you get in? What are you doing here?" "I had something to tell you." He was sitting too tense for Nate, too formally for Mulder. And there was more that was not right here. Nate had a sweet innocence about him. This man was wrapped in Mulder's serious, brooding darkness but his face was as firm and smooth and well planed as she remembered. He did not seem to have aged at all in fifteen years. Her brow furrowed as her eyes narrowed, her memory ran back. A figure standing in the doorway of her room at a little motel. <"Mulder, where have you been?"> and a moment later, impossibly, his voice on the phone <"Scully, it's me. Where are you?">. A gun in her hands, a sweeping attack, a cruel hand reaching for her, a man wearing *his* face, using *his* voice. <"Where is he? Tell me where he is?"> Like now, only now there was no cold anger, no demands. Not yet, anyway. "You're not Nate," she told him. "But you're not Mulder either." Without the years of running after and into the unimaginable, she knew she would never have been this calm. He seemed surprised at her rapid assessment. "We thought you would take the news more readily from him." "Since you're obviously not him, let's just say you have my attention," she said coolly. "Though I see no reason why I should believe anything you say." A pause, *almost* his smile. "You are so alike. Mulder was never very trusting." "He had good reason," Dana said. Indeed he did, but his paranoia had not prevented his enemies from succeeding in the end. "Say what you came to say and get out of here." "We're bringing her back." The thumping in her chest moved up into her throat. Dana felt as if she were going to choke. Her voice, when it came out, was tight and small and angry. "You're bringing her back? What? Now? Why now?" The figure stood. She could not take her eyes off the tall, dark form. She wanted to scream. "For many years we watched Fox Mulder from a distance." He leaned casually against the fireplace mantle, his lanky form making a long, lean line. "Later, when our needs became more critical, we stepped up our surveillance. He was important to us. We came to understand that as long as we had his sister he would keep looking, keep asking questions, would keep our 'agenda' in the eyes of your leaders. Paving the way for us. Subtly, carefully, nothing obvious." "Oh, my God...." Dana whispered as the reality sunk in, then her eyes blazed. "*You* used him. And all the time we thought... How dare you!" she spat. "Do you have any idea of the hell you made of his life! From the moment you took her you caused him pain no one should have to endure and then you turned the knife, didn't you, and you kept turning it." She tore her eyes from him. "Don't you dare wear his face. You don't have the right." When she finally looked back it was to the taller, broader, lantern-jawed man, the one who made her blood run cold in her dreams. He stood as if he were carved from stone. "He would have been vindicated in time," he told her in the rich Northern European accent of this other personae, probably no truer than the one before. "We regret what happened. We underestimated the viciousness of those who set themselves up against him and his message. It was never our intention to lose his voice for our cause." Incredibly, Dana believed him. She sank weakly down onto the couch. "Can you bring him back?" she whispered without thinking, without thinking of the complications that would mean. Nate had a wife, teenage children now. The figure looked at her with, she thought, a softening in his hard features. "We cannot. We couldn't fifteen of your years ago. If we had known their plans, we would have prevented it. But we were too late. We saved his life. That was all we could do." "Then why are you bringing her back? Why now?" "She serves no purpose to us any longer. In the beginning, she was just one of our 'textbooks'. Only after the first few years, after careful observation of the 'survivor', did we come to truly appreciate how he could be used. She was the 'carrot' to mold his passion, his obsession, to our needs." "And if she is of no use to you any longer, why has it taken your people fifteen years to return her?" Dana asked bitterly. "Choose to believe us or not," the accent intoned indifferently. "We are not an impulsive people. There were decisions to be made. There are others who will accept her if you will not -" "No," Dana insisted. "Give her to me." To get Sam back, she would do anything. She owed him that much, that much and more. "Where can I find her?" "It has taken a long time for my people to come to an agreement on the conditions of her return. We will not simply bring her here to you, which is what many of our more 'humanitarian' members would have wished." "Then how? Where?" "The decision has been made. It is time to open the door. To enlighten a few more minds. You may come and one other. That one you will choose. But it must be someone who those in power cannot so easily dismiss. When you have chosen put the sign there," he pointed to the living room window that faced a high rise a block away, "as he used to do. Then we will let you know where to meet us." Abruptly he turned and walked past her, his intention clear. He was leaving. As simple as that. "No," she found herself saying when he was beside her, and looked up into his face, needing to speak but willing herself not to. The figure's expression became almost gentle and then its facial features began to flow before her eyes, the body even shrunk a little though it was still tall, became slender hipped and broad shouldered. The familiar face looked down upon her with those sad eyes. "For you, who were often his only ally, we would do much. You have only to ask..." She should have shrunk away from him. Could not. She knew what he was offering and for one impossible moment the idea of accepting was tantalizing. For in this form, some memories remained, this was not appearance only. She had proof of that. <"Be careful. I got shot once and I didn't much like it."> Incredibly, some of Mulder survived here. Was it possible to enjoy his wit and not just to hear his voice, to look into those eyes and see him remember all that they had done together? she remembered from Sunday sermons. Accepting for the moment, that he held a value structure which allowed him to execute his own people, the entire crew of that sub had died. This 'man' was a cold hearted murderer. And then there was the anguish they had brought Mulder. Only the burning need to have Sam received into the care of someone who would love her, instead of those who would use her yet again, had convinced Dana to deal at all. This she must do for Mulder's sake as well as for Samantha's. "Get behind me, Satan," she replied with a grim smile. The face lighted with an achingly realistic impression of Fox Mulder's wry humor. "We understand the analogy. You made the decision we expected." He did reach out, touched her hand ever so lightly. "Remember the instructions, Scully, and leave the sign," the figure said in the familiar voice. "We'll we waiting." Then he walked past her and moved into the hall. She heard the sound of her front door open, and close. With slow deliberation, Dana went into the kitchen and washed the place on her hand where he had touched her. Then to wash her ears clean of the unnatural voice, she huddled over a cup of tea and listened to a audio recording she had made years before. Buried within a pile of old dictation tapes, which Mulder had made for her to use when writing up their field reports, were many irreverent comments and worse jokes. She had not listened to the compiled tape for a long, long time because after she laughed, she always cried. Hours later, a quilt wrapped around her shoulders but still shivering, Dana phoned the only person she could think to call. Walter Skinner woke instantly. She smiled, thinking of all the calls he must have gotten at night when Mulder and she were on a case and how that must have ingrained in him that instant alertness. "Sir, it's Dana Scully." "Scully, what's wrong?" After all these years, she still called Walter Skinner 'Sir' and though he had dropped the 'Agent', he still called her 'Scully'. He was the only person who still did. Dana explained in tones as even and analytical as those she might have used fifteen years before. Walter Skinner had aged and changed in many ways, but he remembered the 'Samantha' clones all too well and did not doubt her story for a moment. "Sir, the 'Hunter' requires that I find some 'witness' for the pickup. We need someone the military will trust, but I also want someone *I* can trust. Only I've been out of touch. I'd like to ask you but -" "A cabinet Under Secretary not high enough?" his voice said, raspier than in the old days and yet softer. "No, I know what you mean. It must not be anyone who had ever met Agent Mulder. No one who could be accused of being sympathetic." There was silence on his end of the line. "Perhaps... " A longer pause. "Scully, I met a three star general at a working cocktail party a few months ago. As we were introduced, it was obvious he knew my name, knew my background and actually asked about the X-Files, though he was guarded in his questions. We retreated to the balcony and had a long talk. He's had an experience or two of his own which might be considered paranormal. I think he knows something about EBE clean up operations, too. He seems much more open minded than most. I remembered thinking what a pity it was that he had not been around... before." Dana allowed herself an audible, derisive hiss. A pity? No, a tragedy, even more so with what she knew now. Wrong place, wrong time, Mulder. They manipulated you, forced you up against such impossible odds. There had never been any hope and yet he had tried, broken his heart and his body more times than she could count against that windmill. Coming back from her musings, Dana asked, "What's his name? Maybe I've heard of him." "General Chesterton. Daniel Chesterton." Dana whistled. "The media hero of the Fourth Iranian War?" "The same. And, as for that media image, it's not all for show. He's all that and more, larger than life. Better for our needs. If this is the kind of visibility the EBE's want, he'll give it to them." "But, sir, he's military..." How many times had she retrieved Mulder's pummeled and bleeding body after their incarcerations and interrogations. How many times had the evidence, that the two of them had collected with their sweat and tears, been taken out of their hands and destroyed before their eyes. "Scully," Skinner said with deep understanding, "you are the only one who can decide if you can work with him. Remember, the military also saved Agent Mulder's life on more than one occasion. I think Chesterton would be the best person for the job. Do you want me to contact him? You can say no." Dana drew the quilt closer around her. She could feel the ghosts of all those who had died around them during those years as they struggled towards the truth. Not only Mulder. She would not let them die a meaningless death. Reluctantly, she agreed. Just at the end of their conversation Skinner added cautiously, "Nate Wyatt asked about you." This was not the first time, Skinner had said this. Skinner, she knew, kept in touch. It was a debt he owed which she knew he felt could never be repaid. "He wants to know if you are happy. He carries a terrible burden, Scully. He knows what was taken from you, from us all." Which was why Dana knew they could never meet again. To see her would just make his position more difficult. Dana shifted the phone. "How is Nate?" she asked solemnly. "He's well," Skinner told her, the sympathy readily apparent in his voice. "His family is doing well. He was promoted. He's head of the OT unit at a large teaching hospital in Seattle. He's well liked and respected by his peers." Dana felt the hot tears sting her still-swollen eyes. Mulder would have liked to have been well-liked and respected for something he enjoyed doing. But for him it was never to be. end of chapter 2.5a =========================================================================== From: windsinger@aol.com (Windsinger) Subject: NEW: THE LADY AND THE TIGER, chapter 2.5b Date: 4 Sep 1995 21:59:30 -0400 THE LADY AND THE TIGER by Stephanie Davies (100573.2252@compuserve.com) and Sue Esty (Windsinger@aol.com) Chapter 2.5b Two days later, the doorbell rang just as Dana had started a fire in the fireplace in an attempt to take the chill off the room. She had only been in the house ten minutes. Someone must have been watching. Winter's cold wind blew in as she warily opened the door. A man filled her doorway. For a moment, back lit by the lights from the street, she thought it was the 'Hunter' again, only this man was even broader. "Dr. Scully?" inquired the clipped, authoritative voice. Dana turned on the hall light. "Yes?" The evening had darkened significantly since she had gotten home. This was a big man, not fat but solid. Even though he wore casual pants and a sports coat under a huge army-green parka, he could just as well have been wearing a uniform. He had military written all over him, except, surprisingly for his face. His face was round, hair thinning. No real expression, not yet, but not a cruel face. Just an official face. He was probably about Dana's own age though she knew she looked younger and he, older. "I'm Daniel Chesterton." He went up a notch in Dana's appraisal. He had not tried to impress her with either his uniform or his title. Two points for him. "Come in." She took his coat. "Would you like some tea?" she asked as she led him into the living room. "That would be appreciated," he told her. "The weather's raw." He sat down in the chair 'Mulder' had last sat in. She thought about telling him not to, but changed her mind. To have someone else sit there was a blessing. She had been avoiding it. She made the tea, heard sounds from the living room. He was a restless man for all his size. She found him standing by the mantle. He had tended the fire and was now examining her photos. She felt her stomach twist to see he was looking at the photograph of Mulder and her together. "I take it that's Fox Mulder," he said, accepting the tea but not sitting. "Many years ago." Dana thought sitting down on the couch with exaggerated calm. "The kind of activities you two were engaged in -" he began, obviously not pleased. "What about them?" Dana asked taking the offensive. His eyes took on a steely sheen. "Over the last two days, since Under Secretary Skinner contacted me, I've done a lot of reading on Mulder's work with the X-Files. Infiltrating government installations, restricted zones. I'm surprised you weren't arrested -" "We were," Dana retorted, her gaze steady. "You put yourselves in danger with those kind of activities and compromised National Security. Why?" "For the truth," she said simply. She would play Mulder's game here, or maybe it was hers now, too. His expression was hard. "You were, on occasion, accused of getting good men killed by your irresponsible actions." He was trying to grow above her, unnerve her. "If you read our files well, you will see that there were never any formal charges." "Just multiple FBI disciplinary hearings and suspensions." Dana Scully set her tea down and stood up, all five feet two of her. "There were a lot of people trying to protect their butts over the X-Files. Some of them good people like Walter Skinner. You work for the government. You know how it is. So Mulder and I got a little down time. Lord knows we needed it. It was all a game, as well you know. Just like what you are playing now is a game. What is this? I don't need this. There are more important issues at hand then going over ancient history." He looked down at this bristling bundle of outrage and nodded once in approval. He took his tea from the mantle where he had set it down and took the chair again. His face relaxed, as did his posture. It was as if another man sat before her. "At ease, Dr. Scully. I just needed to know if you still had all the fire I read in your reports. I needed to know if you would stand up to me. I have veterans under my command who are too afraid to speak their mind. When I need their ideas, their opinions, they give me silence. Useless baggage." "This from a military man?" Dana inquired, clearly surprised. "Don't get me wrong. There is a time for giving and taking orders. Just as there is a time for gathering information. Some people don't seem to know the difference. Do you?" "You read the X-Files reports. What do you think?" "That you don't. At least, that you don't know when to take orders. At least that Mulder didn't." "Some of the orders were stupid. To follow them would have been dangerous. Besides, we weren't in the military," she defended. "We were paid to think and act. We did." He took a large swallow of tea but his eyes never left her face and she did not back down. "But between the two of you, you had to agree on a plan of action." She shrugged. "You must know about Mulder. Mulder was brilliant, though most considered him difficult. His initial hypotheses were often outlandish, but we usually met in the middle. In the end, he was seldom far wrong." She paused before continuing and when she did she looked at the General with firm eyes. "We were partners. Do you know what that means?" The General nodded. "We have them in war, too. A 'buddy', to watch your back in a battle. With your buddy, you don't have to ask. You just know he'll be there." Dana nodded slowly. "But you are no brother," he added, looking at her with a man's eyes, and somehow she did not find his chauvinism offensive. Perhaps because he was so matter-of-fact about it. "Our relationship was - unique," she agreed. "But then you had an army and we were alone." "If we accept this assignment -" "I have no choice," Dana responded firmly. He set the cup down and leaned towards her, his elbows on his knees. "If *I* accept this assignment, we'll need to be like that," he insisted. "Buddies, partners, if you will. There's not a lot we can plan ahead for." He stood up and walked purposely up and down the room. Not Mulder's restless prowl. "I know what they want me for, but I'll need to depend upon you a lot for cues. You have their trust and you have more experience in this sort of thing than I do, but I've been involved in more than you might think." She saw the solidness settle over him again. He had seen things, she could tell. And he would be unwavering in a fight. A good 'buddy'. A rock. "I hope you'll tell me," she said. "About what you've been involved it." "What I know, you'll know. But you must be willing to leave the 'official' parties to me," he told her. She agreed with that. She had no desire to pick fights with cancerman's successors. *He* had died of emphysema and congestive heart failure five years before. "What makes you think the Shadow people, the men in the black coats, even your own people, are going to let us get near a rendezvous point?" she asked with bitterness. "What makes you think they will not kill her and try to kill us in some *accident* to hide the evidence yet again? Are you ready to die? This is not the war you're used to. In this war you don't know who your enemies are." she admitted. Daniel Chesterton's eyes turned to embers, burning underground. "They won't dare touch us, because I'm leaving a trail a mile wide." He looked at her. "You left the agency after you discovered Nate Wyatt so you may not have heard, but a lot of heads rolled when what had been done to Mulder became known. Many individuals overstepped their bounds. There was a massive coverup. Eventually some paid, but the most significant change is that underlings are not so willing to obey blindly any more." His voice was full of sympathy. "Good did come of that horrible action. Mulder led the way. It is regrettable that more of those responsible were not punished and that those who were punished were let off so lightly. But there is only so much that can be done when no murder has been committed." "No murder?" Dana launched herself from the couch. "How dare you sit there and say no murder? You say you've read the reports. What does it 'officially' say in the records about Fox Mulder?" The general was taken aback by this whirlwind. "That there was some sort of brain damage. That he is no longer the man he was." Dana barked a quick, sarcastic laugh, her small body quivering with rage. "'Not the man he was.' Ah! What a euphemism! As if he were just a little slow maybe, or less aggressive, or maybe that he doesn't have nightmares any more. No! General Chesterton, they killed him. As cleanly as if they had taken a gun and shot him. And as completely as if he were now lying in his grave. They cut into his brain. Everything that was ever Fox Mulder is gone! Gone!" And that was too much for Dana. The anger had slipped over into agony and she sat down heavily onto the couch before her knees gave way. She had sworn to herself she would not cry, not in front of him, when she must be strong and professional. But here she was, full of tears. She felt him come and sit down beside her. Hesitantly, he placed a large hand lightly on her knee, an awkward attempt at an act of comfort. His breath came out tense, harsh. "Those damn, mother-fucking bastards!" he swore. "I didn't realize. I just thought he had a breakdown from the interrogations or a drug, maybe. Some complications from a concussion. They said he was still alive, just changed his name, got a new life." His genuine anger surprised her and helped to cleanse her own grief. Anger was better, after all, going into battle. Yes, revenge *was* a dish best served cold. "A new life, a new name? Yes, his body lives," , "but his mind is gone. Everything that made him uniquely Mulder...is gone." There were no sobs this time, only icy rage. "And now Samantha will come home and he'll never know. After he sacrificed his whole life and all of his happiness to get her back. What a farce! And what if she wants to see her brother?" Dana grumbled sourly. "What do we tell her?" Daniel took her small hand in his huge one. His hands were strong but amazingly gentle. Dana fought panic, felt something crumble within her, a wall, a wall which had chipped into it "Dana against the World". And something rose in its place which she had not felt in a long, long time. "Now I understand better the discussion I had with Secretary Skinner," Daniel said with dawning understanding. "He had the same concern as you. Mr. Wyatt has been informed of the situation and understands the implications. When and if the time comes, when she understands what happened to Fox Mulder, he had agreed to see her." Dana thought sadly. How do you explain a thing like that to a woman after she has been through what Samantha will have been though. Still, Dana was gratified and at the same time, not surprised. Nate Wyatt, from the two times she had seen him, seemed a good person, which was one of the reasons she knew she could never see him again. The big man at her side seemed to sense her distance and had dropped her hand. "I'd better go." He rose and she got his coat. "I'm looking forward to working with you, Dr. Scully," he told her at the door and extended his hand. "I think it will prove to be a very interesting experience." Dana took the proffered hand and looked up, up even higher than she had needed to look into Mulder's eyes, to find his grey ones on hers. They were full of determination for their cause and respect, respect for her. Their hands lingered longer than one would expect and she did not know if that was at his desire or hers. Hours after Daniel Chesterton had gone, Dana sat in the darkened room staring at the chair where the figure that had looked like Mulder had sat and later, Daniel Chesterton. The few embers from the dying fire provided the only light in the room with the exception of the lamp which was pointed at the crossed tape on the window, the window the 'Hunter' had pointed out. In her hours of solitude Dana had come to realize that she had been wrong. She had been living for fifteen years allowing herself to think that Mulder was the only one. The only fighter, the only worthy knight. But as Daniel sat beside her on the couch for those few minutes, she had felt the tension in his body, a tension that was familiar to her. This man blazed with a fire, too. His own fire, his own battles, his own arena. Had fought alone and with those close to him. He had just suffered within the rules, Mulder had suffered outside of them. Dana looked at Mulder's picture in her lap and let the tears roll down her cheeks. How she missed him, would never stop missing him. She put the picture back on the mantle and laid down on the couch, wrapped herself in his old afghan which was nearly worn out now and had long ago lost his scent. On the edge of sleep she thought of him, and opened her soul and felt something like his spirit enfolding hers, a breath of spring in the winter. It helped and once this would have been enough, more than enough, to keep her going, but now she remembered the feeling of Daniel's body beside her, the look in his eyes. Waiting for Mulder, who would never come, brought him no comfort, and her little. Perhaps it was time to move on. No, it was well past time to move on. "Forgive me, Mulder?" she whispered. Wind whistled down the chimney. A cool breath ever so gently touched her cheek. *** 8 months later Dana Scully looked up from her book to see a tall, slender, exceeding fair-skinned young woman moving unsteadily across the sculpture garden like a sailor who has been to sea too long. The young woman sat down beside Dana on her bench. "It's still early," Dana said. "You could stay longer if you wanted. Nate doesn't come to D.C. that often." The young woman smiled a little and began to speak like one who finds forming words difficult. "No, long enough. His son wants to see the revision of 'To Fly' at the... Air and Space Museum at two o'clock and I don't want to keep you. Besides," the young woman added, "I think he felt uncomfortable with me just staring at him." The young woman looked towards the patch of grass under a tree a block away where she could just make out a tall man and a woman and two tall children. They were packing up a frisbee and a picnic lunch. "Oh, he gave this to me for you." The young woman held out a card which Dana took gingerly. It was the first communication they had had. Carefully, she placed it in her book. "He was very handsome, my brother, wasn't he?" Samantha asked. Dana put the book away in the satchel she had used to carry her own lunch. "You should have seen him sixteen years ago." She got to her feet and started walking to where she had parked her car, pausing to let the younger woman catch up. As always, Dana marveled at the tricks time had played. This young woman should be her own age. Samantha placed a hand on Dana's arm to steady herself. "I'll bet he was a real *fox*." Dana laughed brightly. "That he was. And who's been teaching you colloquialisms?" "Daniel, but that one was easy. You might say I had... mo-ti- vation." Samantha Mulder had trouble with that last word. Sam shook her long dark hair in the wind. "Though he was uncomfortable having me there, I could tell Nate is a happy man." They walked on a little. Dana's eyes saddened. "Your brother was never that happy. He missed you so." "Is that why you don't like to see Nate?" Samantha asked. "Because he has the happiness Fox never had." Dana kept walking. "Partly. Mostly, I guess. It hurts too much. Seeing you again would have given him heaven on earth." They reached the car. Dana slid in behind the wheel and the young woman got in the passenger side. "Tell me a Fox Mulder story," Sam asked as they pulled into traffic. "Again?" Dana smiled as she stopped the car at a red light. "Which one?" "The one about the woods," Sam giggled. Dana gasped dramatically. "Oh, no! Not the woods!" "All right, just the part when you were in quarantine then." "Veerry well," Dana agreed, with mock reluctance. "When Mulder got bored, which was often, he would play this trick on the medical staff with a rubber glove, bleach, two gauze squares and a urine sample..." Dana drove quickly. Daniel was waiting. End of Chap 2.5b (Now this is a good place to end the story, but there is a chapter 3. I guess you might say, chapter 3, which has been posted, is optional.) =========================================================================== From: windsinger@aol.com (Windsinger) Subject: REPOST: LADY and the TIGER, chap 3 Date: 28 Aug 1995 10:23:38 -0400 Hi, this did not make it to all servers (not even my co-author's) so I'm reposting. This was an experiment so please me me know what you think, good AND bad. I know it was not the kind of story people expected. I've been asked to think about a chap 2.5 (how Dana meets Daniel.) Shall we let this story rest or not? Daniel was not a real person to me until a very, very late editing of chap 3. Thank Youkneek for getting me to think about Daniel more as a real person worthy of Dana's love. THE LADY AND THE TIGER Chap 3 (the last) by Stephanie Davies (100573.2252@compuserve.com) and Sue Esty (Windsinger@aol.com) Disclaimer: This story is based on the characters created by Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. Used without permission and no infringement is intended. Thanks to DD and GA and all the fan fic writers for inspiration. Thanks to Stephanie for starting this thing and indulging me by letting me finish it. (Sorry the end got so long, Steph.) Author's notes: Chapters 1 (by Stephanie) and 2 (by me, Windsinger) were sent out under one post a few days ago. The story really ends at chapter 2 but for my own peace of mind I had to write chapter 3. For the realists, stop at chap 2. WARNING: What follows is wishful thinking, catharsis, sad and whimsical with a lot of metaphysics thrown in. And, yes, there is a lot of the Theater of the Absurd in my background. There are no completely happy endings. If you want one, I'm sorry, this isn't it. This is, in a way, my own vision of a 'future'. Though the stories are completely unrelated, the idea is mentioned in passing as early as 3/95 in my story MEMORIES ("And if there is a God...I pray he will let me know you again.") The 'multiple personality disorder' spoken of here is a brand new twist... even for me. Call this my Igmar Bergman (not spelled right, I'm sure) phase and I hope it doesn't destroy my credibility for all time as a serious author. If all this interests you, keep reading, otherwise pass it by, but, beware, it is not as simple as it seems at first. The Lady and the Tiger Chapter 3 (by Windsinger) Dana stared around at the fog-wrapped expanse of nothingness. She remembered when she had almost died before that she had found herself in a 'place' something like this. Since then, she had known, as certain as breath, that there was existence after the life we know as life was over, but still she had hoped for something with a little more... variety. Dana took a few steps and looked down at her clothes. She was younger, thirty years younger than that old tired woman laying on the bed in her daughter's home dying. Dead now, it seemed. It was good to feel younger and not encumbered by that failing husk of a muscle and bone. She shook her head, liking the feel of the soft red hair, not grizzled and grey. She had seen enough dead bodies in her life, she didn't want to dwell upon her own. "Dana! There you are!" Her head turned to see emerging from the mist a dark shape. "Daniel!" She ran to him, pushing through what felt like a heavy mass of air, but ignoring it in her haste to reach her husband, to throw herself into his bear-like arms. "Oh, Daniel, it's true," she laughed, hugging him. "I didn't dream it!" "What's true?" the man with the round, laughing face asked as he kissed her with a kiss that stopped her breath for a moment. "That we *do* meet our loved ones on the other side," she finally managed to continue. "Well, that's one way to describe it," he said smiling. He stroked her hair. Oh, he was so big, a real armful. He looked the age he had been when they had met: thinning, dark hair, slightly grey at the temples, the age she felt now, about mid forties. Twenty-five years, they had had twenty-five years. "You came earlier than I expected," Daniel Chesterton said entwining his large hand in hers. "I guess I was eager," she admitted. His eyes twinkled. He always seemed a little like a very earthy Saint Nicholas to her, now more than ever. "Children being a pain?" "They mean well, but they wouldn't give me any peace." "Sounds like them. They get their mothering from you." "From their *grandmother*," Dana corrected. "Remember, you always complained I spent too much time at work." "Just kidding, Sweets," he said planting a kiss on her forehead. "How are they doing, by the way." "They're fine, doing well. Jennifer sends her love. She was certain I'd be seeing you." "What about William and Harriet?" he asked, in mock distress. "No message for their old Dad?" Dana smiled. "They're sceptical. *That* they get from me." "They were wonderful to raise," he said, remembering. "Ever wish we had adopted more?" She laughed. "Three was a handful, but I can't imagine what life would have been like without any one of them. We were lucky at our age that the agency let us have them at all." Out of the corner of her eye Dr. Dana Scully Chesterton noticed a form standing in the mist from where she had come, a woman who looked just like... "Daniel...?" she began, fearfully. He glanced in the direction of the shape that caused her concern and smiled tenderly. "Don't worry. It's just that *he's* coming. We had best move along." "What?" "Never mind, I'll explain." And Daniel put his arm around his wife and led her off to tell her a few thousand marvelous things. Special Agent Dana Scully looked down at her clothes. The suit was one such as she had not worn in forty years and there were the stylish, yet practical pumps, low heeled enough to make running after fleeing felones and who-knows-what possible. She flipped back her shower of red hair as she watched her older self walk off with some man she could not place immediately. Yes, Daniel, her husband, but in a later life. She had wanted to join them, felt so alone here, but they seemed so happy and she did not want to intrude. And, oddly, as the distance between them lengthened she sensed herself becoming estranged from that life, that existence, even while her time at the Bureau so many years ago was coming back to her as clear as yesterday. She heard a sound of hurrying footsteps, detected a swirl in the mist. "Scuuully!" She whirled in the direction of that voice. That dear, impossible voice. "Mulder..." she whispered. she reminded herself as she had almost every day of the last forty years in those quiet little moments when she was alone, when something wonderful happened in her life she wanted to share with *him*. A tall, dark shape moved in the mist to her left, calling her name, then began to move away from her. "Nate...?" she called almost fearfully, almost hopefully. He spun in her direction, his long legs closing the distance between them quickly. He stopped within arm's length, a little breathless. "Sorry," he said in his warm, languid voice with a hint of a smile, "always did tend to get lost in a fog." "Nate?" she asked, hesitantly. Somehow, his form was not clear. "Nate?" Hazal eyes showed for a moment, darkened in disappointment. Had she forgotten him? His voice dropped. "No, Mulder..." His posture showed he was more than hurt. Crushed described it better. She took a step back, then another. "Not... Mulder. You're Nate Wyatt, only he's not dead." She looked around frantically. There must be someone who could tell her what was going on. "I don't understand -" He reached out his hand, his form became more solid, so much so that he touched her, desperate that she not leave him. "It's *me*, Scully. Really and truly. You're confused. That's understandable. It's a very confusing place, at first. Well, still is," he confessed. <*That*,> Scully realized, with something awakening in her she had thought long buried, She had been too shocked to look carefully before. Now, almost fearfully, she allowed herself to look up, to open her eyes fully, to see... And filled her eyes and her mind with the sight of him. He was as young as the first year they had worked together. His eyes would have been glittering with mischief and life, except that they were shadowed with a sudden deep sadness as he looked at her. He wore a dark suit that fit him, oh, so perfectly and his tie bore a pattern of tasteful, little white ghosts. The atmosphere around them was like it had been before, a little awkward, tension like electricity between them. Even the fog seemed right. Scully only wished she had a liverwurst sandwich and a root beer to hand him. No, an ice tea this time. "Mulder," she said, with a delivery perfected from long practice, "if what you just said was intended to make me feel better, it didn't." Special Agent Fox Mulder sighed with relief and the shadows left him. "Thank God, at least, you have my name right." Scully pointed vaguely in the direction where her other self and Daniel had gone, her mouth open but unable to put any of her questions into words. His eyes flashed with humor. "We all have multiple personality disorders here, Scully. Fertile ground for a psychologist." To her continuing bafflement, he explained with a sly smile, "Did you think we each had only one life worthy of being remembered?" Scully was distracted before she could reply and turned her head in the direction of a regular thumping sound. A boy came running up, a boy of about twelve expertly dribbling a basketball. He was of average height for his age but a little pudgy with a pixieish face, a boy on the point of launching into another growth spurt, one, she realized, which would turn him in time into the beautiful man who stood before her. "Wanna play one-on-one, Mulder?" the boy asked, enthusiastically. A look of affection passed over Mulder's features. "No, Fox, I told you, Scully's here now." "Well," the boy asked with a sulk, "what am I gonna do then until Sam comes?" Scully found herself staring and then began, hesitantly, "Samantha will be here soon. I hear she's not doing well." Fox nodded but hung his head. "I'm sorry she's having a tough time of it." Then he brightened, "but she'll be real happy when she gets here. I have so much planned." "I'm sure you do," Scully said with love. She raised an eyebrow at her partner. "Basketball, Mulder?" Mulder shrugged. "You have to do something. Playing harp is not all its cracked up to be." He blew on his fingertips. "I know, I've tried." A slow, tolerant smile forming on her lips, she turned her attention back to the boy. "Tell you what, Fox: You let Mulder and I have a few minutes and I'll let him play with you a little later. I'd like to get to know you myself." "Oh, he's told me everything about you," the boy told her with a huge smile. She glanced up at Mulder's bemused face. "I'll just bet he has." To Fox, "Well, then you have one up on me because he hardly ever told me anything about you." As the boy raced off, Mulder shrugged. "No one ever said death had to be boring." "As long as you're here, I can't imagine how it could be." He picked a direction, seemingly at random, and they began to stroll, not in a hurry. After all, they had all the time in the world. Still, under his skin, he seemed the same Mulder, more energy than he knew what to do with. "Mulder," Scully said seriously, "I'm sorry you weren't there to see Samantha when they returned her." For the first time since she had accepted him, a crack appeared in the perfect contentment he was radiating. "That was hard. Not to be there for her." His head hung in a very familiar way. "I could see it was a rough transition, but you were great. I can never thank you enough. She's had a pretty good life from what I could see." "Daniel had a lot to do with it," Scully said. "He was the officer in charge of the recovery team. I could not have managed without him." "I saw," Mulder said with a frown. "I bet you didn't think I should have trusted him." "He was part of the establishment." "You weren't there. I had to trust someone." He looked at her with respect. "And you chose well, both for Sam and for yourself." His approval warmed her. "I did, didn't I?," Scully told him. "Sam did better than I expected. Though not physically strong, she had faith in herself and she had your example. She has circulatory problems from the years of weightlessness. It won't be long." She paused, uncomfortably. "There's nothing else you regret?" He stopped and studied her, his eyes deeply disturbed. "Of course, there are, but, Scully, if there's one thing I've learned, it's that they would have killed me sooner or later. The way they did it, at least Nate got to live, was allowed to have the life they would never have let us have." Us. Scully swallowed and tried not to let him see she had heard. What could she say? There is some sadness that can never be relieved, some evil that can never be undone. But if it were possible in this place, she would try. He was staring at the ground, shifting from foot to foot, his hands in his pockets, his Fox look again, "I probably would have been a lousy husband, anyway. Most likely a lousy father, too." That tore. Scully sighed and touched his cheek. "You would have done fine, Mulder. If only those bastards...!" Her anger had lit up her skin. She seemed to glow. "Shhh," he said in mock warning, shaking off the clouds that had gathered. "*He* might hear." "*Him*, Mulder? And when do I get to meet *Him*? Because I still don't understand. If Nate's not -" "Not dead? Now that's an interesting situation and one which the Powers That Be have been trying to figure out. My position here is rather unique, Scully -" "Why am I not surprised." Mulder gave her an off center smile. "Two points," he conceded before continuing. "When they cut out my brain, they killed Fox Mulder, not his body but a big hunk of his spirit." He shrugged. "So here I've been for forty years the only spirit who still has a mortal coil. Well, me and young Fox. I've spent a fair amount of my time, vicariously living Nathaniel Wyatt's life. There's this attachment - " He stopped, realizing this was not what he had waited so many years to be talking about. He turned to face her, touched her shoulders feather light with care as if afraid that *she* was not real. There was her perfect skin, that amazing mouth, her eyes, like the sea, fathomless and at this moment only for him. His next words were spoken in deadly ernest. "I've been waiting for you for a very long time, Scully. Such a long, long time..." A silence followed, a silence that seemed to go on for many blissful years in which they just stood and enjoyed each other's presence, imbibing each other's spirit like food and drink and life itself. *** Jennifer Chesterton pulled the covers over her mother's small, thin body. It had been a peaceful death. Under her fingers Jennifer had felt Dana Chesterton suddenly slip away, as if she had accepted death at the first moment it had been offered. "Went to join Dad," Jenni remarked. "You really believe in an afterlife, don't you?" Peter asked, the words a little indistinct from the clef pallet the operation had not succeeded in correctly completely, though his sisters had learned over the years to understand his lisp perfectly. "I want to believe," Jenni said turning her blind eyes towards the sound of her adopted brother's voice. "I'd like to see Mom and Dad again someday." "What did you find, Hare?" Peter asked, looking at his younger sister, her leg braces shining in the sunlit room. Harriet sat with a metal box on her lap. They had found it under their mother's pillow just a few minutes before. They had all seen it many times over the years, and knew it held a special meaning to their mother, but none of her children had ever been given a look inside. "Just letters and cards," Harriet said with disappointment in her voice. "Most from Uncle Fox but a few are from Andrea." Peter limped over to look over her shoulder. "I'm not surprised she kept them. Mom got so misty every time a letter came." "Think he was an old beau?" Jennifer asked. William shrugged. "Who knows. Someone from before Dad. I think her old partner when she worked for the FBI. He must have had an alias or changed his name because I found an old FBI ID one day when I was thirteen and looking for something in her desk drawer. Her partner's name was Fox Mulder." "I always wondered why we called Nate Wyatt, *Uncle Fox*," Jenni mused. "Too bad we never met him or his family in person." Harriet ruffled through the cards and letters. "Well, we certainly heard about every important event in their lives - promotions, graduations, births - we felt like we knew them. Funny, all the letters are dated and yet the oldest one I've been able to find is a card sent at the time of Mom and Dad's wedding. Odd message: 'Director Skinner's kept us up to date. We've been waiting for some good news for you. So happy, Nate and Andrea.'" "Hey, people," William said. "Look at Mom. I swear, it looks like she's smiling." *** Reluctantly, Mulder gently broke contact. Her spirit touching his had filled, for him, an emptiness, a lonely space he had left especially for her, for this moment. "More later, Scully?" he asked softly. "Yes," she breathed, opening her eyes, coming up as if for air. More. "After all, we did say we'd join Fox," he added, apologetically. She only smiled slowly in response. They began walking again, Mulder's step light, almost on his toes. He took off his suit coat and rolled up his sleeves, obviously eager for a good game of one-on-one. Scully stopped, however, placing a hand on his arm to halt him and raised her head as if listening. Something was nudging at her brain. "Something wrong, Scully?" he asked. She shook her head to clear it. "I don't know. Something tells me I should stay here for a little while." He pursed his lips and slung her suit coat over his shoulder. "Best to stay put then. She usually has a good reason for her little messages." Dana looked up. "I thought you used *He* before?" Mulder shrugged, noncommittally. "Depends." They waited. They could almost hear the sound of labored breathing far away. Coming nearer. Scully found the sound a little frightening until Mulder moved close so that she could feel the warmth of his body against his back. "It's alright," he told her. "Someone's coming, that's all. Someone we should meet. I sense it, too, now." The fog thickened in one spot, blocked the light a little that seemed to be everywhere, began to take form. Another new soul was coming onto this waiting plane. Even though there had not been many people to meet, his mother whom he had taken to join his father, Frohike who went who-knows-where, Skinner who left with his ex- wife, Mulder never tired of seeing such arrivals. But this time he had a shock. The figure was male, tall, dark with a touch of grey, slim - and totally confused when he saw them both. "Nath!" Scully exclaimed in surprise and welcome. The new set of hazel eyes slipped from Mulder's face, as surprised as his own, to the woman's. After a moment he recognized her through she was nine years younger than the only two times in his life he had seen her and he had never known her flushed with happiness as she was now. "Dana Scully." He looked around with apprehension but dawning acceptance. "All right," he began, "I can guess what this must be but -" Mulder recovered first. He stepped forward and held out his hand. "I'm Fox Mulder. I guess you've heard of me." Numbly, Nathaniel Wyatt shook the hand, identical to his own. Mulder was thoroughly enjoying the other's discomfort. "You must not have known anyone close who has died so I guess we're your welcoming committee." "You're me..." Nate said lamely. "I'm you..." Mulder put a hand on the broad shoulder. The man had obviously kept up his swimming. "Neither. We are separate. As separate as we can be. Twins, separated at birth when we were thirty-five. Gee, I always wanted a brother..." Nate looked like he wanted to step away. Scully raised her eyes - heavenward. It was obvious, just from the way they were acting, that telling these two apart was not going to be difficult. Nath also wore Dockers and a polo shirt. Clothes her Mulder would never wear. "Don't mind Mulder," she said in an aside to Nate. "He likes to kid around. You'll get used to his sense of humor." Nate seemed very uncomfortable. Uncomfortable and lonely, Scully sensed. "How's Andrea?" she asked with sincerity. The man who looked like Fox Mulder, but who did not look at her at all the way Fox Mulder did, brightened at the name. "She's a lot younger than I and she's in good health. I went quickly, a stroke. A result of the brain damage years ago, I imagine." "It will probably be a while then until she comes," Mulder said, sympathetically. He knew what it was to be alone here. He looked to Scully for confirmation and then turned back to Nate. "If you want, you can hang around with us until she comes. Then we can all move on together." Nate still looked shell-shocked but also relieved and thankful. Scully let her eyes tell Mulder how wonderful he was, then hooked an arm with each of them. They were both sweet and caring men and she couldn't be happier. She didn't even care to find out what 'moving' on meant. That for later. Mulder led them off across the fog shrouded plain. "I have something to show you," he whispered to Scully in unsuppressed excitement. "Extraterrestrials! Do you know, I was wrong all along. They *are* green." Nate's eyes grew positively round and he hung back a little. Maybe the stories did *not* exaggerate. "Mulder," Scully said warningly. "Nate, does not have your appreciation of the weird. You are scaring him." "Okay, later then, when we're - alone," He whispered. He said the last word in a way that sent a warm chill up her back. she wondered. Mulder let his smile rest on her for what felt like an eternity and then moved back to Nate. "Nate, as I remember you play basketball." "A little," Nate said quickly, feeling on safer ground with this subject. "I played with my son on the driveway." "I watched. He went on to play college ball. You should be proud," Mulder told him and Scully definitely detected a hint of envy in his voice. "You should be proud, too," Nath said in the same voice, only it was a little less dreamy and more mature. "They were your genes first." Mulder smiled a small, sad smile. "Granted, but you raised him well. Come on, I have someone I want you to meet." They heard the sound of a basketball and running feet. The fog seemed to thin and there was a hoop suspended literally in thin air. Underneath it shooting baskets were Fox - and Daniel, with Dana standing off to the side watching. The contented smile on her face widened when she saw them. Before he moved off, Mulder let his fingers rest a moment in Scully's palm and looked curiously at Dana, who nodded in Daniel's direction. With a wave, Mulder threw down his jacket and joined Fox against Daniel and Nate. Dana and Scully stood shoulder to shoulder watching the men. "Why are we letting them have all the fun?" Scully asked. "Because we're short." "We could kick them in the knee." "I don't think that's allowed." "Pity." "I know. When they're done, we'll take them sailing. On a nice, rolling sea." "Oh, you are cruel. Does Daniel get sea sick?" "In the bathtub." "Think She'll let us?" "We can only try." They smiled with evil delight. Over the sound of the dribbling ball, they heard a girl's high voice calling, "Fox!" and the sound of her light, eagerly running steps, coming nearer. The End (For good this time.) Windsinger says: Okay, it's odd, but perhaps one way of working through inconsolable grief and who knows, after all, what 'it' is really like? Eternity to work through all our problems and our little idiosyncracies, to heal our wounds, seems more satisfying then everyone starting out perfect and playing harp. (I play harp and after a couple of hours it gets really boring.) For a similar example of dealing with grief, look up MAD HATTERS and MONO LISAS by Idria Barone Knecht (under Mono_Lisas on ftp.cs.nmt.edu).