Category:  Vignette, MSR/R
Spoilers:  All of US Season Five up to Post-Modern Prometheus
Disclaimer:  The characters in this piece belong to Chris Carter, 1013
Production and Fox Television.  No copyright infringement is intended and no
money may be made from this story.
Archive:  Do NOT forward to ATXC.  Please archive anywhere.

TITLE:  THE ENDING THAT I WANTED
Author:  by syn
Feedback:  All comments are welcome.
synnerX@yahoo.com
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We never did dance at a Cher concert.

I never had that slow waltz, rocking deep, looking into the surprised eyes
beneath me and watching them change to happiness.  Never held her waist
perfectly within the palm of my hand, feeling the sway and motion of that
single body...that only soul, the one was always perfectly in sync with mine.

Never even got that version of "Walking In Memphis" I so wanted to hear.

All we ever did, Scully and I, was drive, drive to a station house and wake the
local cops up from their graveyard shift apathy, coffee and donuts flying up
toward the ceiling when they saw the face of our suspect...or should I say the
"faces" of our suspect, as sad and miserable a creature as should never have
been born.

Silently, they took him away, without the pair of handcuffs they couldn't bear
to put around his terrible wrists.

And that was it.

It was over.  The case was solved.

But it wasn't the ending that I wanted.

As we left, not willing to stay one more minute in that dark Indiana town, I
thought back to two weeks before, to the black night my sister was returned to
me, delivered by a man whom I hate more than lies.  How she cried when she saw
me, but not from happiness.  More from resentment and anger, angry that I even
existed, a living, breathing reminder of her past, one that she accepted as
lost, the lie told to her by this man, this demon, whom she cuddles and kisses
and calls "daddy".

This man that I cannot bear the sight of.

No, she didn't want to see me, or speak, or share, or talk or hug me beside the
menorah this holiday, with her children lighting the candles, my youngest niece
or maybe nephew beaming in the candlelight, calling me uncle...Uncle Fox.

No, I'll call you, please don't call me, I need time. Ironic how she probably
thought that I was dead, when I swore, on my own life and on the lives of so
many others, that she was alive. Perhaps it's greedy of me, and since I've only
waited twenty-five years for her, I guess I can wait twenty-five more.

Anyway, the mystery was solved, wasn't it?

It was over.  My sister had been returned to me.

But it wasn't the ending that I wanted.

We drive on, but finally we have to stop, Scully and I, we have no choice on
these endless roads covered with ice and the airport might as well be a
thousand miles away, even if only ten.  I can hear her sigh at the sight of the
motel I choose, its Christmas lights not newly displayed, but no doubt a
leftover from the year before, or perhaps even the decade before that.

"Only the finest of accommodations for us," she says, her eyes half shut, head
against the seat rest.  "You know, Mulder, next time I say we pick a case in
Paris, how about it?"

"Oui," is all I reply and pull up in front of the Red Horse Motel, triple-A
approved, no pets, no pool, yes to vacancies and cable, monthly and hourly
rates available too.

It's started to rain, in freezing cold splashes, half snow, half ice, all
water, against the windshield and I see Scully bite her both her lips, one
after the other, lips that lost their lipstick hours before, and are prettier
for the loss.  Her makeup has long since faded, but the paleness, that
death-white mask that's covered her face for so long has also vanished, and she
is nothing but herself tonight, glowing bright, even in the pitch black of a
dark, storm-covered car.

"Toss to get the bags," she says, producing a very democratic-looking quarter.

"I'll get them," I respond, and I watch her eyebrow rise, arching mightily over
her left brow.

But, then it lowers and she merely smiles, suddenly comfortable with my offer. 
"That's fine with me," she says and gracefully exits the car and enters the
office, seemingly side-stepping the downpour as she goes.

I run to the trunk. It doesn't want to open, I don't want to be patient and the
combination of all of the above takes more time than I'm willing to spare. 
Finally, freezing fingers pop the lock and I grab its contents, more wet than
dry, more frozen than alive and looking up, I see Scully wave to me from the
porch of a room, number 1345, red door, five down from the office, and I run,
feet slipping through the soaked gravel, straps digging into tired shoulders
and heavy bags thumping into my thigh.

Huffing, with grey mist breath, I reach the room and Scully is already
shrugging and slapping her hands against her hips in agitation.

"One room," she says, annoyed or even something else.  "Is this a problem,
Mulder, because I really don't..."  She stop there and slaps her hands a few
more times, shrugs and doesn't continue.

But I need her to go on. "You really don't...?" I ask, honestly wondering what
she was going to say.  Don't want to...can't...get back in the car and drive me
on because I need to be alone, Mulder or...

"Care," she says, flipping off her left shoe in a way I've never seen one
flipped off before, a high air toss, rotating three times before hitting the
floor.  "I really don't care if we share the room.  Look, *don't ask, don't
tell* for the expense report, OK?"

"Fine by me, but does this mean I have to start putting up the Rainbow flag on
the Fourth of July?" I ask, glad to put the heavy, digging bags down upon the
floor.

"Yes, it does," she replies without inflection, and a second later she's gone,
gone into the bathroom and the water starts running, running hot for her bath.

Women and their tubs.  If I had a relationship like that, I'd give up women. 
Conversely, if I had a woman like that, like the one who's in there now, taking
her bath, too tired to care and more beautiful than life, I'd give up women.

And if she came out from that room, with wet hair, barely towel dried, in a
t-shirt and sweat pants, I'd try to move in for my turn in her little heaven,
but instead of letting me pass, she would take me by my waist, and encircle her
arms around me and start swaying against me, as in my dream, I would also give
up women.

All other women, for the one whose lips would reach up to mine as we danced
without any music at all, swaying instead to two hearts, hearts that have
always had their matching rhythm, whether it was slow or pounding hot, sinking
low, joyful or terrified.  I would feel that heart in her lips, a tiny pulse
against my own and it wouldn't be as in my dreams, because it would be better
than anything that I could ever have imagined.

And we would fall together, on a bed turned from harsh and thin to soft and
inviting, perfect in its length and width, its comfort and warmth, a secret
place without flaw, an altar wonderful and peaceful, with the sound of the rain
against the windows only making us grateful for the place where, joyful, we
lay.

The night would be spent this way, with our silent music, our motion and our
heat, and finally her cries would sound from underneath me, as we'd tumble as
one down a single sweet river, a warm one, floating down its endless and
bloodless length.

And in the morning, I'd awake and her eyes would already be open and I'd let
them follow me as I kissed her fingers, one by one, only because they were
perfect, and I wouldn't be able to bear putting them down without doing so. 
Her heart would still be sounding next to mine, and forever after that, it
would be the most profound and mysterious of songs, a song I would spend my
life trying to comprehend.

And so it would be, so it should be, and when she exits the bathroom, I notice
that her hair is wet, barely towel dried and she is wearing a t-shirt and
sweatpants, loose and soft, and as I get up, to walk past her to get my turn in
her little part of heaven, I know...

That this isn't over.  It has just begun.

Tonight.

And I'll finally get the ending that I wanted.

~~~~~~~~~~~
The End (of course)

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