From: ceilidh_o@yahoo.com   
      
   TITLE: Lee   
   AUTHOR: Ceilidh Paul (rrooomsy_heckels@hotmail.com)   
   CATEGORY/KEYWORDS: Post-"Truth"; Angst   
   RATING: PG   
   SPOILERS: "William"; "The Truth"   
   DISCLAIMER: Not mine, no profit being made.  All characters/concepts   
   property of 1013 and FOX.   
   SUMMARY: "Some moments are harder than others-   
   and this moment is hardest of all."  Mulder has an encounter with one   
   thought lost long ago.   
   AWARD ELIGIBILITY: 2004 Spooky Awards   
      
      
   ***   
      
   The playground sand was thick and wet under   
   his feet, damp from the heavy winter air.   
   The temperature had risen rapidly in the   
   last two days, and the mounds of snow that   
   had dominated the landscape just days   
   previously had been reduced to rotting grey   
   piles.  The ground squelched with water,   
   and it rose and pooled around the toes of   
   his shoes as Fox Mulder stepped back out of   
   the sandbox.  The grey sky was huge over   
   his head, and the only object that gave any   
   definition to the horizon was the creaking   
   swing set that sat at the edge of the   
   parkette.   
   	   
   In the sandbox, only a few yards away from   
   him, heart-lurchingly close, a tiny shape   
   cooed happily and reached for a handful of   
   the thick wet particles.  The small toddler   
   was swathed in an immense blue snowsuit,   
   abandoned white mittens dangling at his   
   wrists, suspended from a fraying string   
   that threaded through his sleeves.  His   
   tiny hands were red from the cold and damp   
   from the sand.  Mulder itched to put them   
   between his own and warm them.   
   	   
   The brown-haired woman hovering on the   
   toddler's far side immediately reached out   
   and seized the wrists, admonishing gently.   
   Mulder strained for her words, but they   
   were whipped away by the wind that pushed   
   constantly at his back.  The little boy   
   frowned, and then sat firmly down in   
   consternation.  The woman patiently hauled   
   him back up again, and brusquely knocked   
   the clinging sand off the back of the   
   battered blue nylon suit.   
   	   
   Mulder scuffed at the soil beneath his   
   feet, and the woman looked over in slight   
   irritation.  After glaring at him for a few   
   more minutes, she took the toddler firmly   
   by the hand and strode over to him.   
   	   
   "Look," she said icily when she reached   
   him.  "I don't mean to sound rude or   
   accusatory, but may I ask why you are   
   hanging around a children's playground   
   without a child, and why you have been   
   staring at my son and I for the last half   
   hour?"   
   	   
   Mulder smiled as best he could.  "I'm just   
   taking in the scenery, ma'am," he said.   
   "I'm from out of state, and I just wanted   
   to look around the town.  I was enjoying   
   the wind and the fresh air.  I don't often   
   get breezes as crisp as this at home."   
   	   
   The woman seemed to calm down, and she   
   offered her hand.  "I'm sorry about that,   
   but you were worrying me.  I'm not usually   
   so confrontational.  My name is Elaine   
   Vandekamp.  And you are?"   
   	   
   "Sam Mulder," he replied smoothly.  "And   
   this is your son?"   
   	   
   The woman tugged the boy's hand, and he   
   looked up at her sullenly.  She nodded   
   toward Mulder, and the tiny face turned to   
   look at him.  The impact of looking the   
   toddler full in the face knocked Mulder's   
   breath out of him with a sudden jolt.   
   *Scully's eyes*, was all he could think.   
   *Scully's eyes*.  Their electric blue bore   
   into his face with drilling force, and they   
   seemed to see right into him, piercing him,   
   knowing him.  They drank him in and cut him   
   up, and when his breath returned it rushed   
   up and choked him.  Mulder's eyes began to   
   cloud.   
   	   
   The small boy tilted his head and then   
   reached up and pushed his hood off with   
   both hands, in a familiar tucking motion.   
   It floored Mulder, and all he could see   
   before his mind's eye were visions of   
   Scully tucking her hair behind her ears   
   over and over, the exact same motion and   
   gesture he saw echoed by the form in front   
   of him.   
   	   
   "Hi," the boy said, and his voice was so   
   tiny and perfect and young that Mulder felt   
   the breath go out of him again.   
   	   
   "Hi," Mulder echoed, unable to say   
   anything else.  I made you.  You're mine.   
   	   
   "I'm almost three," the boy stated   
   matter-of-factly.  "But you're older than   
   that."   
   	   
   "Don't be rude," Mrs. Vandekamp.  "We   
   talked about that."   
   	   
   The child ignored her and continued talking   
   to Mulder.  "I'm almost three, but really   
   I'm old.  And your name isn't Sam."   
   	   
   Mrs. Vandekamp frowned and tugged the tiny   
   fist enclosed in her own.  "Don't be   
   rude," she repeated.  She then turned to   
   Mulder and smiled stiffly.  "I'm sorry,"   
   she said.  "We've had a bit of a problem   
   with this kind of behaviour from him.  My   
   son has a very active imagination."   
   	   
   "That's all right," Mulder said faintly.   
   "I don't mind at all."   
   	   
   The boy smiled enigmatically.  "You're the   
   fox," he continued; then he seemed to go a   
   bit red, and his brow furrowed.  "Off!"   
   he demanded to Mrs. Vandekamp, and was   
   instantly a normal child again.  The woman   
   helped him unzip the jacket half of the   
   snowsuit, and a glint of gold shone from   
   around his neck, nestled at the back among   
   the delicate strands of bright red hair   
   that crowned his head.   
      
   "What's that?" Mulder asked quickly.   
      
   Mrs. Vandekamp pulled a delicate chain out   
   from under the boy's thick red sweatshirt,   
   and on it was dangling a tiny golden cross,   
   an exact replica of the one piece of   
   jewellery Mulder would know anywhere.  His   
   heart skipped a few beats.   
      
   "Well," she said firmly.  "We'd better   
   get going.  We've got a long walk home."   
      
   Mulder stepped forward.  "Please," he   
   asked quietly.  "Please let me give you a   
   drive?  It would be my pleasure."  At the   
   woman's wary look, he supplied: "Your son   
   looks very tired, and I know how hard it is   
   to walk anywhere with a tired child."   
      
   "Do you have children, then?" Mrs.   
   Vandekamp asked.   
      
   Mulder gazed at the boy for a moment, and   
   then answered slowly.  "I had a son, but I   
   lost him more than two years ago."   
      
   "I'm so sorry," the woman said, seemingly   
   reassured.  "That must have been beyond   
   horrible."   
      
   "It was," Mulder replied, and then   
   abruptly changed the topic.  "Now, please,   
   allow me to give you a ride home."   
      
   Mrs. Vandekamp nodded slowly and followed   
   him to his rental car, shiny and new with   
   dealership Wyoming plates.  She climbed   
   into the backseat with the toddler on her   
   lap, and Mulder got into the driver's seat   
   and started the car.   
      
   "Where to?"   
      
   As she gave him directions, Mulder watched   
   the small boy in the rear-view mirror   
   humming to himself and stroking the   
   upholstery.  His heart felt as if an   
   enormous weight were about to crush it   
   completely.  The boy's red-gold hair   
   flashed in the light from the landscape   
   rushing by outside the car window, and   
   Mulder couldn't help feeling as if he was   
   the most beautiful thing that he had ever   
   seen.  *And we made him*, he thought again.   
   *I want Scully to see how impossibly   
   beautiful he is*.   
      
   *I can't, Mulder*, Scully had said, weeks   
   ago, her voice shaking in the quiet of   
   their apartment in the charged moments   
   after he had surprised her with the results   
   of his clandestine search.  *Why can't you   
   understand that?  I said goodbye, I made   
   the only choice I could.  I died inside   
   when he was carried out my door, and   
   there's nothing left in me; I'm not strong   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)