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Airy Persiflage
AUTHOR: bcfan Sparks shot up from the fire like fireflies, spelling all the important things in the world if only their lighted braille could be interpreted. Mulder stared hard as he sat on a log, seemingly attempting to do so. He could sense his companion sitting calmly across the campfire, although he could barely see him in the play of bright and gloom. Mulder smiled ruefully as he realized that Gibson had chosen this moment specifically to give him the illusion of privacy. Last night had been Gibson's turn. Tonight it was his. "Tell me your story," Gibson had quietly requested. "I have lots of stories." Mulder attempted humour. Silence. "Well," Mulder shrugged, "Where should I start? With the X-Files?" Gibson's patient voice. "Tell me about you, Mulder. Where you started. How you got here." Mulder was a private man. He was accustomed to using wit as his ring of Gyges, to cloak his true feelings. But he felt a connection with Gibson - and an almost fatherly affection. "You make a tough companion, Gibson," Mulder half- teased. "I'm not used to talking about this - and some of it might be not just X-Files, but X-rated..." "I'm not just a kid now, Mulder. I might even like the X- rated stuff." Mulder could see Gibson's white grin through the gloom, and relaxed fractionally. He was already aware that Gibson could read his feelings, even when he tried to block them, and he sensed Gibson was non-judgmental. When Gibson had started last evening's story of his life with the old psychology chestnut - it's not what happens to you, it's how you feel about what happens to you - Mulder knew he'd met a kindred spirit, one who would give him a rare opportunity to reflect aloud in this time of enforced isolation. Mulder decided to begin as Gibson had done, from early childhood. "You were an only child, I know. I was too - until I was four, and my sister was born..." Mulder closed his eyes - and the feelings and pictures were so vivid he could taste them. He fell down the rabbit hole of his past as his story began. *** After Samantha was born, his mom told Fox that his nose was out of joint. This didn't make any sense to Fox - he'd felt his own nose, and it was the same as before. Everything else was different though, and some of the differences were even good. It was a proud day when Fox started school. Everyone made a big fuss, he got new clothes and fat, sharpened pencils. A new case with crayons that smelt so good, he had to lick the red one to see if it had a cherry taste. It didn't. The glue tasted much better - minty and smooth - but he learned in a hurry that eating glue was a bad thing. Fox loved Kindergarten. His five-year-old day was perfect because, after a morning of playing with his friends and building with blocks and making applesauce and shaking baby food jars filled with cream to make butter (he did it all himself!) he then got to come home to mommy and spend special time with her alone. Samantha took naps, and he was once again king of his little kingdom. First Grade was harder. Fox thought everyone knew how to read. He was shocked when he found out he was the only one. At first he was proud - proud and braggy, which meant recess was payback time. After a few weeks of payback, Fox was ready to quit and stay home with mommy and two-year-old Sam. It turned out, though, that only bad boys quit. Fox was not a bad boy. He tried his best to fit in, and did so in the gym, where he could skip and jump and climb and kick balls with the best of them. Fox earned respect though his sports ability, and kept respect by keeping his mouth shut while carefully printing primer words. Dog. Jill. Tom. Fox deliberately paced himself - no slower or faster than the others. But on the inside, he was screaming. It was then that he started paying attention to Samantha. He loved to read and she was an eager audience, unquestioning in her adoration. She was old enough to follow orders - and since she so obviously wanted nothing more than to be like her big brother, Fox began to bond with Samantha for the first time. Oh sure, when a school friend came by to play, Fox was out of the house in a flash. But there were times when it was only him and Sam, and he began to enjoy teaching her and having her be Ape to his Tarzan, Scotty to his Spock, Robin to his Batman. No self-respecting ten-year-old, however, would admit to being friends with a younger sibling, especially if she was a girl. The bantering and teasing remained - but the camaraderie ran underneath like a silent river. *** "I had a hard time in school too, Mulder. I never talked, and everyone thought I was retarded." "I remember you telling me about that." Mulder's voice was gentle. "I had kind of the opposite problem. I tried to blend in, but I just couldn't keep it up day after day. Eventually I was tested. I skipped a grade and was put into a special part-time program too. I always figured it was to get me out of the teacher's hair." Mulder grinned, and Gibson laughed. *** Fox and Sam both lay on the ground cocooned in blankets in front of the t.v. It was Saturday morning, and they shared a love of cartoons and sugary cereal as their parents slept in the back bedroom. "Those moon men are funny," Samantha giggled. "Their heads look like onions!" "I like Cloyd's ray gun." Fox smiled. "It would be so great to be able to freeze someone you're mad at." Samantha looked curiously at Fox from her prone position, her face a small orb surrounded by fuzzy blue blanket. "Would you freeze anybody?" "Yeah. Mr. Findlay." Fox flexed his hand under the blanket. He could still feel the ruler's sting. "How come? Did he get mad at you again?" "He's just a big jerk!" Fox complained. "When I got back from gifted pull-out, I couldn't find my science essay. He knows I wrote it - he saw me do it. But he accused me of lying when I said someone must have taken it." "That's mean." "Yeah, well, I started arguing and I got a little carried away." Fox shrugged wryly, pretending a cool attitude. "He gave me a ruler stroke. He said I was insolent." "What does that mean?" "Well, Sammy," Fox - big brother smug - was always ready to lecture, "Insolent means that sometimes the need to tell somebody how wrong they are is worth the risk. Even if they are an adult." Samantha's hand snuck out from under the blanket, and gave her brother's arm an awkward pat. Fox gratefully returned a gentle shove. Samantha always understood how he was feeling. Things had been better at school since his I.Q. test. His gifted pull-out teacher had made learning new and exciting again, and his class teachers - until Mr. Findlay - had accepted his differences. But Mr. Findlay always seemed to be riding his back about something, and he couldn't understand why. Fox relaxed back in his blanket and focused on the cartoon. Gidney and Cloyd were trying to get home, and decided to flunk their citizenship tests so they would be deported. Mr. Findlay's injustice forgotten, Fox started laughing. "Sam, do you get it? They're being declared aliens." "What do you mean, Fox? They are aliens." "No Sammy - aliens can mean from outer space, but the government is saying they're illegal aliens, which means they snuck into the country." "Oh." A giggle. "So alien means two things. And Fox - Gidney and Cloyd did sneak into the country, when they crashed here in their space ship!" "Do you know what my next science formula will be?" Fox declared, his eyes sparkling. "I'm going to recreate the ingedients for Mooseberry pie. It will be a new secret rocket fuel, and NASA will pay me a million dollars." "If you get a million dollars I want a new Barbie. With good clothes." Sam got her 'dreaming of Barbie clothes' expression on her face, and Fox suddenly realized how little it took to make his sister happy. A new hair barrette, strawberry ice cream, a tiny shell waiting to be discovered in the sand - Samantha's sunny nature threw out sparks of joy and warmed everyone around her. She attracted friends and made strangers smile and, luckiest of all, seemed unworried when problems or frustrations came her way. Mom called Sam the eternal optimist. Fox knew he was the moon to her sun, and sometimes couldn't help the jealousy he felt at being overshadowed by his younger sister. And yet - and yet - without Samantha's obvious adoration, Fox knew he'd be a much lonelier person. The cartoon flashed 'The End' banner on the screen, and Samantha jumped up and switched it off. "Fox," she smiled, "Want to play outside? We could take turns on the swing." "Sure. I'll race you!" The new tire swing bounced wildly as Fox lunged into it barely ahead of his sister, and she waited impatiently while Fox took his turn. "Me now. Me!" Fox leapt off the moving swing as far as he could, skidding in the grass on his bare feet. He waved his arms with a flourish and grinned. "Ta da - a new world's record. A fantastic leap of twenty feet!" Samantha nodded, then began pumping her smaller legs as she set the swing in motion. Fox watched for a few moments, then decided to help his sister. "Would you like some underducks, Sammy?" At her eager affirmative, Fox began grabbing the tire as it came back towards him, then pulling it forward as he ran underneath. "Oh, I can see so high," Samantha gasped in pleasure. Fox beamed. He loved making his sister happy. Soon he was throwing all his weight into the underducks. An especially vigourous shove made the tire wobbly, Samantha lost her grip - and fell with a scream to the ground. Loud cries pierced his heart as Fox ran to her side. "Sammy, Sammy - are you all right?" "Nooo - my neck hurts, Fox. Help me!" He knelt in the grass next to Samantha and smoothed her tangled hair from her face. "Don't get up. I'll be right back with mom and dad." He started to rise, but was shoved aside as his mother rushed to Sam's side. Fox's dad was a step behind, buttoning his shirt. "What happened, boy?" His father sounded angry. "And why are you both out here in your pajamas?" "I - I'm sorry, sir. I was swinging Samantha and she fell." Fox felt guilty. He bit his lip, unable to meet his father's eyes. Samantha was quietly sobbing now, and his mother looked up after gently touching her neck and shoulders. "I think her collar bone is broken, Bill. We need to get her to the doctor." His father sighed. "Fox, wait inside for us. It shouldn't take too long." Fox nodded. "I'm sorry, Sammy." Samantha blinked back tears. "I liked the underducks." Fox's father lifted Samantha and carefully lay her in the back seat of the car. By the time he heard them return, Fox had made his and Samantha's bed, tidied up the front room, and eaten a peanut butter sandwich. He looked out the window. Samantha hopped out of the car with a smile on her face, her left arm in a sling and her right hand clutching a dripping strawberry ice cream cone. She rushed into the house calling to Fox. "Guess what. They took a picture of my bones and I got to see it!" "Cool. Does it hurt, Sammy?" "No. The doctor said I was really brave." Fox relaxed, and spent a quiet day playing board games with his sister. He didn't worry about Samantha's accident any more. But his dreams were guilty ones. *** Silence for long moments, then Gibson quietly responded. "You still have those dreams, don't you Mulder?" A sigh. "I know my dreams are partly a learned response, Gibson. In fact, that's the reason I went to Oxford - to start fresh, and to figure out how the hell I could deal with my problems." "Were you happy there?" "Oh yeah. My first memories of going to Oxford are some of the best I have." He snagged a water bottle, took a long drink, and let remembrance flow. *** Fox Mulder felt his worries and responsibilities release their fettering hold as his plane flew over the Atlantic. He was seventeen and the luckiest bastard in the world. He was ready for the carefree life of a swinging university student, ready to be a man in a mythical land. His first experiences told him how very perceptive he had been. He wandered the fall campus with a smile on his face. His advisor - Mr. Mallory - had outlined a syllabus of study that sparked interest and engaged his intellect in a way that never happened back home. His neighbour down the hall, another seventeen year old named Peter, had immediately suggested a pint and pub lunch, and he had his first legal drink, warm beer mellowing whatever butterflies of worry that were left. Best of all, he was brand new like a shiny minted coin. He was Fox Mulder, and could be whoever he wanted to be. He had no history at Oxford and he loved it. Oxford was a delight to the senses. The smell of musty textbooks with their promise of arcane knowledge. The taste of warm beer. The sight and touch of ancient buildings that put the history of Rhode Island and Massachusetts to shame. Routine followed as Fox eased his way into a contented rut of studies and small talk. He loved being in a place where he could fly intellectually. Playing with ideas was a delight, and Fox became known as someone who could spin spider's webs of tall tales. He found a circle of like- minded scholars and spent long hours engaging in airy persiflage, a lighthearted manner foreign to his old self. Best of all, he was free to explore divergent groups and ideas until he began to get an inkling of what interested him personally. Psychology. The study of people and their motivations. He hoped to gain some understanding of the personal imps who whispered here rather than shouted the invectives he regularly heard back home. Fox Mulder was becoming comfortable in his own skin for the first time since he was small. A semester later found Fox and Peter hoisting their scull onto the rack as they exited the club building. Worn to a pleasant ache, slightly disheveled, they entered the pub together and searched for a place to sit. A woman smiled up at the duo - they glanced at each other, then made a beeline to her side. "Move over, love," Peter crooned as he shrugged into the seat next to her. Fox sat across from the raven-haired beauty. "Peter," she gushed as she stared bright-eyed at Mulder. "One of your friends?" Peter's face flashed irritation, and Fox was reminded of their friendly rivalry towards coeds. Peter sighed dramatically. "Phoebe, this is just some Yank who likes to hang around and benefit from my worldly wisdom. His name is Fox." "Fox Mulder." Quickly holding out his hand, he gave Phoebe's a friendly shake and smiled broadly. "Don't listen to Peter. He couldn't tell and existentialist from an extrasensualist." Peter scowled, but Phoebe's laugh rang through the small room. "Ah yes, dear boy, but I know the difference - and I choose the extrasensualist every time. Care to join me for a private party this evening, Fox?" At Murder's surprised nod, Phoebe continued, "Peter can tell you where my rooms are. Meet me at nine tonight." Phoebe rose and smiled at Mulder, then wove her way through the crowd. Peter leaned across the table and smacked him on the arm. "Hey - what was that for?" Mulder complained. Peter shook his head. "Just wiping that silly grin off your face, mate. And be careful around Phoebe. She looks a fair treat, but she's got quite a bite. I've got the teeth marks to prove it." "Where?" Mulder teased. "On your ass?" "No - seriously. I was gone the last two weekends." Mulder nodded. "I spent them with Phoebe, and even though I'd heard the rumours, I was hoping my considerable charms would sway her to into making us a regular item." Mulder smirked at Peter's rueful shrug. "So your 'considerable charms' didn't work?" "Obviously not, since she won't even look me in the eye. Phoebe is sexy as hell - but don't delude yourself into thinking that she cares about you. I've just been reminded of what dirt must feel like." "Peter..." Fox rose as Peter flipped five bob onto the table. "No, I'm leaving, but stay and have a pint and lunch on me. You'll need to keep your strength up. Phoebe lives in College - Somerville. Do you know where that is?" Mulder nodded and shuffled his feet. He was an inexperienced eighteen, and wanted to ask Peter's advice - but Peter was obviously too upset to give it. "Thanks," he murmured instead. "Best of British," Peter responded, then turned away. Excitement warred with trepidation as Mulder considered the evening's activities. Excitement won. *** "Thanks, Mulder." Gibson sighed happily. "I forgot that an old guy like you ever had a first time. You know I'm a little anxious about that myself." "Watch the old guy remarks, buddy." Mulder felt pensive. He knew the story of his first affair didn't have a happy ending. He cleared his throat. "So there I was, mooning over Phoebe like a schoolgirl with a crush. I was embarrassingly idealistic - she seemed to be perfect. Phoebe had looks, brains, matched all my crazy enthusiasms and added some of her own. Did I ever tell you how we made love next to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's tombstone?" Gibson's rare laugh matched Mulder's rueful chuckle. "Yes, it was fun while it lasted. But Peter was a better friend than he knew when he tried to warn me about Phoebe. I was too stupid to do anything but learn the hard way." "Why - what happened?" *** Mulder was king of the world. The most beautiful and sophisticated woman at Oxford, the delectable Phoebe Green, had been his constant companion for six weeks. Mulder felt sorry for Peter on the very rare occasions he considered him at all. Phoebe and he saw each other so exclusively, there was no time for his friends. It had been a problem at first, since both he and Phoebe lived in College, but Mulder dipped into his meager cache of funds and viola, a small flat had been found suitable for their rendezvous. Mulder felt very adult now - and apartment and the woman of his dreams. He unlocked the door with a smile on his face, which grew even broader as Phoebe sashayed from the bedroom in her black silk robe. "I've been waiting for you, lover," Phoebe cooed. Fox reached out to grab her waist, but she slapped his hands away. "No no Fox." She playfully wagged her finger at him. "It's my turn to take control tonight. You don't mind - do you?" "God no, Phoebe," he murmured and felt himself grow harder as she slowly unbuttoned his shirt. They'd moved with head-spinning rapidity from what Phoebe sneeringly called 'vanilla sex' to all kinds of teases and scenes. Fox knew that Phoebe preferred these to sincere declarations, so his heartfelt "I love you"s were rare. But he felt them on the inside. Fox tried to stand still as Phoebe rubbed her palms over his chest and down his stomach under his waistband, but gasped and moved to hold her as she stroked his penis. She withdrew her hand and smiled coquettishly. "No fair moving. I'm in control, remember?" Fox swallowed, and felt even more turned on when Phoebe use her robe's sash to tie his hands snuggly together behind his back. "I know you're considering a future at Scotland Yard, Phoebe," he joked, "But isn't this carrying things a bit far?" "Things can never be carried too far with me, lover. Haven't you figured that out yet?" He spared a moment to wonder what Phoebe meant until all thought was lost in sensation. Phoebe had quickly pulled his pants and boxers down to his ankles, pulled over a chair, and sat down to give his penis long slow licks. Fox felt himself jerk, then gasped when Phoebe circled his length with her fingers while looking up with a wicked smile. "How big can this thing get, anyway?" Phoebe asked conversationally. Fox blinked, "I - um - I don't know." He was already painfully hard. "I think this is it," he panted. "No," Phoebe considered, "I think you can get bigger. Let's see, shall we." Fox shook his head but didn't speak. Something began to nag at him. Phoebe seemed almost calculated as she stood and rubbed lotion on her hands, and then settled once again in front of him. He nervously tried to take a step back and realized that with his pants trapping his feet, he really was helpless. Fox tensed his arms but the sash held tight. "Phoebe don't," he pleaded, as she began to jerk his penis with practiced ease, all the while tightening the fingers of her other hand around the base of his shaft. She was relentless. His pleasure/pain scale tipped into pure pain as he was held in the vise of Phoebe's grip. "Fuck. Stop - God, Phoebe." Fox near-shouted, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes as he looked down and saw that the head of his penis was an ugly purple colour. His body shook with anger as he felt the beginnings of an orgasm sweep over him. Phoebe pinched the tip of his engorged penis hard and Fox screamed in pain. "I think this is as big as it gets," she calmly declared. She reached into the pocket of her robe, took out her camera, and snapped the shutter twice. "Don't worry, Fox. You didn't have to smile for the camera. And cheer up - I'm going to let you come now." "Get away from me, you fucking bitch!" Fox tried to move, lost his balance, and fell heavily to the floor on top of his bound hands. He tried to kick out at Phoebe but she easily dodged and sat on his legs. When he jerked his body to buck her off, his wrists gave jolts of pain. "Lover, just calm down." Phoebe spoke soothingly. "Never let it be said that I left my man hanging. We'll just finish up here...I'm sure you'll see the funny side of this tomorrow." "Fuck you." Mulder couldn't keep himself from sobbing. "No, Fox, I'm fucking you. And believe me, your beautiful equipment has kept me interested in you longer than anyone else. I just felt like taking us closer to the edge tonight, that's all." Phoebe stretched over Fox's prone body. She sucked hard on his penis while gently rolling his balls in one hand. Fox cried in frustration as Phoebe removed her mouth and his traitorous body orgasmed. His eyes rolled up to see a smug-looking Phoebe pocket her camera. "Got another photo, Fox. This one should be beautiful. I know you might not want to see them right away but - feel free to come round and have a look when you're ready to have some more fun and games." Fox turned his head away and squeezed his eyes shut. He heard Phoebe drop something to the floor before going into the bedroom and locking the door. After his shudders of despair had subsided, he rolled to his side - and realized that Phoebe had dropped a kitchen knife at his feet. He managed to cut himself free, noting with detachment the angry red ligature marks around his wrists. Fox shakily dressed, fished the apartment key out of his pocket and threw it to the floor. He slammed the front door on Phoebe and her traitorous manipulations. He knew with fatal certainty that he would never be able to trust a woman again. *** Mulder glanced up and was surprised to realize that the campfire was down to faintly glowing embers. He stood, stretched, and walked over to Gibson. If Gibson hadn't looked so shocked, it would have been comical. The boy sat, eyes wide behind wire rims, his hands unconsciously between his legs covering his groin. "Ouch..." Mulder intoned, trying for humour. Gibson smiled faintly. "I - ah - I said I didn't mind X-rated, Mulder, but jeez..." Insight slammed Mulder, as sudden and powerful as a lightning bolt. He realized that both he and Gibson had experienced distant fathers and both had trust issues. Combined with Gibson's strong connection to him, the story of Phoebe's betrayal had been more than disturbing for the boy. Gibson stepped back, looking embarrassed and awkward. Mulder put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Thank you," he murmured. "Thank you for caring about my feelings." "Th-that's all right, Mulder," Gibson stuttered. "I - I think I'll take a walk now." Gibson began to step into the pitch night, but Mulder squeezed his shoulder and pulled him back. "No. Let's go inside now. I'm going to go to bed. And starting tomorrow I'll tell you about Scully - and some X-Files stories that will knock your socks off. Deal?" "Deal," Gibson replied faintly. As they walked companionably towards the small adobe rancher they were sharing, each lost in thought, Mulder vowed to share with Gibson the best part of himself. Scully. *** Mulder was emotionally drained. He dropped to his narrow bed after barely enough energy to remove his shoes and slept hard for twelve hours. Sun sweat beaded his brow when he finally managed to pry his eyes open. He felt stiff, gritty with dust - and easier in spirit than he had since the beginnings of his time apart from Scully and William. Mulder knew his sense of calm release was entirely due to last night. It had been cathartic to share his early feelings and experiences with Gibson, the night after Gibson had shared his own doubts and fears. Mulder - who had always felt emotionally close to the teenager - realized they were bonding in a way that was healing both their wounded spirits. Gibson still needed a father. Mulder deeply missed his son. Gibson was far too old to remind him of baby William, but young enough that Mulder's affection and protection felt natural. After washing up and changing into a clean t-shirt and light cotton shorts, Mulder wandered into the tiny kitchen. A note was propped against the scraggly basil plant above the faucet. Gibson would be back by nightfall. Mulder stretched. Rummaged through the fridge till he found a tomato, sausage and two eggs. He stood over the ancient stove and made himself a breakfast fry up reminiscent of his Oxford days. Eschewing a plate, he ate the mess straight from the pan while standing at the kitchen counter. Long draughts of ice tea completed his meal. With renewed determination, Mulder sat at his rickety desk and began another hours-long internet search for ways to keep William and Scully safe. Ways to defeat the dark shadow hanging over them. Sore eyes and aching hands were a small price to pay when their lives were at stake. Come nightfall, Mulder wandered outside and began to build up a fire. Gibson ghosted in to his usual spot. Mulder made eye contact, and they both nodded in acknowledgement of their ritual. "Let me tell you about the good old X-Files days, Gibson," he began. "Did you always think of them like that?" "Not always, but now I know better. Now I know that opposites attract, there's a yin to every yang, the intuitive and empirical can co-exist, the lion can lay down with..." Gibson interrupted, "That Fox Mulder can stretch a story to last a week." They both laughed. "What I think you mean to say, Gibson," Mulder chuckled, "Is something Scully accuses me of. She claims I always take the circular route on the way to any point I make." "That too," Gibson replied smugly. "I think Scully understands you very well." "She didn't always. But then, I didn't understand her either, at least in the beginning. Scully was a rookie when we started our partnership..." Mulder leaned forward. He was eager to share. *** Mulder leaned back in his chair, feet propped on his desk. He nodded to himself as he paged through the colourful magazine. He heard a noise, looked up - and smiled as Scully entered the basement room. "Morning, Scully." "Morning." Scully raised an eyebrow. "Heavy reading material?" "We don't have a case right now, and the tabloids are pretty dull. I've been forced to search further afield for X- Files fodder." "Yes, but Mulder - a comic book?" "Great literature always gives us access to the denied, dark side of human nature, Scully." Scully snorted faintly in disbelief. Mulder continued. He was on a roll. "Frightening as they look, such comic book characters continue to capture people's hearts because they mirror human nature and behaviour. I've been thinking that many of our cases - and this is the surprising part - are actually reminiscent of them. Coincidence - or do graphic artists know something we don't?" "Mulder, what are you claiming? If we've met Superman or Batman, please let me know. I would have liked to get an autograph." Scully's amused and intrigued expression was one of Mulder's favourites. He loved pulling Scully out of routine and into fanciful conjecture. Mulder's half-formed connections began to weave together like a spider's silken threads. "Think, Scully. In Marvel comics alone there are many parallels. You've heard of the Torch? Cecil L'Ively had the same powers. Eugene Victor Tooms could be Mr. Fantastic with his stretching ability. And we've just finished the Arthur Gamble case - Roland's twin brother. Do his telepathy powers remind you of anyone, say for example Jean Grey?" Scully laughed. "I can think of one too. Nick Fury had the infinity formula, and the John Barnett case had echoes of age reversal too." Mulder was delighted. "Scully, now you're getting the idea. I propose we do a little comic book investigation, to prepare ourselves for possible future cases. After all, as crazy as it sounds, we've never run across an Iron Man or Iceman - yet. But who knows." "Will this be the Stan Lee method of investigation?" Scully teased. Mulder stood. "Great name for our research, Scully. Remind me to put it on our expense report to Skinner." "Expense report?" "Since we have nothing pending, I propose we spend the next day or two perusing comic stores in the D.C. area, to determine if there are prototypes we need to consider as possible X-Files scenarios." "In other words," Scully interrupted, "Let's hang around and read comics for a few days." "That too," Mulder nodded. "Let's go." Scully shrugged. When she followed Mulder out the door, he was once again amazed and delighted by her willingness to listen to his far-out ideas. He was grateful for how Scully had watched his back in a year's worth of cases. Heading towards their car, Mulder realized that Scully had earned his trust when he would have sworn it would have been impossible to do so. Mulder's appreciation of his partner now ran with an undercurrent of affection, which grew stronger every day. *** "Did you ever have a comic book case?" "Actually, we did. The Great Mutato was a strange one I'll have to tell you about sometime." Mulder stood in front of the fire, staring as sparks shot skyward. "Scully said to me, when we first started working together, that she always liked to see what I had to back up my bizarre theories. She respected our journey right from the beginning." "You're lucky. The idea of comic books solving cases is pretty bizarre." "Whatever is imagined can become manifest," Mulder quietly replied. "I imagine things all the time. Right now, I'm imagining a world safe from our enemies, where we can live out our lives in peace. A world where Scully and William and I can play house for real. A world where you are free to follow your own destiny, Gibson, finding some happiness along the way." "I like the way you think, Mulder." Mulder kicked sand on the fire. He clapped Gibson on the shoulder as they made their way back into the house. "We'll keep trying till it happens the way we imagine it should be." Gibson nodded - no further words were needed. Their unspoken vow was a commitment to fight for their future. |