Disclaimer: Nope, these characters aren't mine. Category: VA Classification: Mulder/Scully UST Rating: PG Spoilers: Sein Und Zeit/Closure Archive: Gossamer. Spookys. Others ask me. Feedback: Knock yourself out. Summary: Scully tries to help Mulder receive closure. Thanks to: Sara Lynn for beta duties. "Standing By" by Lisa (haven599@msn.com) "But I'm the only one Who'll walk across the fire for you." --Melissa Etheridge "Excuse me, ma'am, but isn't this Teena Mulder's apartment?" I looked up from my task of twisting the garbage bag closed at the sound of a woman's voice. "Yes, it was," I replied. "*Was.* Pardon me. I can't believe she's gone. Such a lovely woman. She had a son that worked for the government, I believe." "She does," I answered, coming closer to her. "He's not here right now. I'm helping to clean out the apartment for him. I'm a . . . friend of his." She noticed how I stumbled over the word 'friend,' Her mind probably translated that into girlfriend, thinking I was dragged along as a maid, or worse yet on a mini-vacation for the two of us at the expense of his mother's death. In his dead mother's home, no less. "Mulder, her son, isn't here right now. Is there something I can help you with?" "Oh, no I don't know him," she corrected. "I've heard Teena talk about him from time to time. Let him know my prayers are with him, honey." "Of course. I didn't get your name -" "Mrs. Hughes," she told me, before disappearing around the corner. Mrs. Hughes, I'll have to remember to tell Mulder that, as if he is going to care. What was I doing? Taking out the trash. I placed the bag in the chute down the hallway and returned to the apartment. I never imagined I'd be cleaning out Mrs. Mulder's apartment. The woman probably didn't even remember her son had a partner, let alone my name. The last contact I had with her was a message on her answering machine when Mulder was in a coma. Now, here I am going through her personal belongings. I'm not sure Mulder even wants me to be here, anyway. I pushed him into letting me come along, using the excuse of making phone calls and helping to get her apartment ready for its next occupant. I could just see Mulder sitting in the apartment overcome with guilt and not getting anything done. Not only was he dealing with his mother's death, but the realization that his sister is truly gone. He's dealing with a lot now and I keep telling myself that's the reason why he's in such a surly mood. Most of it has been directed towards me since I'm the only one around, the closest scapegoat. Wait until I tell him me have to stay another day because the van can't pick up the furniture until tomorrow. Mulder's having his mother's ashes interred at a cemetery just outside Greenwich. No funeral at all, very different from her ex-husband's service, but those were her wishes. Mulder wanted to go alone. So here I am all by myself packing boxes and worrying about Mulder. We've accomplished a lot since arriving yesterday afternoon. Packing her personal items in boxes, some Mulder has yet to go through and make a decision on. He's been preoccupied with a photo album of Samantha's as well as drawings from her short stint as a student. Mrs. Mulder saved almost everything her only daughter did - drawings, school papers, pages torn from coloring books in a big, heavy gray box on the top shelf of her closet. I guess she couldn't bring herself to burn those with the pictures and documents she disposed of before her suicide. We finished up with most of the packing the rest of the afternoon. The only communication between us were questions I had regarding her belongings. He didn't say anything when I told him we had to stay an extra day. Since he was paying for my hotel room, it didn't bother me. That was the criteria of me coming along - that he would pay for that expense. So, that was twice the money. Mulder told me he couldn't stay at his mother's apartment. I guess it was too painful for him, since he offered no other reason. He had been paying for the fast food we've eaten three times a day as well. More time at the gym next week, I guess. Maybe I was expecting him to tell me how much he appreciated my help. Perhaps all he wanted was a maid to help clean out his mother's apartment, but I didn't want to believe that. Maybe he truly had nothing left to share with me, unlike that night I stayed with him after I relayed the autopsy results. I didn't expect to stay the night, but he was just so distraught, and I wanted so much to comfort him then. He was in so much pain. Mulder kept reiterating that his mother wanted to tell him something about his sister and it had to be related to the LaPierres case. Mulder believed the same fate had befallen Samantha as had Amber Lynn. He felt he let his mother down by not finding proof of what happened to her daughter. Now she would never know. I did more than comfort him. I cried with him. It was soft; I don't believe he noticed. I also did something else he may have been aware of when I was holding him. I called him sweetheart. Twice. Maybe he was too upset to notice. He never said anything to me about it. The photo album seemed to occupy him right now. At least he was able to put her diary down. I could see how painful that was for him, yet he kept reading and re-reading it yesterday evening. It was the only tangible link he had to his sister and would be treasured forever. Perhaps he hoped it held some clue about her life that would only surface with repetitive readings, liked the message his mother left on his machine. Mulder had listened to it many more times that night until I told him to stop, pulling the phone cord out of the wall to finally get his attention. I couldn't watch him torment himself any longer. He was angry with me then, stalking off to the bedroom for the rest of the night, while I got a couple hours of sleep on his couch. "Mulder, I'm going to go to bed," I told him now. He didn't look up from the photos. I couldn't witness this another night. I couldn't stand to see the pain on his face. He nodded slightly. "Try and get some rest," I whispered before shutting the door, but I knew my advice wouldn't be followed. We were able to leave a little after noon the next day after a quick stop at a McDonald's. Mulder was really making sure we had three square meals. I believe it was just an excuse to avoid talking. On a case, I would have to sneak off and get some food or risk starving to death. This was a different Mulder indeed. We made it home about six and Mulder told me he was going to take another day or so before coming back into work. I didn't quite believe that, but nodded as I dropped him off outside his apartment building before heading back to my place. I headed straight to bed and dreamt I was lost in a fog, hearing Mulder sob, but was unable to find him. **** Mulder wasn't a work the next day, or the next for that matter. I was surprised and couldn't help worry about him, despite all the reports and paperwork I had to keep me occupied. So I decided to go by his place the third day just to see if he was all right. No one answered the door after a few knocks, so I took the liberty of letting myself inside. The place was dark and messy as usual. I turned on some lights and sat down on the couch to wait for him and noticed a sympathy card standing up on the table. It had a butterfly and a flower on the front. Peeking inside, I saw it was from my mother. She wrote: "My prayers are with you during this time of sorrow. Love, Margaret." I had forgotten I told her about Mrs. Mulder's death when she called last week. It was nice gesture to send Mulder a card. I didn't even do that. There should be another card next to this one. For his sister. I made a mental note to get him one next time I was at Hallmark. I wished I could do more. A card still seemed too inadequate. Ten minutes later, after I had stretched out on the couch, Mulder walked through the door. I had begun to doze and the sudden noise abruptly awakened me. "Jesus, Scully you scared me," he said. "What are you doing here?" I sat up, feeling a little startled myself. "I wanted to see how you were doing. You didn't come into work today." "I didn't feel like it," he said. He sure sounded like he was still in the same mood. "Are you upset with me?" "No, why would I be?" he asked, taking his jacket off and tossing it on the chair. "I don't know. We didn't talk much on the trip to Connecticut. Did I do something?" "No. I was just dealing with a lot," he said. "I still am." I touched his arm. "Do you want to talk about it?" He took a seat on the couch. "It still feels like something's Missing, Scully. I believe Samantha's dead, but I thought I'd feel differently, I don't know more . . . relieved. At peace." Funeral services are a way to give people closure. Perhaps Mulder would be willing to try something like that. "I have a idea that might help," I told him. "A way that might help you to feel more at peace." "What?" he asked, turning to me. "A memorial service for Samantha," I suggested. "It doesn't have to be that elaborate. I could ask Father McCue about it on Sunday." "I don't know, Scully," he sighed. "I'm not Catholic and not really a religious person." He got up and walked to the other side of the room. "We could do something here or at my place. It doesn't have to be at church. I'm sure I could get Father McCue to make a special allowance." Mulder wasn't even looking at me now. Perhaps I was trying too hard again. "Just give it some thought, okay." I picked up my keys and grabbed my coat, heading for the door. "You'd do that for me, wouldn't you?" His voice startled me and I stopped and turned on my heel only to see the unshed tears in his eyes. "Of course I would. I think it would be a nice way to honor her memory." "Come here," he said softly. I walked over to him slowly, seeing all the pain and grief in his face, despite the dim light of the room. Mulder took the jacket out of my hand, tossing it on a nearby chair. I stepped closer to him, our bodies almost touching. He cupped my face in his hands, whispering: "Thank you for standing by me, Scully." **** END (1/1)