Subject: Submission Date: Sat, 6 Feb 1999 10:17:25 EST From: CTWoman392@aol.com To: sonjablue@ozemail.com.au Hope this fits the criteria - Calista --------------------------------------------------------------------- Broken Glass (1/1) by Calista Wiley M/S Angst, Vignette, Post-The End Summary: Following the fire in the their office, Scully and Mulder discuss the future of the X-Files. Disclaimer: If wishes were horses... . In other words, they do not belong to me. Sorry, CC, but they're not earning me any big bucks, either. Please feel free to send any feedback to CTWoman392@aol.com. Please. And let me know if it goes anywhere. _______________________________________ _______________________________________ F.B.I Building Monday, 8:56 a.m. Special Agent Dana Scully checked her watch one more time against the wall clock outside AD Skinner's office. 8:56 a.m. Where the hell was Mulder? Skinner had requested her presence in his office at 9:00 a.m. She had assumed--hoped--that Mulder would be here. She had tried innumerable times over the last two days to reach him. She had phoned. No answer. E-mailed. No response. Pounded on his goddamned door before letting herself in with her key. Nothing. No Mulder. Anywhere. Finally she had pacified her rage and anxiety by telling herself that he was off somewhere licking his wounds. Recharging his batteries for what was sure to be a no-holds-barred fight to the death. Skinner had warned them both that the X-Files was in imminent danger of being shut down for good. For Good. Bad choice of words. 'For Better or Worse' was more appropriate. Life with the X-Files had always been a mixture of the two. Over the years she and Mulder had learned to roll with the punches. But *this* one. This had to be the knockout blow of all time. How could they continue with everything in ashes? No files, no office. And now, no Mulder. Where the hell was he? Skinner's secretary answered the phone and then nodded toward Scully. "He'll see you now, Agent Scully. Go right in." Scully smoothed her hands over her already impeccable hairdo. As she entered Skinner's office, a shaft of light hit the bright red hair turning it copper. She paused just inside the room, shutting the door behind her. Skinner had risen and motioned toward the chair facing his desk. Scully crossed and took her seat. She glanced quickly around the room but they were alone. No Mulder here either. And, thank God, no Cancer Man. If he really was back, it wasn't on his old stomping grounds. She folded her hands in her lap and looked inquiringly at Skinner. The AD was still standing beside his chair, worrying a gold pen. He dropped the pen on the blotter and rounded the desk to stand in front of Scully. "Agent Scully, the preliminary report on the fire in your office indicates arson. There are no suspects at this time. The investigation is ongoing." Scully nodded briefly. She expected nothing more. Skinner may not have any suspects, but she had a few of her own. When she found Mulder, they could..... . Skinner's voice broke into her thoughts. "I don't know if you aware that Agent Mulder requested a leave of absence. Which I granted. I think that removing himself from this situation shows considerable foresight on his part. If you would like to make a similar request, I would have no problem granting it, also." Leave of absence. The words had the impact of a two-by-four between the eyes. Scully knew she was still in Skinner's office. She hoped she appeared calm and collected. She felt as if the laws of physics had been suspended in her immediate vicinity. Mulder and Leave of Absence. Two totally incompatible concepts. Mulder had taken one enforced vacation in all the years she had known him. He had to be sedated to take medical leave after each of his numerous hospitalizations. She suspected that he snuck into the office on Christmas Day, for god's sake. Now he suddenly and willfully, without a word to her, took a leave of absence. If it weren't Skinner telling her this, she would be forced to conclude that Mulder had been abducted and a conspiracy was underway. The Mulder she knew would never take turn his back on what had been done to them. So, obviously the thing to do was find the Mulder she knew. Where ever he might be. Skinner was still waiting for a response to his last remark. From the look in his eyes, it was not a suggestion but a strong recommendation. Scully wet her lips. "Thank you, Sir. I think that is an excellent idea." ____________________________________ Quonochontaug, Rhode Island Monday 3:15 p.m. Quonochontaug must be a lovely place to visit, Scully thought as she brought the Taurus to a stop at the corner. She really would have to return here someday and play tourist. Sometime when she could gawk at the cottages and the sunset and enjoy the salt air. Right now she was focused on finding Mulder's house. Finding Mulder. She had checked with everyone she could think of in the D.C. area to no avail. It was only desperation that had made her call Mulder's mother. Teena Mulder was, in Scully's estimation, an impossible woman to know and a difficult one to like. She reminded Scully of a block of dry ice. Cold and hard and shrouded in mist. This woman had stood at the graveside of her murdered ex-husband without a sign of emotion. She had discussed her missing, and presumed dead, only son with the same concern you would give a misplaced library book. Scully, herself a woman of restraint, could accept that. After all, she rarely wore her heart on her sleeve either. What she could not forgive was Mrs. Mulder's attitude toward her son last year during his memory regression episode. It hadn't been hard to hear what was being said behind the French doors. Okay, Mulder had been what his mother would probably term -- impertinent. But her responses had been unpardonable. Anyone with half an eye could see that he was hurting. And not just physically. Instead of comforting him she had accused him of killing his father, slapped him -- hard from the sound that had echoed through the door -- and turned her back on him. No wonder Mulder had returned to Dr. Goldstein to complete the memory prod. In his confused state, abandoned by his mother, it had seemed like the only way to find the truth. Why the hell couldn't the woman just answer his questions? Could the truth be worse than the torment he endured? Who was she protecting -- herself or her son? The soft purr of an engine behind her brought Scully back to the present and she turned the car onto a quiet tree-lined street. There it was. The house that continued to haunt her dreams. For weeks after their last trip to Rhode Island the image of Mulder with his gun pressed to his throat appeared ever time she closed her eyes. Lost in some nightmare only he could see, he had come very close to ending it all. She felt the cold hand of memory on the back of her neck as she pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. There was already a car, Mulder's, parked under the overhang. She sat for a moment, drawing a deep breath, releasing it slowly. Whatever was going on in Mulder's mind today, she had a feeling she would need every ounce of calm strength to deal with it. __________________________ Scully rounded the snowball bush on the side of the house and started up the steps. There had been no answer to her knock at the front door and peering through every window had been equally unproductive. At least she hadn't seen Mulder's lifeless body on any of the floors but with each window, each step, her stomach muscles had tightened another notch. She couldn't shake the feeling of dread that being back here had evoked. At the door she gave a perfunctory knock and reached for the knob. It turned in her hand and she opened the door slowly, calling out as she did. "Mulder? Anyone here?" Silence. She started through the rooms one by one. Either a tramp had broken in and made himself at home or Mr. Mulder had come to Town. Dishes in the sink, sweatpants flung across a chair, unmade couch. Scully finished her search of the house. Mulder had obviously been here recently. The coffee pot was still warm and today's paper was on the floor of the throne room. < Is that *every* guy's idea of a great way to start the day?> She returned to the living room and sat for a moment on the arm of the couch to decide on her next step. Wait to see if he returned, scour the town, call out the guard? A pile of books on the floor next to the couch caught her eye. Maybe they would give her a clue to his mental state. She picked one off the top. 'The Perfect Storm'. Appropriate enough in their current situation. Next came 'Modern American Poetry'. Then 'A Short History of the World in 10 1/2 Chapters'. Nora Roberts' 'Hidden Treasures'. Nora Roberts. Mulder was reading a romance novel. Staring at the passion red cover, Scully could have sworn that the room tilted. Maybe he was just looking for the *good* parts. Since Scully had the same book tucked away in her nightstand drawer she could vouch for the fact the there were indeed *good* parts. Plenty of them. But....Mulder...reading love stories! Just when she was beginning to think that she had seen everything! She restacked the books carefully. She wasn't sure if she wanted Mulder to know that she knew about his taste in literature. When they were back in their previous disorder she rose from the sofa arm and headed back to the door. Stepping out on the terrace steps Scully lifted her head and breathed in the crisp sea air. She was her father's daughter and the smell of salt air brought back so many memories. A sharp cry had her head tilting. A gull was diving down to pick up dinner from the ocean surface. From here she could see the waves surging in to shore, smacking the sand and fading away. And from here she could see a dark solitary figure on the beach. _____________________________________ Scully paused on the edge of the beach to remove her shoes. Slithering down the cliff bank hadn't improved the look or feel of her Nine West burgundy stacked heels. She wasn't about to add to their demise by trudging across a rocky beach. Besides, she never could resist an opportunity to dig her toes into sand. She straightened, shoes dangling from her right hand and shaded her eyes against the haze. Mulder hadn't moved from his spot. Either he was deafened by the waves or he didn't care who might be creeping up on him. For Mulder that alone was strange behavior. Scully padded across the sand until she stood behind him. He was seated cross-legged on a small rise. Below him the beach sloped down to the water's edge. He was concentrating on pouring sand from one hand to the other, slowly. Not wanting to startle him, Scully spoke softly. "Mulder." There wasn't a hitch in the sand moving process. "Hey, Scully. Pull up a seat." Scully scraped her teeth across her lower lip as she lowered herself onto the cool sand. She placed her shoes carefully in front of her, lining them up precisely. When she was satisfied that they were evenly spaced she slanted a sideways glance at Mulder. He still hadn't looked up from his 'work'. Uncertain how to begin, Scully picked up a handful of sand and began her own meditations. A shout to her left brought her head up and swiveling. They were no longer alone. A woman and two young children where climbing over the rocks at the far end of the beach. The woman settled herself on an outcropping while the children ran to the water. They began a game of tag with the surf, darting back and forth across the wet sand. The sound of their laughter mingled with the cries of the seagulls playing their own game. The corners of Scully's mouth tilted up as she watched them, running and shrieking with glee as the waves grabbed at their toes. As she watched the air around her seemed to still, the sounds fading into nothingness as her vision narrowed, slowed. She felt herself split into two, her emotions polarized. Tears rose in her eyes even as her mouth lifted in a smile. The heights of joy and the depths of despair arguing for ascendancy. Would it always be like this? Would she never again see children, families without this miasma of wishes and regrets? A sudden blast of cold air thawed her hearing and un-froze her sight. Blinking slowly, Scully saw the woman was standing, calling the children home. The sky had darkened, blocking the watery sunlight. She shivered slightly, hugging her arms against her chest when she felt Mulder's hand on her neck, turning up the collar of her raincoat. She turned to look at him but his attention was focused beyond her on the family disappearing over the rocks. His lips parted, as if he were about to call out, but they were gone before he could speak. Scully shivered again, more from the bleakness that settled on his face than the chill in the air. "Mulder. What are we doing here?" Scully tried to smile, hoping it would become contagious. "This isn't a great day for the beach, you know." Mulder drew his gaze away from the shoreline and refocused on Scully's face. "You've got a point there, Scully. Do you know your nose is turning blue?" "No, but if you hum a few bars... ." It was a pretty feeble attempt at humor -- but it worked. Scully felt her own bones relax as Mulder drew his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on them. They both sat quietly watching the wind whip up the waves and urge them to shore. Finally, Mulder shifted, laying his arms across his knees and his cheek against the soft leather sleeve until his eyes were level with hers. He spoke softly. "I'm sorry." Scully's voice echoed the puzzlement on her face. "About what -- in particular?" Mulder grimaced. "You mean aside from -- 'Everything'? In particular, about not letting you know where I was. I didn't plan on disappearing...I just needed to be somewhere else for a while. Be some *one* else for a while. Someone normal." She had been watching his face carefully as he spoke, the brilliant blue of her eyes darkening at his words. Was this the reason for his rather eclectic taste in literature? Was he searching for a definition of 'normal? Or for a way to make that definition fit himself? "Mulder, you're a psychologist. You know there's no such thing as 'normal'." "Well, then, there are an awful lot of people who are giving a damn fine imitation of it," he answered as he turned back to the waves. "How? What are they doing that is so 'normal'?" "They..they...they're mowing the lawn, raising a family...joining a bowling team... . How the hell do I know what normal people do? That's just the point!" Mulder ran both hands through his already windblown hair, down to his taut neck muscles. With his hands still clasping his neck, he raised his head to look at her. His eyes were the same deep green as the sea and just as stormy. "The X Files are gone, Scully." His voice was low, barely audible over the pounding surf. "I'm not talking about the fire. They were already gone when we... I... I risked everything we've worked for -- for nothing." The muscles in his jaw stood out starkly against the paleness of his face. "Mulder, it wasn't just you. I wanted to believe in Gibson Praise, too." He laughed softly and bitterly. "I suppose it was only a matter of time before you caught the disease. Good thing that poster burned up -- can't risk it spreading to anyone else." Again Scully felt a chill go through her that had nothing to do with the wind. She had seen Mulder discouraged before, even defeated but never hopeless. She had expected him to be angry, frustrated, even vengeful. She was unprepared for this complete loss of faith. She felt as if she had taken that long step off a short pier. As her thoughts flailed about, searching for purchase, she uttered the first thing that came into her mind. "Why here, Mulder? This doesn't seem like the best place for 'feeling normal'. Are you sure you're not being influenced by the things that have happened here?" He looked back with unfocused eyes. "You're right, Scully. I *am* being influenced by what has happened here. But not in the way you mean." There was a break in the cloud cover and Mulder squinted against the sudden brightness, tilting his head downward. The sight of her shoes lined up so carefully, the small bare feet planted firmly in the sand, coaxed a brief smile to his lips. He spoke quietly. "Guess you spent a lot of time by the sea when you were growing up, huh, Scully?" He glanced up to see her nod impatiently and continued. "When I was little I thought this was the *only* place that had an ocean. The first time we came here, I couldn't wait to get to the beach, to see the water my father had told me about." He shifted, stretching his long legs out before him as he leaned back on his hands. Scully willed herself to silence, waiting to see where he was going with this apparent tangent. "Our vacation had been postponed because I had stepped on some glass and had to have stitches in my foot. Every night, while we waited for me to heal, my father would tell me stories about the ocean and the creatures that lived in it. He promised to teach me to swim, to sail, to fish. I was five; the Beach sounded like another word for Heaven to me." Scully was smiling, picturing a pint-sized Mulder racing along this stretch of sand, eager to experience it all. "We got here at night, too late to visit the beach but my father took me outside to see the stars and the moonlight shining on the water. It was so beautiful. I thought morning would never come." He slanted a sideways glance at his partner. "Patience has never been my strong suit." " I have noticed that," Scully remarked mildly. Their eyes met for and instant, blue harmonizing with green. He continued. "I was up at the crack of dawn, badgering my dad to bring me down here. Finally he gave in. Mom was still up at the house with Samantha; they were coming down later." Mulder looked back over his shoulder toward the overgrown path that wended down the face of the cliff. "The whole way down I couldn't take my eyes off the water. My father had made it sound so mysterious, all the strange creatures living beneath the surface. A whole new world." "When we got to the end of the path there, I finally saw the beach for the first time." He turned back to Scully, but she knew he wasn't seeing her. He had traveled back to that moment of his childhood, when his father was still his hero and the world was his oyster. "I took one look at the sand, shining in the sun and screamed bloody murder. Probably took five years off my father's life. He tried to take my hand, to lead my onto the beach...jesus... I was hanging on his leg, crying, terrified that he was going to walk out there...and drag me with him." His voice trailed off as he looked back again to the edge of the sand. Scully waited for him to continue, unwilling to break into his memories. Finally she laid her hand on his arm, felt the muscle bunch beneath her touch. He didn't look at her, just gathered himself together. Legs crossed into an X; arms pulled in against his sides; chin tucked down into his collar. "What did you see, Mulder," she asked quietly. "In the sand. What did *you* see?" "I saw glass. Miles and miles of broken glass. Just...lying there. I knew if we took a step we would be cut to pieces. And all I could do was scream." Scully slid her hand down his sleeve until it rested on his clenched fist, easing it open until she could tuck her hand in his. His fingers closed around hers tightly. Mulder scrubbed his other hand over his face, erasing the lines that had settled there. "My father finally gave up and carried me back up to the house. The rest of the day was pretty quiet. I stayed in my room, playing with my toys. I didn't even want to look at the sand again.. No matter what my father said, I *knew* it was broken glass." His right hand had dropped to sandwich hers, his thumb rubbing absently over her knuckles. When he didn't continue Scully prodded gently. "Did you come down again? How did they convince you not to be afraid?" "That night my mother brought me out on the patio. The moon and the stars were out. She told me that every night they sprinkled their dust down on the water and the waves carried them into shore. And every morning when the sun came up you could see the moonbeams and stardust shining there on the beach." "And did that work?" "You know me, Scully. Always willing to believe the unbelievable." Mulder's smile invited her to join him in his self-mockery. Scully simply tilted her head inquiringly. "Yeah, it worked. We came down the next morning, and every morning after that. I was 'cured'." "And why are we here now, Mulder?" "Because now I know that my mother lied to me. And I believed the lie. I was so busy looking at the stars that I didn't notice that the glass was cutting us to pieces. I believed the lie and because of that, all my life, I've been walking on broken glass." He stopped speaking, his lips pressed so tightly together that they were only a pale slash across his face. In the silence that fell between them Scully tried to take a deep breath. Her lungs hurt as she had been too long under water. Her right hand came up to rub the spot over her heart where the pain seemed to be centered. She couldn't believe how much it hurt to hear him disavowal his life's work. But he couldn't give up now. "I spoke to Skinner this morning. There's been no official word on the closing of the X-Files. We're not finished yet, Mulder. We can still... ." "Still what, Scully? Dream the impossible dream? Fight the unbeatable foe." "Mulder, I know how you feel but... ." He cut her off with a quick nod of his head. " I know you do, Scully. I know you do. You've lost as much ... more ... than I have. That's why we have to stop now. Before there's nothing left of either one of us." He laid her hand carefully back in her lap and rose to his feet. "There's a place not far from here that makes the best oyster stew you've ever tasted. How about it, Scully? Ready for a hearty New England dinner?" "Mulder... ," Scully tried again but there seemed to be nothing left to say. He smiled gently at her as he reached down a hand. "It's late, Scully. Time to get off the beach." She let him draw her to her feet. He didn't relinquish the hold as they walked together across the sand. Beneath the roar of the surf, Scully could have sworn she heard the sound of broken glass. _______________ _______________ The End I never planned on doing a songfic. And, technically, it's not since there are no lyrics in the body of the story. But I did *happen* to see Annie Lennox on VH1 singing Broken Glass right after seeing The End. Serendipity.