Title: History (1/1)
Author: RocketMan >lebontrager@iname.com<
Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No fringe is
intended.

======
History
======

~~~~
October 13, 1969
Natural History Museum
2:08 pm
~~~~

Fox Mulder stared at the skeleton towering above him, the massive
dinosaur bones like bleached puzzle pieces. The throng of tourists was
movng past and he had the exhibit almost to himself. He wasn't too
interested in the other family gazing at the bones, or in the couple
hanging on each other.

His mother hissed at him and he turned to look at her, frowning.

"Come on, Fox. Samantha wants to see the Ages of Man."

A tiny wriggle of irritation started through his body and turned his
frown into a scowl. He shoved his hands deep in his blue jean pockets,
scuffing his sneakers into the base of the T-rex display.

"I want to stay here," he said, glancing in anger to his little sister.

She stuck out her tongue and Fox turned to do the same, but his father
stepped up behind his mother and he kept his tongue in his mouth,
silently wincing. His mother tilted her head towards his father and he
watched them talk in hushed tones.

"Okay, Fox," she said, sighing. "But meet us in the Ages of Man in
fifteen minutes."

Joy flooded his eyes and he nodded to his family as they left. He wasn't
sure why he'd been allowed to stay, maybe because it was his birthday.
His birthday and they were in New York City while his father closed up
some business deals and his mother shopped. Stopping in at the museum
was his present.

He sighed, and looked back at the monolithic dinosaur, arching his neck
to see all the way to the wicked teeth, the wide nostrils, and the blank
eyeholes.

He felt a tiny shove and glanced down to see a little girl, about his
sister's age, stumbling back from the crowd. She flushed and apologized
to him, then scurried over to the white display stand, her eyes focused
on the small print that told about the fossil.

Fox moved in closer to her as the crowd shuffled past them, trying to
see what she was doing without being too suspicious. The next tourist
group moved along and they were alone but for the large throng of kids
and adults in the corner. 

It must be her family, he thought, watching the red haired children with
their father and mother and grandparents. They all looked alike, with
those happy smiles and bright blue eyes. They fought with each other for
attention, tugging on their mother's shirt to tell her something.

But the girl was over next to him, trying to read the paragraph filled
with facts about the dinosaur and where it was found. She would push her
red hair back, then frown as she tried to sound out the letters. Not
once did she give up, and Fox was thinking that she couldn't possibly be
reading it. She was his sister's age.

The determined look on her freckled, sunburned face grew into
frustration and anger, but she didn't ask her father or mother for help.
He moved closer to her and stood just behind her, gazing up at the
bones. She turned, her blue eyes flashing angrily for him to go away.

He nodded to the stand with the words that confused her so much.

"It says that they found the bones in rock and chiseled them out. Then
they put it together here."

Her face turned back to the words, stone cold and aloof.

"*I* know," she said archly, her fingers smoothing over the plastic
coated stand.

Fox leaned against the side of the exhibit, next to her small frame, his
eyes narrow. "You're sure? Because I know it by heart and I'll read it
to you if you want."

The girl was torn between her pride and the need to know, and she
glanced back to her mother and brothers and sister, her face conflicted.

"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers, Daddy said," she explained,
licking her lips.

He frowned, then thought for a minute and grinned. "But I'll be the one
talking."

She hesitated still, wringing her fingers together as she glanced
longingly at the skeleton.

"Tell you what," he said finally. "I'll read it out loud, but just for
myself. That way, you aren't talking to me, and I'm not talking to you.
Not really anyway."

She looked relieved and nodded happily, glancing anxiously to the long
paragraph with all the information on it. She waited for him to begin,
her hands spaced evenly on the plastic.

"Hey, kid. Don't look at the words, look at the bones. It makes it much
more interesting."

She glanced back at him, frowning, so he took her chin in his hand and
turned her face to the dinosaur. She slid her eyes to see him, then
glanced back to the exhibit.

"Okay," she said.

He stood behind her and read the words over her head, watching her eyes
when he finished.

She turned finally and gave him a grave look. "Thanks," she said and
smiled shyly.

He nodded. "You're welcome. I gotta go; my parents are making me meet
them."

The girl smiled and he turned around, heading for the hallway and the
Ages of Man exhibit. He glanced back once and she was standing by the
bones, gazing up at them and repeating the words he had said from heart.
Her long banana curls sprung down her back as she tilted her head from
side to side, and her lips moved silently.

He shook his head and rejoined his family. Why had he helped a *girl*?
======

~~~~
August 16, 1973
Washington, DC.
5:07 pm
~~~~

"Fox! Look at the flowers!"

He groaned and shook his head. He was twelve years old and he did not
want to go pick flowers with his little sister. She was stopped dead in
the middle of the park, her eyes dancing as she watched the bluebells,
wild tulips, and daffodils scattered over the expanse of green.

"Sam, we've got to get back to Dad's office. Come on!"

"Dad kicked us out for an hour, Fox. We still have thirty minutes," his
mother reminded.

He groaned again and slumped in the middle of the path, holding his head
in his hands as Sam waltzed through the field, picking the flowers as
she went. His mother followed along behind, stopping at a bench to sit
and watch.

Fox stayed there for a moment, glancing to the still hot sun beating
down on them, then to the layers of tree and bush and flower that
comprised the park. Samantha turned back to him and stuck her tongue
out.

He blushed and glanced around, embarrassed and looking to see if anyone
had noticed. He saw three other kids, some older than him, but no girls.
Well, one, but she was his sister's age.

"Fox, I'm picking flowers for Mommy, so stop pouting," she said. Her
words were in a stage whisper and he could tell that his mother had
heard, but she just shook her head and smiled.

"I'm *not* picking flowers, butthead." he said.

"Fine, stand there." Her voice was high with anger, but she turned and
flounced off.

He sighed and slumped into a bench, away from his mother where she
couldn't even see him. He muttered about stupid little sisters and
flowers, and noticed the three kids kicking around a soccer ball.

He wished he could play soccer with them. But if he got dirty, his
father would be mad and would probably make him stay in the hotel while
the rest went out to dinner.

One of the kids was a girl, and she eventually stopped playing soccer to
gaze at the flowers. When the kid noticed his sister, she smiled and
waved, then began picking flowers alongside Samantha.

He snorted. Girls and flowers. You give 'em a great game like soccer,
and they stop to pick flowers.

He watched her, forgetting Sam, and bit his lip as the sun sucked away
his energy. His mother was talking to his sister and he could hear their
laughter, but as usual, it didn't have anything to do with him. The girl
was small, especially compared to him, and her eyes were as blue as the
wildflowers. Her red gold hair fell before her face as she bent down to
break the stems, gathering the flowers in one white hand.

Her flower picking took her right in front of his bench, and she glanced
up, surprised to see him sitting there. Her blue eyes met his brown ones
and she smiled softly.

"Hello," she said, grinning like mad.

How could this kid smile so much? What did she have to grin about, with
her grass stained feet and her one bruised knee, and that missing tooth?

"Hi," he said stiffly, frowning.

She looked at him curiously, lips tight, then nodded at him, her eyes
not straying from his face. He wanted to talk to her, but he didn't have
anything to say.

She picked a bluebell and scooted up on the bench, tucking her feet up
under her and brushing the petals against her lips. She set her boquet
down on the bench and smiled at him.

"I'm picking flowers for my grandmother. She brought us here for
vacation so my parents could have a day off."

"Oh," he said and shrugged. He licked his lips and then thought of
something to say. "You have a big family?"

"Yeah," she said and smiled a bit.

He nodded and glanced off to the slow setting of the sun, still in the
white hot phase, where the sky was bright blue and the trees were sharp
in outline. He felt a hand tug his elbow and glanced over at her. She
held out a bluebell to him, smiling gently.

Fox took the flower and smiled back at her.

"Uh, thanks. . ."

"You look sad," she explained, sliding back off the bench and touching
the grass with her toes.

He watched her walk away, trailing petals and leaves as she picked
flowers and then dropped others on accident. He held the bluebell
gingerly, trying not to crush it, finding the blue of her eyes reflected
in the blue of the sky and the flower. When she was a little ways away,
she turned back around to smile at him.

He smiled back.
======

~~~~
July 6, 1982
near Berkley, California
12:17 pm
~~~~

Fox Mulder eyed the sun warily, then glanced down to his twenty-two year
old body. The beach had toasted him to a healthy brown about four days
ago, but he hadn't been paying attention and now his skin was red and
lobster colored. It itched like crazy, and he often forgot and scratched
it, causing pain to flare along his nerves like electrocution.

He scratched his nose and winced at the fire in his skin. Standing, he
visored his eyes with a hand, then turned around to pack up his stuff.
The women who had been openly admiring him gave him pouty looks and he
smiled warmly at them, feeling sick inside. He'd gone to the beach to
get away for awhile, but loneliness was nowhere to be found.

He loved being free of Oxford's foggy mornings and cold damp winters,
but he wasn't used to the bright sun and beautiful women. The cottage he
was using was right on the beach and every morning for the past week,
another group of girls would be camped out, despite his prayers. 

He sat down on the porch steps, in the shade finally, and closed his
eyes. The cool paint of the railing was like ice to his skin and he
wished he hadn't stayed out so long.

When he opened his eyes, he found another girl walking by, her modest
bikini more of a turn-on than the skimpy things most women wore to
sunbathe in. She was freckled and had a slight burn, but her cheeks were
glowing with anger, not sun. The tops of her legs were red with a burn
even worse than his, and she looked uncomfortable. A beach bag was slung
over one shoulder and it seemed to weigh her down.

She glanced around, searching for something or someone, but then sighed,
looking almost dejected. He felt awful watching her and wished he could
do something to cheer her up.

"Hey," he shouted and she stopped in mid-stride to glance at him. "You
wanna get out of the sun, Red?"

Her hair was flaming, and soon her cheeks were too, but with a kind of
embarrassment. He patted the porch next to him and she hesitated only a
moment before walking over. She climbed up the steps and sat down on the
floor, leaning against the post. He saw her close her eyes and he stood
up, moving into the cottage.

When he came back outside, she was staring at him, her eyes wide and
worried. He smiled and pressed the iced tea to her cheek, smiling.

"Cold."

"Thanks."

He smiled. She had a beautiful voice, all smooth and carefully
pronounced, as if she was covering an accent. Or had many accents.

She grinned and sipped it gratefully, some of the heat in her cheeks
leaving. He sat back down next to her and shifted uncomfortably on the
wooden slats. Mulder's back was aching with the sunburn and he looked up
to see her watching him.

"I have something for that," she said suddenly.

He looked at her for a moment, then arched his eyebrow, making her
blush.

"Not like. . .whatever. If you don't want-"

"No. Sorry, I was teasing. What do you have? This sunburn is killing
me."

She hesitated, then pulled a tube of blue gel from her beach bag,
handing it over to him. He didn't take it, simply stared at the bottle
for a moment.

She sighed and twisted the top off, then squirted some onto her finger.
He watched her suspiciously, then jerked as she dabbed it on his nose.

He blinked. "It's cold."

She grinned, then smeared the rest from her finger onto his cheeks,
rubbing it in with soft, gentle hands. He sat still, watching her eyes
as she concentrated, feeling his face tingle with the sunburn gel.

She paused then, the bottle still in her hands. "Do you want it on your
back?" 

He could see she felt uncomfortable with asking, but he *did* want it on
his back, and she was offering.

"Yeah. . .you don't mind?"

She gave him a tight smile then shook her head. He admired her courage.
For all she knew, he was some crazy nut who invited kids up to his
cottage and then raped them or something. He felt her cold hands slide
down his back, then slowly circle up his shoulder blades and to his
shoulders. It was like cool heaven, the blue gel taking away the sting
of the sunburn and her soft hands working magic on his sore muscles.

He bit his lip to keep from groaning, knowing instinctively that she
wouldn't appreciate it. Here was this kid, maybe seventeen or eighteen,
rubbing lotion into his back and he was liking it a little too much.
He'd come to Berkley to get away from Oxford and his former lover, and
now. . .now he was encouraging some teenager to rub him down.

He'd been tired of the rumors, the looks, the pity in everyone's face.
He had escaped to the beach to bury his emotions, to kill his feelings,
and it just seemed like he was reawakening them.

Then she stopped and sat back down next to him, her thigh brushing his
when she settled onto the porch. He was sure it was an accident; she
seemed too wholesome to be manipulating like that. She rubbed her hands
together briskly, getting all the lotion off, then glanced over at him.

He smiled and thanked her and then looked back out to the sea, his eyes
taking in the surf. It was a struggle to keep from turning to her and
staring at her, even kissing her. It seemed as if he'd met her before,
but he couldn't have. He'd been in England ever since high school.

The heat in him boiled away, drowning in the sea, pushed away by her
soft presence next to him. He wondered what it would be like to sit on
the beach with her and watch the ocean under a full moon. Would the pull
between them be stronger?

"Thanks," she said softly and stood up, touching his shoulder lightly.

He glanced to her in bewilderment, then realized she was glancing down
the beach to a man walking slowly towards them.

"Oh," he said, somehow crushed. She had someone. She was meeting him;
she'd been angry he hadn't been there on time.

"That's my brother," she said.

He smiled widely and glanced back up at her. "Oh. Well. . ."

"Bye," she said simply.

"Bye."

He watched her step down the stairs, then walk away, her bare feet
churning the sand as she strode toward her brother. Her fingers tugged
on her beach bag, pulling it up on her shoulder, and he glanced back to
the bottle of gel still beside him.

She'd forgotten it.

He glanced back up to call out her name, then realized he didn't *know*
her name. And she was gone now, caught up in the glare of the sun.

Maybe she'd come back for it.
======

~~~~
January 7, 1990
Washington DC
4:37 pm
~~~~

He was walking down the hall, lost in thought, when a bright flash of
red caught his attention. Fox Mulder glanced up just in time to see a
woman passing by, her FBI training shirt neat and navy blue. He always
felt sorry for the new recruits, mainly because everyone told them it'd
be a breeze, really, and it wasn't.

He was tempted to tell her to run now, run and never look back, but at
that moment, Diana Fowley came striding towards him, and the redhead was
forgotten.

Diana smiled and glanced at the folder in his hands, her lips turning
down into a frown.

"Is that another one of those cases, Fox?"

He shrugged, trying to hide it from her.

"When are you going to stop? They've already denied your request."

"I'm just looking, Diana. I'm not investigating anything. . .it's just,
I keep getting these dreams. . ."

"Fox," she said softly, shaking her head. "Leave it alone."

"You promised to help me with them, Diana."

"I know, I will. As soon as you find a case worth our time. We're
partners on this, Fox."

He smiled and took her hand, clasping it tightly.

"I know. I'll find a good one for us, and then you'll see. There's
something more to these cases. . ."

He was lucky to have Diana on his side, he knew that. She was a staying
force that could bring him around, make him see the other answers. He
was going to ask her soon, ask her to marry him. It'd be the greatest
moment in his life; he knew it.

Maybe he'd do it tonight. . .
======

~~~~
April 3, 1999
J. Edgar Hoover Building
4:49 pm
~~~~

Mulder flipped through the last of the office supplies in the huge box.
There had been a few momentos he'd managed to sort from the ash of their
office, but not many. This box had been one of the lonely ones left in a
corner, which had saved it from most of the damages done by the fire.

He picked up one of the old books, then blinked as something slipped
from the pages. It was a flower, a bluebell, and he caught his breath as
he looked at it. He remembered being slumped on the bench in the DC
park, muttering about his sister, and the little girl who had sat next
to him and given him that flower.

For some reason, the only image he could see in his mind was that of
Emily, but he knew that wasn't right. He was seeing Emily's face in a
lot of things lately, and it was beginning to haunt him.

Mulder closed his eyes and sat down in his chair, sighing.

He had almost forgotten that day, so intent was he in pushing aside all
memories of that year, 1973, when his sister had disappeared. He
remembered that girl though, faintly, the smile on her lips, the bare
feet, the bruise on her knee. He had longed to play soccer with her
brothers. Still, Emily's face persisted in his mind, and he shook his
head.

He placed the flower on the edge of the desk and glanced at the book it
had fallen from. It was a novel about a man's encounter with a ghost
girl, and how the girl had shown him the peace in death. Mulder grinned
to himself. Had he been interested in the paranormal then? Had she
reminded him of a ghost?

"Sleeping, Mulder?"

His eyes snapped open to see Scully standing in front of his desk, her
hand on the back of the chair. He shook his head as she sat down. When
she saw the flower, she fingered it softly.

"Old girl friend?"

"No, but from a friend, I guess."

She smiled. "You guess? You don't know?"

"Actually, no. I don't know who she was."

She snorted and sat back, her eyes mischevious. "Get around much?"

Her lips quivered with unvoiced laughter and he was tempted to glare at
her.

"No. A little girl gave it to me when I was twelve."

"Oh, how Braveheart," she muttered.

"Hunh?" he said, picking up the pressed flower. It still held some of
its original color, but not as blue as her eyes had been.

"Nothing. So a little girl fawned all over you? Ladies man even at the
age of twelve."

He waved her off. "I was just sitting on the bench and she came up and
sat beside me. She gave it to me because she said I looked sad."

He looked up and saw that her eyebrows were knitted together, her hands
twisting in her lap. She almost looked like a deer caught in the
headlights.

"Where was this, Mulder?"

"Uh, outside the Lincoln Memorial. My sister was picking flowers and
these kids were playing-"

"-soccer."

He paused, looking at her again, his breath loud in the sudden silence
of the room. For some reason, that little girl's face flashed into his
memory and he felt frozen.

"Emily," he said softly.

She was sitting very still, then bit her lip. "Emily?"

"I kept thinking that the little girl was Emily. . .I mean, I saw
Emily's face whenever I tried to think of what that little girl looked
like, and I thought I was just. . .but. . ."

"It was me."

He nodded.

"That's. . ." She trailed off and glanced up at him, suddenly shy.

"Sweet," he finished, smiling at her. "Amazing  how our roles are just
about the same now. Me, sad and pathetic, and you, picking flowers to
cheer me up."

He came around the desk to sit on the edge, moving closer to her. She
rolled her eyes and mumbled something about being not so innocent and
happy, then plucked the flower from his fingers. 

"Yeah, bluebells. I had to ask my grandmother what kind they were when
we got back."

"You remember that as clearly as I do?"

"Sort of. I remember picking flowers for my grandmother, and that only
because I was talking to this boy who was sad and wouldn't talk back and
I'm not supposed to talk to strangers, Daddy said."

His mouth dropped at that point and she gaze up at him, frowning at his
reaction.

"Mulder?"

"What did you say?"

"Uh, when?"

"You can't talk to strangers, Daddy said."

"Right. My father was very big-"

"Oh please tell me. . .did you ever happen to be read the plaque from
the dinosaur exhibit at the Natural History Museum by a boy-"

"Oh my. . .that was you! That obnoxious kid who read the entire thing to
me. . .but I was so grateful to know what it said that I. . .I just let
you talk. . ."

He grinned and then laughed, shaking his head.

"Kissmet, Scully."

"What?"

"We were destined to meet. I bet we've met other times and didn't know
it, either. . ."

"No. Not likely. Three times in one lifetime is coincidental enough. .
."

"I don't believe in coincidences. Think back. Any other morose, gangly
looking boys you remember?"

She rolled her eyes, but actually, several came to mind. . .

"Let see, any redheads. . .redheads. . .um. . .oh. . .oh, I can't
believe I didn't see this before, when you first came into the officce.
You went to Berkley, didn't you?"

He was looking excited and she wanted to deny it, because she already
knew what he was thinking of, and it was embarrassing, to say the least.

"I knew it. Scully. . .you should definitely wear bikinis more often. .
."

"Oh no. . .Mulder. . ."

"There I was, minding my own business, trying to get away from women,
and here comes this cute redhead, flouncing in the sand like that."

She looked furious, but mainly from her own embarrassment. "You called
me over."

"You came."

She sighed and slumped back into the chair.

"You were cute, Scully. All sunburned and freckled."

"You were too, Mulder. All burned, I mean."

He pouted. "Not cute?"

She paused, glancing at him. "Oh, all right. . .you had to have known I
was flirting. . ."

His brow raised. "You were?"

She blushed, shaking her head and letting it drop to her hands.

"Mulder. . .I rubbed your back. . .I didn't even know you."

"Ah. . .but it turns out you did."

"And then my boyfriend came and he was furious. . ."

Mulder frowned, licking his lips. "I thought that was your brother."

She sighed. "Yeah, I told you that. . .I don't know why. . ."

"Fate, Scully. . .fate."

She found it hard to argue. Especially remembering the man sitting on
the beach cottage, his shoulders and nose crisp with sunburn, his eyes
so sad and forlorn. Something in her had been drawn to that man, and
now, that something was alive again.

"No, Mulder. It's not fate. It's history," she said, scrambling for safe
ground.

It was too late. He was sitting right next to her, his face leaning down
and she sitting up straight, waiting for something.

His lips touched hers gently and it seemed like she'd been waiting her
whole life for that kiss, that brush of his mouth to hers.

"You were always there for me, Scully," he whispered. "And you still
are."

She couldn't breathe any longer, the air was too close, his eyes casting
spells on her heart. His finger tapped her chin and she looked up at
him.

"You still blush beautiful. . ." he whispered, then winked.

Something courageous sparked in her and she smiled softly. "And you
still think you're so cute."
======

end
adios
RM