From: susanf34@comcast.net   
      
   *NO ARCHIVE*   
      
      
      
   Title: Family   
   Author: Susan   
   E-mail: susanf34@comcast.net   
   Classification: vignette   
   Spoiler: takes place after the events of Sein und   
   Zeit and Closure, brief mention of Chinga   
   Archive: After the Fact site.   
   Disclaimer: These characters belong to each other,   
   not me.   
      
   Summary: There was still a part of him that wanted   
   to keep holding onto what was left.   
   ******************************************************   
      
   Family   
   by Susan   
   ~~~~   
      
   Mulder sat in the living room on the couch, his   
   body motionless, his hands folded in his lap.   
      
   He knew that at some point he should get up and   
   start the job he came here to do, but even though   
   he'd already been here for an hour, he wasn't sure   
   if he could.   
      
   Or if he even wanted to.   
      
   It'd been two weeks since his mother had died and   
   since he'd accepted Samantha's death, and he knew   
   it was time to finally put the past behind him and   
   move on with his life.   
      
   And yet there was still a part of him that wanted   
   to keep holding onto what was left.   
      
   Sure, all the things in this house were only   
   material possessions, but still they were a part   
   of his family.   
      
   And consequently, a part of him.   
      
   The brass antique lamp his father had outbid   
   everyone for at an auction twenty years ago. The   
   striped afghan his mother had knitted hanging over   
   the back of the couch. The handcrafted maple end   
   table his grandfather had given them for Christmas   
   one year.   
      
   And of course, the photographs.   
      
   Making himself get up off the couch, he walked   
   over to the desk near the doorway, opened the   
   bottom drawer and looked down at the stack of   
   photo albums inside.  There were four of them,   
   each of them dark red with gold trim and each of   
   them at least three inches thick.  Lifting them   
   out of the drawer, he carried them back over to   
   the couch, then sat down again, leaving one on   
   his lap and setting the others beside him.   
      
   And he began.   
      
   The pages had yellowed over the years, and many   
   of the pictures were faded, but there was no   
   mistaking whose face was smiling back at him on   
   almost every page.   
      
   Samantha.   
      
   She looked so completely different than his last   
   memories of her, and yet she was the same obnoxious   
   little sister that used to follow him everywhere.   
      
   Lightly brushing his fingers over the picture, he   
   looked down at the photo beneath it. It was one   
   of his mother, Samantha, and him, the three of   
   them standing by a picnic table at the beach.   
      
   It was a sunny day, and they were wearing their   
   bathing suits and sunglasses. His swim trunks   
   were blue with a yellow stripe running down the   
   side, and he was holding a big slab of watermelon   
   in his right hand.   
      
   Such a simple thing, to be eating watermelon on   
   a hot summer day with your family.   
      
   Then again, everything in his life was simple   
   before Samantha was taken.   
      
   He thumbed through the rest of the album, his eyes   
   taking in every photograph, memorizing everything   
   about each one.   
      
   The way his dad's left eyebrow sat higher on his   
   forehead than the right one.   
      
   The blue overalls Samantha seemed to be wearing   
   in over half the pictures that were taken of her.   
      
   The proud look on his mother's face as she stood   
   beside him on his first day of kindergarten.   
      
   And a picture of his parents he remembers taking   
   about a month before everything fell apart.   
      
   It was his father's birthday that day, and mom had   
   asked him if he would take a picture of the two of   
   them sitting together at the table by the cake.   
      
   And so he did, carefully focusing the camera the   
   way his dad had showed him and taking so long to   
   get it just right that the candles were almost   
   melted down to stubs by the time he finally took   
   the picture.   
      
   It was his favorite photo of them.   
      
   Not because of the fact that he was the one who   
   took it or that it was the last time the four of   
   them were together as a family.   
      
   But because it was proof.   
      
   Actual proof that there was a time when his mom   
   and dad really did love each other.   
      
   Carefully taking the photo out from beneath the   
   clear covering it was under, he held it in his   
   hand and studied the way they were that day.   
      
   The way they sat so close beside each other at   
   the table. The way dad seemed to be squeezing her   
   shoulder as he held his arm around her. How she   
   leaned into him and how their eyes seemed so full   
   of love for each other.   
      
   And so full of life.   
      
   "You okay, Mulder?" asked Scully, sitting down on   
   the couch beside him, a dust cloth in her hand.   
   "I was cleaning out in the kitchen, and I hadn't   
   heard you in awhile."   
      
   "I'm okay. I was just..." he said softly, his eyes   
   still focused on the picture in his hand. "I was   
   looking for some evidence, and I think I found it."   
      
   She set the cloth down on the coffee table and   
   turned towards him. "Evidence? Evidence of what?"   
      
   Handing her the faded photograph of his smiling   
   parents, he replied, "Something I needed to see."   
      
   She looked down at the two people in the picture.   
   They were strangers to her, really, having never   
   met Bill Mulder and barely meeting his wife, yet   
   she could clearly see the love and affection they   
   had for one another.   
      
   "It's a nice picture, Mulder," she said as she   
   handed it back to him. "When was it taken?"   
      
   "I took it on my dad's 43rd birthday," he replied,   
   leaning back against the cushion. "About a month   
   before Samantha was..."   
      
   He stopped himself before finishing, awkwardly   
   looked down at the floor.   
      
   Taking the album off his lap, she nestled in beside   
   him and tenderly cupped her hand around his cheek.   
      
   "I'm okay, Scully, I really am," he said, pressing   
   a kiss to her forehead.   
      
   And he really was okay, with her here.   
      
   She put her hand on his and lifted the photograph   
   up in between them. "They looked pretty happy here.   
   Were they?"   
      
   Yes, on that day they were, he thought, just as they   
   were on many other days back then.   
      
   "Yeah, I guess sometimes they were," he said quietly,   
   a hint of a smile crossing his face.   
      
   He set the picture down, and they sat together in   
   silence then, his thumb softly caressing the curve   
   of her shoulder.   
      
   But it wasn't an uncomfortable silence.   
      
   It was simply two people reflecting on what once   
   was, accepting it, and moving on.   
      
   Several minutes later when he was ready to talk   
   again, he suddenly asked, "When's the last time   
   you took a vacation, Scully?"   
      
   She thought back to two years ago when she'd gone   
   to Maine to get away for a few days, but ended up   
   getting involved with a case about an evil doll   
   instead.   
      
   "Ah...I guess it was probably two years ago when   
   I went to Maine," she answered, lazily tracing a   
   pattern along the bottom of his shirt.   
      
   He chuckled. "Oh yeah, I remember that. The infamous   
   killer doll case, right?"   
      
   Now it was her turn to laugh. "That's the one. You   
   know, now that I think about it though, I didn't   
   really get much of a vacation while I was there."   
      
   "Then that's all the more reason to take one now."   
   He sat up straighter and turned to her, then took   
   both hands in his. "What do you say after we get   
   things settled here, we drive up to Maine and have   
   a real vacation for a couple days?" he asked, his   
   entire demeanor completely changed from just a few   
   moments ago.   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
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    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)